Monday.

Only four more days until New York. I've been smiling all morning ever since I got up. New York!

I can't believe I'm going to New York. I'm excited; I'm actually really looking forward to it. I've never really looked forward to anything in my life.

Except for when I was little, I always loved it when my nanny would tell me that my parents were coming home for the weekend. For the whole week, I would be so eager to see them. The weekend seemed like it was so far away. I remember on the Friday of their return. I would get off the school bus and run straight into the house; both of my parents would be standing right in front of the door waiting for me. I would run and hop right into their arms, forgetting how mad I was at them when they left.

Over the years, though, when they started to spend less and less time at home, I didn't get excited anymore when they would come back. I felt like they would come back to check on me, make sure I was good, and then leave. It felt like I was just there connecting flight on their one-way trip, if that makes sense.

I grab my brush off my bathroom sink and brush all my hair up and then wrap a scrunchy around it, pulling the hair out into a ponytail. I walk out of my bathroom and over to my bed. I slip on my black jacket and zippen it up. This is the last week of September. It is already starting to get chilly outside. I have a feeling it will be an early winter this year.

I wonder if it will be cold in New York.

My father calls my name, telling me to come downstairs. I grab my book bag at the end of the stairwell and head for the front door.

"Not so fast." My mother says. I stop and turn around. "Grab a fruit or something. You need to eat," she says.

"Mom, I'm not hungry," I whine.

"Well, take something for later."

I walk over to the island and grab my favorite fruit, an orange, of course.

She smiles, pleased. I walk back towards the door and out to the car.

"There's something I want to talk to you about." My father says while starting up the car. This is it. He's about to break the news of the move. "How do you feel about trying medication?" He asks.

I try to hide my shocked expression. That's not what I expected him to ask. "Again?" I say. I've tried medication before, and it didn't work. I had a panic attack in front of everyone freshman year. I don't know if it was even a panic attack; I just started freaking out in the middle of the assembly.

"Yes, again. But this time it will be different. You wouldn't be taking the same one, so it won't have the same effects on you as the other one did."

"You don't know that. You don't know what will happen to me when I start a new medication."

"Well, the one we are thinking about has barely any side effects."

"Okay, but there are still side effects." I snap. "You don't know how that medication will affect me personally. They find new side effects from people who have effects from it." I explain. "I don't want what happened freshman year to happen again."

"You won't. This time we will be here with you. We will carefully monitor you on it." He tries to assure me.

Them being here means nothing; my decision is the same "No, I don't want it." I turn my head and stare out the window.

...

I unbuckle my seat belt about to get out of the car.

"Just think about it, okay." He says.

I nod at him and shut the door.

There's nothing to think about. I won't take medication. I can't take it, not after last time. I didn't feel like myself. I felt different.

I wasn't happy. I wasn't sad. I was just numb.

I don't even know what triggered me to have an attack. I just started freaking out during that assembly. I remember covering my ears and screaming. I was hyperventilating, and the teachers didn't know what was wrong with me. I curled up in my seat and didn't move until my in-home nanny came to get me. Not my parents! My nanny! I was fifteen years old with a nanny all because my parents couldn't stay home for more than a weekend. They did fly in that night, though. They stayed home for two weeks.

"Jayda!" Violet's voice calls. I turn around and see her and Liam walking towards me.

"Hey," I say to both of them when they get closer. They both greet me back.

"Look, I'm sorry about Saturday. I shouldn't have said those things to you." Liam says. "That's not who I am, that's not who I want to be. I don't believe rumors—especially crazy ones they say about you, which people absolutely have no proof about."

"It's fine," I tell him. He gives me a small smile.

Violet then nudges him. "I actually was wondering... would you be interested in coming back to the STEM team?" he asks.

"The STEM team."

"Yes, Freshman year, you were amazing; you were, no doubt, the best coder we had. If you would've stayed on, we surely would've gone to worlds," he says.

Should I join STEM? I don't have time for it. Well, I do have time, but I don't want to do it. I'm not up for it, but I don't want to say no.

I take a deep breath and say, "Sure, when do you guys meet?"

...

It's something about history class that just makes me want to go to sleep.

I don't know what it is, but I want to sleep every time I come. This class is smaller than any of my other classes. My other classes have fifteen to twenty students. It's only ten people in this class, including me. Well, eleven, including Ryder. He's not here, though; he never comes to school on time, hence why he is never in history class.

I'm a little worried. I've been trying not to think about it, but I can't get what he said out of my head. "I promise you I'll make your life a living hell." What is that supposed to mean? My life is already hell. How could he possibly make it worse?

Maybe he didn't mean it. Perhaps, he was doing what he always does—saying the most hurtful things possible just because he is hurt.

The bell rings. "Five-page essay on The Yemen Crisis! Due Friday." My teacher yells out as everyone walks through the doors.

The hallway is filled with people, as always. I try to stay to the right so that I won't bump into anyone. Everyone seems so much bigger than me.

I'm a senior, yet I look like one of the freshmen.

I walk up the stairs to the second floor to my Pre-Calculus class. Down the hall, I spot him, Ryder. He is talking to some girl. I look closer, squinting; it's Violet.

My eyes go wide. I open the door to my classroom and rush inside before they can spot me. I'm the first one here. I take a seat in the back of the class. Why were they talking? Are they friends? They can't be friends. Ryder would never hang out with someone like her.

Not that there's anything wrong with her. There's not, but they run in different groups.

The classroom door opens up, and several students, along with Violet, come in. She smiles at me before taking a seat right in front of me. My head asks more questions, but my mouth doesn't open.

...

"So only four more days till New York!" Violet squeals as we walk down the hall to our English class.

"Yeah!"

"So, what are you going to wear?" She asks.

I shrug my shoulders. "I don't know yet, probably something from my closet." It's hard to hold a conversation with her, knowing she was talking to Ryder. All I can think about is what possibly she could have had a conversation with him for.

"Wow, New York." she sighs. "I feel like that is everyone's dream place to visit. You don't know what I would give to get out of this town." She groans and opens the classroom door—Ryder isn't sitting in front of my seat like last time. He's across the classroom sitting in between Matt and Zach. He doesn't even look up when I come in. He is writing in a notebook. I walk to the back of the class with Violet, as always. She sits in the seat across from mine. James is sitting in front of me.

"What took you guys so long?" James turns around and says.

"We're not late. The bell hasn't even rung yet," Violet says. The bell then rings. "See," she adds.

Mr. Brooks comes walking in. He stands in front of his desk. " A deep sleep, the afterlife, hell, heaven, reincarnation." he pauses and then asks, "What happens when we die? " No one raises their hand to answer. "Well, for once, I'm happy no one raised their hand. What happens when we die is the only question humankind has not scientifically found the answer to. Why is that?"

Violets' hand shoots in the air.

"Ah, Violet," He calls on her.

"Well, there's no way to know what happens when we die. Once we die, we don't have any way of communicating back to the living what happened or where we are, even with reincarnation. Even though we are reborn, we don't remember that we were reborn, so it's not like I'll come back in a different body and then go find my parents or whoever and say to them, 'Hey, it's me, Violet.' I'm in a different body. But it's me. Science has no way of answering the question of death; there isn't a formula or equation that answers that question."

"Excellent answer, Ms. Holloway! She is exactly right. They will never find the answer because there is no way to know what actually happens when we die, whether we are reborn or go to hell. We will never find out what happens when we die until we die." he says. "That brings us to our word of the week. " He walks behind his desk and starts to write words on his whiteboard. Once he's finished writing, I read the words.

DEATH is written big and in all caps across the board. He turns around to his desk and picks up a stack of papers. He walks through each aisle and hands the papers out. He places one in my hand.

It reads

Death is nothing at all By Henry Adams Holland.

"Has anyone ever heard of him before?" Brooks asks the class. Two students raise their hands. "Well, this is the poem we will be focusing on today. Remember, well discuss a different one every day for the rest of this advisory. We will also read different poems based on different subjects every week. Friday, your quiz will be to write your own poem on the subject or bring in a poem you like on the subject, but you will have to explain to the class and me why you like that poem."

"So, we won't have to share our written poems?" A student asks.

"No, you will, only if you get called on," Brooks answers, and the class groans. "So who wants to read?"

The intercom makes a noise signaling that an announcement is about to be made.

"Jayda King, please report to the counselor's suite, Jayda King, please report to the counselor's suite."

Everyone looks at me as if I have done something wrong. However, I'm asking myself the same question. I wasn't expecting them to call me over the intercom. The class already starts to whisper, making up rumors about me by the second.

"Jayda, go ahead." Mr.Brooks. I grab my notebook off my desk and walk out of the classroom.