Four months ago, April of my junior year of high school, my dad had sat me and my sister down in our living room. Initially, I recall thinking it was odd, since we never used the room. Only for special occasions, like Thanksgiving, or one of his business dinners. I didn't dwell too much on it, however, because I was doing something that night and anxious to get out of the house. Waverly was equally disinterested. In fact, I wasn't really paying attention until I heard the word moving.

    "...by the end of the summer," he was saying. My entire head had spun. I had never moved in my entire life. Okay— that's not technically true. But I'd lived in the same house on the same street in the same town since I was two years old. Waverly had lived there her whole life. She didn't know any different, and I didn't remember any. Los Angeles, California. My home. I was from L.A. Born and raised, don't call it Cali, L.A. girl. I had no desire to go anywhere else. I never had. I was going to go to a UC school, or maybe, with a lot of hard work, Stanford. I was planning on living there my whole life. Just like my mom had.

    That had all come crashing down at once when my dad had accepted that job offer. Fine, it was a great opportunity. He was going to be a partner now. It was important. It was also in Connecticut. The firm he worked for was based in Hartford, and taking this position meant that he was relocated to the Hartford offices. AKA we were moving to Connecticut for my senior year, and I had absolutely no control over it.

    My life was in L.A.. My friends, my school, everything. It was safe there. And even though it was one of the most populated cities in the United States, I felt known there. Here, I was anonymous. I had no one. I had to leave all of it behind. The coffee shop I went to every morning before school, the country club I lifeguarded at every summer, the hole in the wall restaurant with the best tacos I'd ever eaten, all of it. The familiarity that I'd spent years cultivating had vanished in a matter of seconds.

    I was really angry for a long time after that. I still am. I felt like crying for months, sulking in my room, refusing to pack. I really did cry saying goodbye. It was the worst I'd felt since my mom died. I couldn't believe my dad was yanking me away from my last year of high school. I had begged him to let me stay with my grandma, or my best friend's family. It was senior year. I'd been looking forward to senior year since middle school.

    Now I was starting senior year at a new school with new people who had all known each other for at least four years. I had to start all over again. I was livid. And scared shitless.

    Speaking of, I dragged myself out from under my covers, where I had been burrowed in a very nice cocoon. I stood in the center of my sad, barren room. I hadn't bothered unpacking. Out of defiance or denial, I'd decided to leave the boxes strewn about the room. My room. I stared bleakly at the row of blue plaid skirts and matching navy blazers in the closet, the only clothes that currently resided there. Another new thing, wearing a school uniform. I didn't mind this one so much. Not that I'd ever tell my dad that.

  My first day of senior year was tomorrow. At Hopkins Academy, fifteen minutes away from our new house in Westport. Or so Google Maps told me.

     I sighed, laying out the skirt, the blazer, the white collared shirt, and of course, the navy socks on the window seat. My beat up, faded red backpack was already packed with the list my dad had thrust at me three days ago, when I ventured from my room to stalk into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. On the bright side, because I hadn't gone outside since our arrival, I hadn't crossed paths with that idiotic neighbor again. Drew.

    My phone rang, breaking me from my depressing train of thoughts. I flipped my phone over, the name flashing across the screen. With a slight smile, I hit accept, launching myself back onto my bed.

    "Hey," I said, trying not to sound too eager.

    "Hi!" my best friend exclaimed excitedly. The familiar sound of his voice, and the sight of his face filling the screen flooded me with a sudden rush of homesickness. "I was wondering if you were going to pick up. Isn't it late there?"

    I glanced vaguely at the clock on the built in desk, the glowing green numbers reflecting 12:03 in eerie confirmation. "Maybe," I shrugged. "But you know me." I wasn't big on the whole sleeping thing. And Aaron was well aware.

    "I do know you." Another pang of homesickness. He sighed, shaking his head in exasperation, "Don't you think you should get some rest before your big day tomorrow?"

    I groaned, burying my head in my comforter. My response was muffled, "Don't remind me."

    "Eliza."

    "Aaron," I mumbled back, already knowing what he was about to say.

    "Look at me, please," he wheedled, as I grumpily lifted my face. "You, Eliza Teresa Sterling, are going to be fine."

    I narrowed my eyes, "Did you have to middle name me?"

    "Just let me see the uniform," Aaron grinned evilly. "It's the least you could do after you up and moved to the opposite coast from me."

    "Shut up!"

    "How long is the skirt?" he pressed, laughing to himself. "Please tell me there's a tie. If I don't receive a picture of this by tomorrow there will be consequences."

    "I hate you," I mumbled, peering at his smiling face. I missed it.

    He tilted his head, "Love you too." We looked at each other for a moment longer, and I felt a hard lump forming in the back of my throat. I was reminded with renewed vigor just how far away he was. How far away I was. "Now try and get some sleep, will you?"

    I rolled my eyes, "Night, Aaron."

    "Goodnight, Eliza." The screen went dark, and the ache in my chest grew exponentially. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Any of it. I rolled to my back, fixated on my ceiling, tears welling in my eyes and blurring the blank, cream colored walls. I stayed like that for a while, until I finally flicked off the light. I closed my eyes, but I knew I wouldn't sleep.

    Morning dawned far too quickly, sun streaming in through my thin, gauzy curtains. I dressed quickly, giving myself ample time to make my hair presentable. My hair was a shade of dark blonde, like my dad's. Naturally, my hair was curly. My mom's had been too. Whereas, Waverly got my dad's pin straight hair and my mom's dark brown, nearly black coloring. However, I'd been straightening my hair pretty much every day since freshman year. It was just easier that way. And I was so used to it now, it had become routine.

    When I got downstairs I was greeted with a hastily scribbled note on the refrigerator.

    Took W to school. Have a great day!

            -Dad

    With another resigned sigh, I grabbed my keys off of the counter. Waverly's school was farther than mine, so Dad took her on his way to work in the morning. She had started a couple days ago, and she seemed to be adjusting fine. Waverly was good like that, bubbly and outgoing. She'd never had a problem making friends. I think she was genuinely excited to be at a new school.

    She would have been starting at a new school anyways. In fact, this year was supposed to be the first year since elementary school that Waverly and I were on the same campus. I was supposed to be taking her to school, showing her off, introducing her to everyone. I knew they'd all love her. But Hopkins Academy's admissions for middle school had closed by the time Dad had figured out he was taking the job.

    Driving to school felt weird. Of course, I'd had my car at home, but I'd hardly used it. Aaron drove me everywhere. Every morning he'd pull up in his Jeep, blaring something Taylor, Britney, or Avril, windows rolled all the way down. I should be there. I should be sitting in the passenger seat, feet propped on the dashboard, scream singing along with him. I should be heading to the café, where we'd meet my other best friend, Magnolia, for coffee, and inevitably pull up to school seconds before the bell rang.

    I should be with them.

    Instead I was here. By myself.

    Nostalgic, I peeked at my phone just as I parked in the unfamiliar lot. I don't know what I was hoping for. A text from Aaron maybe. Or Maggie. Or the group chat with Ana and Mel. Anything. I knew there wouldn't be though. It was early in California. None of them were up yet. I prayed that they'd make good on their promises to check in, otherwise I was looking at a very bleak first day.

    The sprawling campus of Hopkins Academy loomed before me. It was pretty, I supposed. Lots of dense trees, brick buildings, and expansive grassy hills. It was a lot larger than I was used to. Taller too. My old school was all glass and wood and slate. Very modern.

    I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Same brown eyes, same freckles, same heart shaped birthmark on my collarbone. Same silver studs, same black Converse, same red backpack. Everything was the same. Except that it wasn't. It wasn't the same at all.

    I sat there for a moment, eyes following the sea of students in identical uniforms streaming into the school. I watched friends greet each other, exchange high fives and hugs. Inhaling deeply, I steeled myself, shouldering my backpack and clambering out of my car.

    Time to be the new girl.

    "Sterling, Eliza...yes, there you are," the secretary at the front office shuffled through stack of papers, and handed me my class list, schedule, and locker information. That was going to be an adventure. We didn't use lockers at Hyland Prep. I'm sure I'd figure it out, though. How hard could it be?

    2021-2022 Course List for Sterling, Eliza:

    AP Physics - - Ethel Schneider

    AP Government - - Cara Ramsey

    Multi-Variable Calculus - - Ira Holt

    Advanced Topics in English Literature- - Michelle Dawson

    AP Spanish Literature- - Arturo Gomez

    Dance III- - Annika Khan

    My stomach plummeted as my eyes fell upon the last class. I felt my palms growing sweaty. There must be some mistake. There had to be a typo, or a misprint, or maybe this wasn't my schedule at all. That must be it. That had to be it. I managed to keep my voice even, if a tad higher than normal, "Um— I'm pretty sure I signed up for AP Art History? It— it says Dance, and um—?"

    The woman peered at the form, humming slightly, "Oh— yes, well, unfortunately Hopkins has a limit of the amount of AP's seniors can take, and you are at it."

    "A limit?" I repeated, shocked. I had never heard of such a thing. "I know I can handle this course load. My transcript from Hyland should reflect—"

    She interrupted, "It's not so much that you can't handle it. Hopkins is more concerned with whether you should. We're very mindful of students' mental wellbeing here."

    This was completely unprecedented. Whatever I was expecting, this certainly wasn't it. I'd been taking the most challenging course load possible my entire high school career. Sure, it was busy, but I needed to be busy. Now more than ever. "Okay—," I started, gnawing on my lower lip. "But— I can't— I don't dance. Is there any other class I could—?"

    "Look," the secretary smiled kindly, "this is a semester credit, so if you really don't like it, you can choose something else for the second semester. For now, just try and make the most out of it. Dance is one of our most popular electives at Hopkins."

    "Right— well, thanks anyway, " I gulped, shuffling dejectedly out of the room. Way to make a shitty day even worse. And luckily for me, it was about to get progressively shittier.

    Turns out, lockers are not as simple as I'd hoped they'd be. Mine was on the top row, and I could barely see the the stupid combination lock without standing on my tiptoes. Frustrated, and mildly embarrassed, I struggled for another five minutes, until I finally got the damn thing to open. The relief I felt when the metal lock detached did not last long.

    I checked my phone again, and I still had fifteen minutes until I had to be in class. I wasn't sure what the vibe was here yet. Was it the type of school where everyone shows up just before the last bell rings, or the type of school where everyone goes to class immediately after their last one?

    The anxiety was nearly crippling at this point. If I could just make it to class. At least there it was safer. I was prepared for the school part of school. I had never had any problem with that. It was all the other parts that terrified me.

    While debating whether I should try to find my first class, a familiar figure caught my eye. A couple yards ahead, I spotted the dreaded neighbor, outfitted in the classic Hopkins uniform, strutting without a care in the world though the halls. Of course. Of course he goes here too. That's just perfect. If he asks to carpool I might just fling myself off the nearest building. I watched as he not at all subtly eyed the backside of a young, wide eyed girl who I can only assume is a freshman. I grimaced, turning back to my locker. Ugh. He really does suck. I knew it. What a douche.

    If he's smart enough to get into this school, I know everything I need to know about him. I've been going to prep school long enough know the archetypes. Listen, I'm not a vain person, but I know as well as anyone that private school simply offers a smaller pool of attractive males than public. Pickings grow slimmer in a class of 100 versus a class of 300-500+. This unfortunately creates a power vacuum for guys like Drew. Guys who aren't ugly, sort of on a scale of average to hot, athletic enough to be the star of a sport, and smart enough to hold a conversation. In a small pond, they gain an overinflated sense of self worth, and basically are allowed to run the school, playing girls left and right. It helps that they're usually rich, and lack of options permit them to get away with most anything. Exhibit A: perving on an unsuspecting freshman's ass.

    Aaron says I have a tendency to make snap judgments. He's right. But typically, so are my snap judgments.

    "Hi," a low voice said behind me. Just perfect. That's just perfect.

    I swiveled around slowly, arms crossed tightly over my chest. I knew whose face I was about to see. "Hi," I replied with a raised eyebrow. I couldn't believe he was trying this again.

    He ran a hand through his dark curls, "So— I uh— haven't seen you around—"

    Oh my god. He didn't even remember me. I almost laughed. He was trying it again because he didn't remember the failure from the first time. He talks up so many girls that not only can he not remember their names, but he can't remember faces. The image of Drew in my head was now cemented. Apparently, I was right on the damn money.

    "I'll save you the breath," I cut him off.  "You already attempted to hit on me a week ago when I moved in."

    A flash of recognition finally crossed his expression, the corner of his mouth lifting, "New neighbor."

    "Ding, ding, ding," I confirmed with a roll of my eyes, voice dripping with saccharine sarcasm

    Drew's lips twitched slightly, adding, "New neighbor who doesn't like me."

    "Oh," I tilted my head, smiling in the most condescending manner possible, "so you do have the ability to retain information beyond that freshman's ass." I exclaimed sweetly, shaking my head in false amazement, "Miracle of miracles."

    My moment of triumph was short lived. Drew recovered quickly, smirking at the challenge, "Jealous?" His lip curled, and I could feel his gaze raking over me like hot coals, "I can check out your ass too." His dark eyes drifted downwards, and my face flamed.

    "Why?" I fired back, nostrils flaring. He should not have pushed me. Like I'd be so lucky as to have his sleazy once over. Like I should be thanking him for the service. "Because you're somewhat attractive and smart and you think that the world is beholden to you?"

    Grinning, Drew leaned against the lockers, "So you think I'm attractive?"

    I blinked at him, disbelieving. "Wow!" was all I could manage. He was just that self absorbed. Scoffing, "Really? That's what you took from what I just said?" I shook my head, whipping back around, fully prepared to stalk off to my first class. At this rate, the energy I'd wasted talking to this piece of human filth may have made me late. Hopefully, our paths wouldn't cross again.

    "Multi-Variable Calculus first, huh?" said Drew, who was reading my schedule over my shoulder.

    I sped up my pace through the halls, "Are you following me or something?"

    "Just trying to get to class in a timely manner," he replied innocently, still annoyingly at my heels.

    "You're in Multi-Variable Calculus?" There was no way. I was three years advanced in math. This class wasn't even offered at some schools. The only silver lining I was counting on was that given the demanding nature of my course load, he wouldn't be in most of my classes.

    "That felt hurtful."

    "Good."

    I noticed as we walked down the halls that Drew nodded greetings to almost everyone. People shouted at him, girls waved, everyone seemed to know him. Not just know him— worship him. It was sickening. He was still peering over my shoulder "AP Physics, AP Government..." he read down the list, whisking lowly. "We have almost the exact same classes."

    I groaned, "Seriously?"

    "Well," he smirked again, "there is one difference."

    "Which is?"

    "I'm taking AP Art History," Drew informed me smugly. "You know what? I totally understand. It can be challenging for some people. It's alright. Now I didn't really peg you as a dancer, but—"

    My temper had just about reached its boiling point, and I stopped just in front of the classroom, spinning around. "How are you taking AP Art History? " I demanded, stung. "They told me I couldn't because it went past their limit."

    Drew tapped the paper, "I'm in Honors French, not AP Spanish Lit."

    I tightened my jaw, "But— but that's still an honors class."

    "Right you are, neighbor," he said. "But not an AP."

    Well, that was just complete bullshit. The favorable reactions to my stupid neighbor only increased when we entered the classroom. And of course, he insisted on holding the door open for me, which I had to accept. What was I supposed to do? Refuse to go into the room? Thankfully some of his adoring fans beckoned him over, and I took a grateful seat on the opposite end of the room, letting out a momentary sigh of relief.

    Our teacher introduced himself as Mr. Holt, and launched into a long winded intro about the class. While he was droning on, the girl to my left leaned across the row towards me, "Psst. Hey."

    "Sorry?" I whispered back, confused. I was sure she must have the wrong person.

    "How do you know Drew Wilder?" she prompted.

    I was taken aback. "What?"

    "Drew Wilder," she repeated, jerking her head across the room at him.

    "Oh— um, I don't," I told her, honestly. Not sure why she was so interested.

    She frowned, "He walked you in."

    "Oh— not really," I muttered. I didn't want to draw any attention to myself. The plan was to be invisible, hanging on til' I'd graduate and go back to California for college. "I'm new here. I don't know anyone."

    "So you're not— like— a thing?"

    "Um— no." I paused, "Why do you ask?"

    "The Wilders like run the school, pretty much," she said in a hushed tone. "All the girls want to date him."

    I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Of course they did. Wilders. Plural. Did that mean there was more than one of him? Was there an equally skeevy brother lurking around the corner? Another one to contend with as my neighbor? God, I hoped not.

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coco