I hate rain.

And yet, that's all I see as my parents and I drive through the streets of New York. It drums at the windows and roof. We moved here because my father's company went bankrupt and had to close down. My father's bank moved him to their New York. Of course, that meant Mom had to leave her job, and I had to leave my school. I think it bothered her more than me. I was glad to change schools. I was the student's favorite beast of burden. Don't ask me why, I have no idea. All I know is no one wanted to pick in sports class, or sit with me at lunchtime, and lots of people teased me for no reason. Anyway, I'm glad we moved. Maybe I won't be as much as an outcast, here.

"Everything okay, sweetheart?" My father asks from the front. "You're really quiet, back there."

"I'm fine, Dad," I say, forcing a smile. "I'm just tired."

"Well, it has been a long day. " Mom comments. "But we'll be there soon."

And sure enough, after about ten more minutes, we reach the parking lot for our building. Well, the building we're going to stay in, since it's not really our apartment. I'd been a couple of times when I was little, for Christmas, I think. We park and climb out. We sold a lot of our stuff because my uncle's apartment had everything we needed. It would feel strange, sleeping in a bed that wasn't mine... but hey, change isn't necessarily bad... right?

I used to think moving was the most exciting thing that would happen to me. How wrong was I. I'm not sure how we get all the bags and boxes from the car to the apartment, but somehow we do. As Mom and Dad work to sort through the boxes to fish out what we need for the night, I take a look around.

The apartment certainly isn't the kind we would usually have been able to afford. Linoleum table counter, heated floor, spiral staircase, two bathrooms, two bedrooms and even an office, which I'm sure Dad will find useful. The living room is huge, with long black leather sofas and a large television screen.

"It's amazing none of this is dusty...!" I comment.

"Your uncle has a cleaning lady come once a week to clean up," my mother explains, the upper half of her body hidden inside a box. "Ah ha!" she exclaims, pulling out the coffee maker. "Found it!"

"Mom, you know there's probably a bigger, ten times more expensive one already out," I point out with a grin.

"Mine works just fine," my mother says.

I shake my head in amusement. I don't like coffee, but my parents can't function without their morning cup.

We order Chinese food, that night, because after that long day packing and driving, no one felt like cooking. We eat on the couch in front of the television. Usually, my parents never allow that, but it wouldn't hurt just once, would it?

"Hmm, we'll have to get this again, it's delicious," Dad says, munching on his meal.

"Yes, it's that place down the street we saw on the way up," Mom explains. "How's yours, Jordan?"

"It's great," I say. "I notice I'm the only one using the chopsticks," I add with a grin.

Not that I'm surprised. My parents are great, but they're hopelessly clumsy. It's part of what brought them together, actually. They bumped into each other in high school once. Literally. She was running late, turned to fast and ran into the man who would later become my dad. And they found each other cute, got talking and voilà. They went out a few years, graduated from college, got married, and I arrived. What do you mean, how? You know! I am not going into detail, thank you!

Anyway, so I was born, and my life was fairly ordinary. Average house, average school, a couple of friends... and then I was made to move over to New York, where I knew no one, had no bearings... and I wasn't all that happy about it. But that's where my life is now, and what my parents want, so... Being only sixteen, I don't exactly get my say in the matter. I sigh and look out the window. At least it's stopped raining...

"Yeah, well, there's no law that says Chinese food must be eaten with chopsticks," dad says jokingly.

"No, but it takes all the fun out of it if you don't!" I argue. "And don't they say "When in Rome, do as the Romans do?" or something?"

"Ah, but we are not in Rome, Jordan," Dad counters, pointing his fork at me. "We are in New York, and New Yorkers eat with knives and forks."

"Okay, okay, fine!" I concede with a laugh.

We finish dinner, and as I go to sleep that night, I can't help hoping my first day at school will be as easy as it is to talk with my parents.

"Jordan! Have you seen my keys?" my mother's voice pines from downstairs.

"There's in the bowl on the table, Mom!" I call back.

My mom is very good at her job as a P.E. teacher, but she has a tendency to forget where she'd put things, sometimes. My dad is the opposite. He never loses anything. He's hyper organized. It's almost scary. Although, he is a bank manager, so I suppose you have to be organized when you're doing that sort of job.

"Oh, so they are. Thank you. I have to run, I love you, bye!"

"Bye, Mom, love you too!" I say as I finish tying my long hair up.

I had at least convinced her to enroll me in a school that wasn't the one she went to. I love her, but I do not want to have to take all the comments and teasing I know I would endure if I went to the same school as her. It had taken a while, but she had accepted. So now, I was on my way to my new school under a gray sky and drizzle. It was going to be a rainy day, I was sure of it. Possibly even a storm. I had a knack for sensing those, somehow.

A bus rid and subway stop later, I'm there. Townsend Harris High School. It's a large brick building of a dull gray. I follow the sea of students inside under a heavy rain, my umbrella firmly in hand. Just then, a gust of wind blows it clean out of my hand. I groan and run after it. Before I can catch it however, someone else does it for me.

"Thanks," I say, taking it back.

"No problem. Come on, let's get out of the rain!"

Rather wet and windswept, we make it inside. He lowers his hood and pauses in the hall as I fold up my umbrella and try to salvage the soggy mess that used to be my hair.

"You new? I don't think I've seen you in Townsend before." the boy asks.

"Yes, I moved here this weekend," I say. "I'm Jordan. Jordan Carter, nice to meet you."

I hold out my hand, which he warmly shakes. His eyes were as bright as his smile.

"Peter. Peter Parker."