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I was going to like this English class. Miss Hillard was young and interesting. She was starting the quarter with creative writing. We each had a writing journal that she passed out walking up and down the aisles between desks as she handed each of us a book.
We could also put impromptu poems in them. Some writing assignments were inspired and some we were given free reign to write whatever came to mind. I liked being creative, so this was going to be a fun class for me.
Miss Hillard stopped in front of the class. “First assignment for your writing journal. Write an essay about yourself. Complete honesty about who you think you are and what you want to be. Only you will read them.” She slipped onto the edge of the desk. “Some assignments I’ll ask you to read aloud, but some will always remain private. Get started.”
I chewed on my pencil. I was fifteen years old. What the hell did I know about myself?
I’m Abby Gardener.
Tyson’s sister.
Tyson and Kat Gardener’s daughter.
I started with the easy stuff. I realized that I always started with Tyson. I would always be his sister first before anything even if he chose to ignore me.
I moved here to White Oak Creek, Ohio this summer. Today is my first day of school in this new town. I was scared walking in here this morning. I wanted to walk in with Tyson, but I knew he wouldn’t like it, so I stayed behind him.
I miss my brother, not physically because I see him every day but mentally. We used to talk every night after showers. We would snuggle in one of our beds and talk when we were younger. What had happened to us during school? What was going on in our lives. Ty was my best friend. Now, I don’t exist in Ty’s world. I want to exist again. I miss my brother.
So, who am I?
I’m creative and a nerd. I love to write and read. I write stories in my own private journal at home. I also write stories on a teen fantasy website called TheDystopian.com. No one, but my Grandma knows about those stories.
My grandma gave me my love of books as a small child when she used to read to me. Last year, she lost Grandpa. Mom wanted her to come with us to White Oak Creek, but she refused. Her life was in our old town, Hillsdale where her friends were. She told Mom she would miss us, but she promised to visit us in White Oak Creek. It was an airplane ticket for her, but she didn’t care if she got to see us several times a year.
I am a disappointment to my parents. My brother is the one that makes them proud. No matter how many A’s I get it doesn’t get their attention because I can’t hit a tennis ball. I can’t throw a baseball. I can’t throw or catch a football. I’m not their athletic child. That’s Tyson.
I accept what I am to my family because I know that someday I will be more than they think I am. I want to go to college and take journalism courses. I want to write as my career. I’m not sure where that will take me yet, but I know I want to be someone not hiding behind my glasses afraid of the world.
Someday, I want to find my voice.
The bell rang ending first period. I closed my journals and put it inside my backpack on the floor and grabbed it up slinging it to my shoulders. Then I got up and headed down the aisle.
“What’s your next class?” Cal asked leaning over my shoulder so he could whisper in my ear. His breath was warm, and his voice was deep. I almost shivered in response.
I glanced up and behind me. “History,” I replied. My own voice trembled. He unnerved me. He was taller than me by at least four inches. Unusual for boys my age.
“What’d you know, that is where I’m heading too. I’ll walk you there.”
Chapter 3
The last class of the day was gym class. The last thing I ever wanted was to have gym class with my brother, the star athlete.
First thing we did was run laps. I hated running laps. I pulled my long hair up into a high ponytail, so it wasn’t laying on my neck. Then I ran. After the third lap around the gymnasium I had a stitch in my side.
Sweat poured down my cheeks and dripped onto my shirt. Tyson passed by me. He didn’t appear to be sweating at all, that shithead. He was used to running because of football and baseball but he could at least sweat.
Then he appeared beside me, slowing his gate. Cal smiled. “Not a runner,” he suggested.
“What was your first clue,” I huffed.
He chuckled. “You can do this,” he encouraged me.
I rolled my eyes at Cal. He didn’t know me very well.
“You have the most amazing blue eyes. They are so pale in color.”
“Thanks.” I replied while struggling to breath. We had at least five more laps to go. I wasn’t sure I was going to make it. That stitch in my side was getting worse.
