Stay Close, Don't Go

“What exactly made Sheffield catch your eye?” I asked my mom, taking a bite of an apple as I leaned over the chair she was sitting in to get a view of the computer screen.

On Google she was looking at pictures of a lush green town labeled as Sheffield, England. She was clicking through random pictures. It looked okay, I liked the green and nature-ness of it. It seemed much better than where we currently where. Of course, a picture only says so much about a place.

“I don’t know,” My mom admitted. She began to type again, her nails clicking against the keys. “It just looks nice I guess.”

The next page to pop up on the internet was Sheffield Real Estate. She began clicking around the site, obviously looking for a house. Her mind was set now, I couldn’t change it.

“Want to help me pick out a house?” She asked, filling in the little survey about how many rooms and bathrooms.

“Nah it’s alright, surprise me.” I mutter and took another bite of my apple before walking away. The first time we moved, I was happy to help. Countless times later, not so much.

The topic of why we were moving still hadn’t come up. My mom probably went on a date that turned sour and now she wants to move. It was usually relationships that triggered her sudden craving for a new place.

Walking down the hall, I entered my bedroom and set my apple on my dresser. Already laid out on my floor were a bunch of flattened boxes waiting for me to expand them and pile my belonging inside.

I collapsed on my floor and lifted one of the boxes up, bending it back into the shape of a cube and set it on the floor. It would only take me one day to pack, I was an expert now.

Only about a half an hour later my mom came walking past my room, not bothering to stop, and spoke as she passed my door, “I got a place, plane tickets too, be packed by Saturday.”

Sometimes I wonder where she gets the money for this. I’ve been thinking lately the money flow from my grandma, who sadly, pities my mother to a large extent.

&&

I wonder if England meant for all their houses to look similar. Sure, they were spaced out, and some had a different landscapes to them, but they all were similar. They all were two or three stories, covered with stones, and had an old feel to it. Even if they all looked the same, I liked them.

“So what do you think?” My mom asked as we stood side-by-side in front of our new house. I didn’t call it a home, it wouldn’t be a home until we lived there for over six months.

“It seems nice.” I told her, shuffling my feet. I continued to look at it as my mom paid the cab guy that brought us here.

All we currently had with us were our two suitcases and two sleeping bags that we had flown with. Everything would arrive today or tomorrow; hopefully. With a smile for confidence, I picked up my bags and headed towards the front door.

Inside, many of the rooms had lower ceilings but still managed to be spacious. Our house had two stories. The first contained the kitchen, living room, a bathroom and a small office. The second had two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and an odd little balcony. For the most part, it seemed nice.

“Well once we get some furniture it will be just like home.” My mom said optimistically. I agreed, except the fact we were in a new country neither of us knew anything about.

My mom started to talk as she walked up the stairs, as if trying to break some more news while not having to be face to face, “Oh yeah, you start school tomorrow too.”

&&

Standing on the school lawn I stared at the building in front of me. To say I was nervous was an understatement. Not even in England for a full day and I’m already attending school. My mom is insane.

I inhaled slowly as I started to walk, trying not to think about the eyes staring holes into me. As a nervous habit, I pulled my messenger bag closer to me and looked down, watching my feet with each step. Into the attendance office I went.

The lady spoke very few words to me as she got my schedule, not explaining anything before answering a phone and shooing me off to class. Wow thanks, big helper.

As I walked back out of the office, my body collided with someone else’s. I looked up, my eyes growing large as I became nervous. The other person didn’t seem to phased. She grinned at me, her straight white teeth gleaming.

“Oh I’m sorry.” She said, sounding just as cheery as she looked. “Are yeh new? I ‘aven’t seen yeh ‘round before.”

“Uhm, yeah I am.” I replied shyly, not wanting to speak much.

“Oh wow, are yeh from America? That’s awesome. ‘Ere, let me see your schedule. I‘m Janie by the way.” She said. She spoke fast and her voice was high pitched. One of those bubby people. She was reading my schedule out loud, more to herself. “So you’re Madison?”

I nodded and she continued to talk and ramble on about things. I just followed her and listened. We had first hour together, and honestly, that’s the only reason I was with her at the moment; she knows where she is going, I don’t.

“First hour is Mr. Preston, he’s a science teacher. A pretty okay guy I guess.” She rambled pushing the door to the room open. She walked inside and I followed behind, still staying quite.

There were a lot of people already in the class; some seated and some standing around. Janie led me over to a group of two other girls. She started introducing me to them, if I can remember right, it was Annalisa and Mercy.

As they talked loudly my eyes wandered around the room, trying to distract myself from them. I looked at people, eyeing their looks and postures. Everyone was poise and seemed to move elegantly, while my American posture was slouchy and slightly harsh.

Still studying people, my eyes crossed over a boy sitting by himself in the corner of the room. He looked up, as if feeling my gaze on him. He quickly found my eyes and locked on to them.

My breath caught in my throat as I stared back into his perfect icy blue eyes. We stared for a moment, just watching each other until someone nudged me.

“Aye Madison,” it was Janie. She nudged my shoulder again and I broke my eyes away from the guy’s, looking at Janie. She spoke again, “Where are yeh from in America?”

“Uhm, I moved from California.” I replied. That sparked a new conversation about movies between them.

Intrigued, I looked back at the boy, hoping to catch his eyes again. No one has ever made me feel that anxious after one look. Sadly though, when I let my eyes look back to him, he was staring down and doodling on a notebook.

Who was he?