Don't Worry Dearest

Moving from my sunny town of Los Angeles, California didn't put me in a very good mood. Sheffield, England is a dreadful place. To me, it is anyways. I hate the cold. I hate the rain. But maybe that's just my pessimistic side coming out, It's been very talkative lately.

Let me backtrack a minute, just in case you're confused.

I'm Myra Callas, just so you know. Now what, do you ask, am I complaining about? Well. Apparently, my father decided to sign me up for an exchange student program, so for the next year and a half, I'm stuck in a mini-town. Sheffield, wedged into Yorkshire, England.

More good news! My father also thought it would be a good idea to do this shenanigan during my senior year, causing me to have the basic beg and plead session, only ending me up grounded for the few weeks I had left in sunny California.

Sighing, I stick my head in my hand, looking out the window of the plane, London bound. From London, I'll be picked up by the parents of my exchanger, Mike or Matt Something. I really didn't look at the info of the Brit anyways, No point.

“Myra! Over here!” I hear a voice call out form the crowded terminal, located over by a coffee stand, instantly making me walk over, in desperate need of caffeine. Standing by the cart, is who I suppose to be Mr. and Mrs. Kean. Mrs. Kean is small and petite, short brown hair, big eyes. Mr. Kean, tall, dirty blonde hair, semi-muscular arms.

I shove through the throng of people and make my way over to them, keeping my beat-up messenger bag close to my side. Brushing my long chocolate brown hair out of my face, I make it in front of the Kean's, causing Mrs. Kean to tackle me in a hug.

Seeing as she's about two inches taller than me, It feels pretty awkward, but I don't say anything.

“Oh my. You do have the prettiest green eyes.” She breathes and looks at my eyes. “But you must consider losing all of that black junk. It just hides them” She says and shakes her head and grabbing my hand.

“Hello Melanie. You can just call me Robert, unless that's uncomfortable, then you-” He starts to tell me as we make our way to get my suitcases, but I stop him, pushing back laughter.

“That's okay. I don't mind.” I say and a smile tugs at his lips and I notice the laugh lines.

“Good. And you'll be getting the guest bedroom. Matthew's room is a disaster, literally. I swear something died in there.” Mrs. Kean points out to me, giving my hand a squeeze. And I nod, also knowing she can't see me.

But then it takes me back to my previous fears. School.