First Impressions

I stare at all the boxes. So. Much. Cardboard. I walk over and crouch down in front of a box marked 'Shirts'. Unlike most girls, I pack light. Before we started packing, I went through all my clothes; seeing what fit and what didn't. Most of my shirts and pants didn't so I gave them away to a local Good Will store. Mom saw how much I had grown out of my clothes; so she said we'd go on a shopping spree when we moved. I put all my shirts up on hangers to go into my closet and folded a few pairs of jeans and put them in my only dresser along with my sweats, socks, under-garments, ect.

I then start on my other boxes that had more valuable ornaments in it. I know; shocker, I don't care about clothes. Trust me; there are way more important things in life other than cloth that you'll just end up throwing away next year. I pull out my books and set them in a pile under the shelves I want them on and then start pulling out a lot of other random junk.

I manage to push my bed to the middle of my room, the headboard against the wall; and then throw my black and blue polka dot comforter on top of the sheets. I shove my pillows in their pillow cases and toss them into their rightful place. Have you ever had a special pillow that you just can't live without? Well, I just happen to have one. I've had it ever since I was three; it's old, tattered, and torn. Mom keeps trying to persuade me to get rid of it; but I still refuse. Believe it or not; this pillow is one of the most important things in my life. Like a stuffed bear that you've had ever since you were five and you ended up getting so attached to him you named him Snuggle Bear. Then years later, you come across him in the attic and it's like seeing an old friend again.

I start searching through the boxes for my CD player. I give out a triumphant yell as I find it. I set it up on my bed stand and pop a CD in it, letting it blare out so loud that I can feel the vibration on my bed. I start head-banging as I make my way over to another box. Yes, I do happen to be obsessed with head-banging music; actually, any music I like really. As long as it's not by a-wanna-be, blonde pop star, and a guy who sings like a girl, I'm pretty much good. I mostly just stick to bands that I've known forever, though. I lean my guitar against the wall beside my bed.

I do want to become a musician. I haven't touched my guitar except just to doodle because I am writing a song right now, but it's nowhere near done. It's getting there though. Besides guitar, I can play the piano, violin, and drums. I self taught myself on the piano and violin before learning how to play the drums in middle school where I was in band.

I pull out various drawings by yours truly, a lot of pictures of me and my friends, more of my favorite books, posters, and more CD's. I pull out two of my lava lamps that were black and purple and blue and green. I set one of my desk, then the other on my night stand. I stand back and look at my room.

A complete, absolute mess.

I decide to wait to finish my room. Let's see, I have a week until school starts and three days until I have to actually start getting stuff for school…. Or as I like to say: My Doom. You see, school wouldn't be so bad if they would just let you sleep in and not give you homework; or do any work for that matter. It's called My Doom because teachers and I don't work very well together, and I don't really get along with all the rich kids. Now it's called My Doom for another reason. I don't know anybody at this school besides Brad; and I'm pretty sure he doesn't want to be my new best friend.

I stare at my wall; planting an image in my head. Red. No, Crimson. Yeah. I'll paint my walls crimson. Don't ask me why, it just came to me. I'm an impulse person. I live on impulse and guts alone. Aren't I fun? So far, I've ran with scissors and haven't died, I've jumped off my roof and only suffered a broken arm, glued my belly button shut and only got the liberty of getting it pulled apart by tweezers, was able to fit into a locker- which was pretty amazing actually, until they closed the locker and couldn't get it open. I spent my whole day in that dumb locker; did I mention I'm Closter phobic? Oh, and I somehow managed to blow the microwave up with only a marshmallow. I'm probably already seeming crazy from all of those right now.

I suddenly see Mom fly through the door and practically pummel my CD player. She fumbles with turning it off while also trying to cover her ears. I stare at her, almost boredly until she actually manages to turn it off.

"Hey! I was listening to that!" I yell like a little kid. She takes her hands off her ears and stands up straight.

"I know but you need to get ready. We're leaving in 45 minutes. You can play it after your shower." Mom says walking out. The difference between my mom and regular moms is that she's a teenager in a forty-year-old woman's body. She doesn't mind my music or anything; in fact, she actually starts singing to it. Mom has always said that I'm the spittin image of her when she was my age; attitude and everything. I guess that's supposed to be taken as a compliment.

I get off my bed and walk to my bathroom across the hall; my combat boots thudding against the hard wood floor. I open it and let my eyes adjust to the brightness. Everything was so white it reminded me of a hospital. Mom had put up my fishy shower curtain. I love my fishy shower curtain. They were all different colored fish and a whole different species. The rest of the curtain was clear; I've been so thankful that nobody has walked in on me while I'm in the shower. I'm not a really modest person, I mean, I've streaked across the football field during Homecoming; but I do like my privacy.

I start the hot water and pull out a lime green towel. My towels were the entire rainbow if you looked at it right. I jump in and start washing.

"AHG!" I scream when shampoo squirts in my eye. I jump from the stinging and slip on the bar of soap and slip, falling on my butt. I groan when I get back up. This had to atleast happen three times a week. I turn off the water and search blindly for my towel. I find it and wrap it around myself, taking a smaller towel and wiping the shampoo out of my eye.

I brush my hair, teeth, dried myself and threw the towel in the hamper. I walk freely, letting everything show. Only two people lived here and they were both woman, it's nothing we've never seen before. I walk into my room and start searching for my underwear; forgetting which drawer it's in. I finally find them and slip them on along with my bra and undershirt. I then manage to slip on a pair of old jeans and a plain navy blue shirt. I finish tying up my combat boots and hop downstairs, meeting Mom at the front door.

"Come on, let's get going." Mom slings her purse over her shoulder and walks out the door. I lock the door then walk behind her to the Flitcher house. I decided while I was in the shower, it'd be better to behave…. Atleast while Mom's around anyway. I watch Mom ring the doorbell. The door swings open and out walks Brad and Mrs. Flitcher. They (Moms) exchange greetings while Brad and I exchange glares. We go over to a car and get in, Brad and me in the back. I sit as far away from him as possible.

Mom and Mrs. Flitcher start talking while I stare out the window. Then we pass right by Riter High.

"Autum, that's were you'll be going to school." Mrs. Flitcher says as we pass by. I stare at it. The school was big, two stories tall, a track field, four basketball courts outside, six tennis courts, a place to have lunch outside. The campus didn't really seem that bad.

"Great." I mumble. I hear Brad snort and whip my head around to look at him. He was staring straight ahead but looking at me out of the corner of his eye at me.

"What?" I ask. I really didn't like this guy.

"Nothing." he said.

"Just tell me!" I demand. He turns his head fully around to stare at me some more. I grip and un-grip my fists; I really don't like being stared at when I don't know the reason why.

"You're such an idiot." He says bluntly then turns back around. I feel my eye twitch.

"Well you're such a jerk-face." I snap back. He then turns his body along with his head in his seat.

"Well you're ugly."

"Didn't you know my face is a mirror?"

"Man."

"Turd."

"Freak!"

"Freaker!"

"That's not even a word!"

"It is now."

"No it's not."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes!"

"No!"

"You're such a prick."

"And you're an annoying monkey's butt!" He growls, but a smirk still plays on his lips.

"Well, you look like something that came out of a monkey's butt!" I retort.

"Well at least I look better than you!"

"Well at leas-"

"Be quiet, Autum." He cuts me off and folds his arms. I scowl.

"No. You can't make me."

"You're so childish."

"Atleast I'm not dead!"

"Shut up!"

"Make me!"

"Fine."

"Haha, no you wo-mmphgmuturch!" I gag as Brad covers my mouth with his hand while his other hand is on the back of my head so I can't jerk away. He must have scooted over to do this so quickly. I try shaking my head to get out of his grip. No dice. Then I get an idea. I lick his hand.

"Heh. You don't know where that's been." He says smirking. My eyes pop open and I start struggling more. Why must my mother choose this time to be completely oblivious? "Ifph harich yoush!" I scream into his hand. He raises an eyebrow and takes his hand off. I wipe my mouth and my tongue with the back of my hand.

"Sorry, what'd you say?" He asks cockily.

"I. Hate. You." I growl.

"Good. Let's keep it that way."

"We're here." Mrs. Flitcher says in a sing-song voice.