The New Girl

Abby Miller is just getting over the death of her mom when she is shipped to live with her aunt Rebecca, an overprotective worrywart with a son not much older than Abby.

Abby is unsure of the new unfamiliar town and it's strange people. But, the people are just as unsure about Abby's strange style and personality. As she becomes accepted into their world, Abby is very cautious not to dive in headfirst.

She has been hurt enough times in her life to realize that all good things must come to an end. Will she let herself be immersed by the lives of those here? As Abby comes to meet some truly amazing people, she realizes that hurt isn't something that just one person has to deal with, it's something that is prominent in everyone's life.

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1. Abby's Point of View

 

The toilet paper was the first thing I noticed.

It was thin and rough and scratchy. My mom always believed in buying good toilet paper. She would say, “Life can be a pain in the ass, we might as well have good toilet paper.”

Rebecca also had little pots of potpourri next to every sink in the house. My mother had always hated potpourri. I still did.

“Abigail, it’s time to go.” Rebecca knocked quietly on the door. I stayed silent, hoping that maybe if I didn’t make any noise, she would just go away. “Abigail, please sweetheart, you’re going to be late.”  I heard her say nervously but I stayed silent.

“Mom, she’s not coming out. Give it up.” I heard my cousin Steven mutter.

I waited for their footsteps but instead heard a faint clicking. A few moments later, the heavy door swung open and Rebecca stood in front of me, triumphantly holding a thin silver key.

Rebecca was nowhere near as beautiful as my mother.

            She was tall and skinny with frizzy hair that was the color of rotting bananas. Her skin was pale and freckly and stretched tight against her hollowed cheeks. She wore her pants two inches too short and she smelled like rotten mothballs. The only part of her that was pretty was her eyes and that was because they were green, like my mothers.

            She finally coaxed me into her grimy minivan because Steven had already left. We drove for a while. She asked me if I was hungry and I was, but I said I wasn’t. We stopped at a massive brick building and I wordlessly got out of the car.

            I got inside and was immediately taken by surprise. I felt like I was in a jcrew campaign. Almost all of the girls donned tennis dresses, cardigans, or pleated skirts. Most guys were wearing khaki pants, crewneck sweaters, button down shirts, loafers, boat shoes, or polos.

            I stuck out like a sore thumb in my black leggings, gray flowy tank top, and cropped denim jacket. Unlike the other girls, my hair wasn’t perfectly curled or pinned up. Instead, it was tossed into a messy bun, still damp from my shower. Sunglasses perched on my head and my leather bag was dangling  cross body style. My black flip flops kept awkwardly smacking the ground.

            I reached into my bag and clutched my photograph. I carried it everywhere and it helped calm me down when I was nervous. It was taken on a day when my mom called the school and said I had an appointment and came to pick me up early. We drove for hours, my feet dangling out the window, the radio blaring. She wouldn’t tell me where we were going and hours later, we arrived at a small diner in the middle of nowhere. The sign had read “Rosie’s” in peeling red paint.

            She told me how her first date was at this restaurant and together, we ordered three orders of pancakes and managed to eat every bite. When we were done eating, she tossed her phone to a complete stranger and asked for a picture. We smiled in preparation but the man’s face while he was trying to work the camera was hysterical. The final picture was the two of us, keeling over in laughter, our eyes squinted shut and our mouths open in bubbly belly laughs.

            She had tried to call Rebecca that night to tell her about the day but Rebecca was so appalled because my mom had taken me out of school and so she didn’t even bother to finish her story.

            But that was all before. It was before the accident. Before the funeral, and before I was shipped to Mayfield to live with my aunt. 

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