Here's your Sour Patch Kids

       Tons of hypothetical scenarios ran through my mind on the way to Westbrook High. A run in with the queen bee, my blue, plaid skirt ripping, falling down the stairs leading to the doors. Embarassing scenes flooded my head as my father rambled on and on about being myself and making new friends.

       I took a deep breath. I'll be fine; it is just High School after all.

      "What are you thinking about?" my father finally realized I wasn't listening. He looked at me quickly, trying to read my expression, before turning his attention back to the road before us. I wasn't going to tell him how nervous and apprehensive I felt about this. I moved from California, the sunny, nature-filled state to New Jersey. I'm definitely not used to the cold weather, since it's always at least a little warm in California. I've never seen so many pale people before.

       "Just thinking about California," I lied. Saying that did change what I was thinking about though. I remembered the last event that occurred before I left: Thomas Smith appearing at my doorstep five minutes before we were leaving, to tell me he loved me, but he was breaking up with me.

       "I just, I can't handle long-distance relationships. Not after Shelly," he had said.

      Shelly was his ex-girlfriend. They dated through freshmen year and a little bit of Summer. They broke up because THomas had gone to Paris for two weeks, and Shelly cheated on him with Eric Wilson, who was his best friend at the time.

      I let out a sigh, remembering the way my heart felt when he dumped me. It was as if somebody had ripped it out of my chest and stomped on it repeatedly. It ended with vultures coming and picking at the shreds. 

      I miss Thomas. I miss Lucy, my best friend, and the twins Tracy and Tyler. I miss my teachers, I miss my room, I miss everything. 

      I reached into my bag and pulled out a bag of sour patch kids, ripping it open and stuffing pieces into my mouth. I absolutely love sour patch kids, and I always ate them when I was nervous. They have that unique taste that I love, sour and sweet at the same time. My friends always called me a sour patch kid, since I was always eating them. Plus, "I was often in a sour mood, and often a sweet mood," so that contributes to the nick name as well. 

      "Oh Sarahhh! Where's your head at?'' my father inturrupted my thoughts. I ooked up, realizing we had arrived. Westbrook High was a large school, bigger than the private academy I had attended in California. Girls wearing white cotton shirts and plaid skirts the color of the sky walked around with bags slung across their shoulders. Guys wore tan trousers with a white button-down shirt, and a few guys had ties on. Everyone wore a simple blue jacket over their shirts. 

     There were many couples holding hands and making kissy faces at eachother. It was my first Valentine's day alone since freshmen year. Nobody was giving me flowers or chocolates. Nobody was telling me how much they loved me--

     "I love you sweetheart. Have a great day!" my father said.

    Exept my dad. I waved good-bye to him as he drove away. I walked slowly to the entrance, careful not to fall on the steps. I popped a red sour patch kid into my mouth and opened the door, then lightly pushing it for the next person. 

      I stopped at the side of the hallway, taking in my surroundings while chewing my candy. I was about to get another one, when the bag was suddenly snatched from my hand.

     "Hey!" I exclaimed as a deliciously tan boy smirked, waving the bag in front of my face. He had dark, brown hair with matching chocolate brown eyes. He had a chisled chin and soft pink lips that were curved into a mischevious smile.