The New Girl's Guide to Fitting In

1

Being the new girl, in a new school, is hard. Like, I'm talking about 'plunging into an ocean, bleeding profusely, while sharks circle your boat' hard. It was terrifying. Exhilarating, but terrifying...at least from what I've read in novels and seen on television. Being the new girl that has been homeschooled her entire life? That was uncharted territory. There were few novels that could ready me for what I was about to face. In all my seventeen years, I never thought I would get to see the inside of an actual school, let alone a prestigious private school. But, here I was, pulling my blazer tight as I strolled towards the archaic building that was the center of Laveau-Auclair Preparatory, a school for the wealthy and gifted. Why was I here? After spending my entire school-age life, up until now, being taught in the comfort of my own home? It was not an easy task. You see, I had always yearned for friends and for a normal life. While other girls played with dolls and had quaint sleepovers with the promise of cake and talks of secrets, I was pouring over notes and squeezing in time to draw, write, and read. There wasn't much else to do when you had no friends. And how could I make friends if I was constantly on the move?

Jumping from city to city; country to country, as my father was assigned to different bases and being promoted. My mother elbow deep into her photography business, so much so that she rarely spared time for her only child. It was always: jump base, find a tutor for poor little Sylvia, and then back to their grind. Always in motion. Always distracted. It was like this ever since I was born and, thank goodness, it had finally come to an end. The day that father came home and announced that he was planning to retire from the Air Force, I was beside myself. Just a sixteen-year-old girl that hadn't truly had a father in her life, not like she ever needed. And, there he was, telling me that he had done it. He had reached the end of the career and would be available to me. At least, that was what I had thought. Two months and one birthday later, we had packed up and moved back to the states. Back to Louisiana, where my mother was born and raised in New Orleans. My father had taken a corporate position, putting his law degree to use, all while my mother reached out and sought connections for her photography...leaving me, once again, alone.

I was always alone.

It was only the beginning of June and I was already crazed. I had no tutor. No friends. No life.

I was a ghost walking aimlessly, as far as everyone else was concerned. No one knew Sylvia Thatcher, not truly. It took me all but one week, here, before I stormed into my mother's home office to protest. That place was practically her room. She often fell asleep while editing and, this particular moment, I caught her drooling on the sleek desk. Her soft brown curls stuck out in multiple directions, while stray pieces had plastered themselves to her freckled cheek. My mother was one of those rare beauties that was often found in old Hollywood. Classic. Timeless.

The door hit the frame, not quite closing, as she shot up from her workspace, disoriented and startled. Her caramel colored eyes settled on mine, questioningly.

"Darling, what's wrong?" Wiping the drool away, she smoothed down her unruly hair, trying to tame it.

It didn't work.

"I want to go to school." In comparison, my voice was softer than hers. Not quite carrying the pep in it that hers did. Meek. That's how I sounded and I would be lying if I said that I didn't hate it. "I want to have friends. I want to socialize. I want to go outside and know how it feels to meet someone, other than my tutor, for lunch. Please, mom? It's over. We are settled and I just...I just want to live my life, now."

Her eyes softened at my words and she patted the chair, next to her desk before beckoning me over. I just wanted to live. I was so tired of being this person, the one that could disappear off the face of the planet and no one would know.