of a girl I knew once in a dream

1

Your POV

I'd grown up in England, sixteen years of my life I had been British. Now, I sat at the table in our small cottage kitchen, eyeing my father with a combination of surprise and contempt.

I placed my mug of tea down on a coaster, "Are you serious? Like, seriously serious?"

My dad nodded, smiled a little, it was an awkward smile, "Y/N, I know this isn't ideal but it's a great opportunity for me."

I frowned, "You couldn't find an opportunity in Surrey? London even?" I huffed and fiddled with the handle of my mug, "Why New York?"

"I thought you liked New York?" he asked me.

"Dad how could I possibly like New York? I've never been." I grumbled out, frustrated with him, "What about Mum? Alex?"

"They're welcome to visit. Alex that is, not your mother. She can stay in England when your brother visits."

The word brother made my jump and I shot him a glare, "Dad."

He held up his hands, "Sorry. When your sister visits..." he cleared his throat, "...not quite used to that yet..." he rubbed the back of his head.

"It's been a year." I told him, "Come on, it's not hard." I picked up my mug and took a sip of tea, "If you want me to move to New York with you, you'd better get used to Alex using her preferred pronouns."

He nodded quickly, resting his hands on the oak table we shared dinner on every evening, "Yes of course... I'm thankful she hasn't changed her name at least."

I grumbled quietly into my mug. She'd asked me not to call her Alex though, and so her contact in my phone read Olivia, and whenever we spoke on the phone, I'd called her Olivia, or Liv, which had quickly become an acceptable nickname.

"Just, if you invite her out to New York, use the correct pronouns for the love of Christ." I told him, "It's the least you can do." I finished my tea and pushed my chair back, moving across the kitchen to the Belfast sink and placing the mug in it gently, a soft clink ringing out at the ceramics met.

"So..." he called from his spot at the table, "you'll come with me?"

I turned around and leant against the sink, "Well, considering you have custody I don't really have much of a choice, do I?"

He looked away. I felt a pang of guilt at my words, but it was true.

"No," he said after a moment, "but... I want you to be okay with it regardless."

I watched him as he turned back to look at me, his eyes boring into me like hot pokers, I felt uncomfortable.

"I'm not," I said, "but you're my dad..." I shrugged and gave him a small smile, "...which part of New York?"

______

A few weeks later, and I found myself waiting in the office of Midtown High School in Forest Hills, Queens. I wasn't starting today; I was here for a casual visit, to get a tour of the school so that when I did start, I knew where I had to go for all my classes. Although I doubted I would remember because on my brief walk through to the office the school was huge, and I had a terrible memory. I'd be late to classes for months. 

That and it was an American school, which was entirely different from the schools I'd attended in England. It would certainly take some time to get used to it all. I was itching to get my phone out of my pocket and text Liv, even though the time difference meant she'd be in class herself, but I'd been sat in the office for getting on fifteen minutes and I was boring quickly.