Dear Dakota | Academic Rivalry Story

Prologue

N Y L A D Y L A N S

Dear Dakota,

Guess who's coming back to Presley in four days? Nyla Dylans. Me. I could text this to you but I wanted the news to slip as I am on my way back to New York. The drive is nineteen hours so you, Laney, and Atlas should have plenty of time for my arrival.

Okay, let me stop. I sound like a princess coming into a land that isn't hers. I am so excited to see you three again.

Meet me at our spot.

4:30 ( I am being nice since you guys do have school.)

Talking about school, I am beyond pissed right now. I would have been named Valedictorian if I wasn't about to move. Tough luck on my end. Anyway, see you at Presley.

Love, Nyla Leigh Dylans (the South taught me to actually use my middle name for once)

I click my pen closed as I stand up to reach the shelf right above my desk. Everything in my room is packed and ready to be sent to the mover's truck tomorrow night. Everything but this singular envelope I set on my shelf only for this note.

Folding my blue-lined paper, I tape the back of the envelope - not licking it- before quickly writing Dakota's house address on the front.

I am going back.

What a strange sentence to go through my mind.

When I moved away from the city of Presley I was only aware of two things. One, it was for my parents' business and two, we wouldn't be coming back. Eleven-year-old me had no idea how much leaving that city was going to affect my life.

Not one single person in my new city wanted to be my friend.

More like I didn't want to be theirs, but you get the idea.

I hate living in the South. Inevitably, there were new people. And with new people comes a lot of changes. Still to this day I am not used to people calling me sugar cube and sweetie pie.

Southern hospitality is one thing I came into the state of Florida not knowing and will come out of the state still not knowing a damn thing.

Northerners could give two shits about what people have to say. That much says a lot.

An annoying beeping noise comes from my upper arm. I internally groan, looking at the notification my Dexcom just sent to me. It only takes a matter of seconds for my mom to be yelling my name from downstairs.

My blood sugar is too low.

The first thing I would do is wait it off, but that is a stupidly idiotic idea. I grab ahold of my envelope and bring it down downstairs with me.

I see one of the things I hate the most as soon as I enter the kitchen.

"Do I have to?" I complain, looking at the three glucose tablets my mom already set out for me on the empty island counter. "I'll take them after I put this in the mailbox," I tell my mom in the least convincing way possible. I make it halfway down the main entrance of our house until my name echoes through the hallway.

Ever since I moved away from the North my blood sugars have been getting to lower points more often. The hot temperature and humidity here are horrible, only causing those scary blood sugar levels to decrease.

My doctor from Presley sent us down here to visit the best Endocrinologist she knew. I had no idea my diabetes was the reason we moved here until my parents broke the news a few years ago.