The Story of: Blythe Morgan Stewart

Prologue

I leaned my back against the moving truck and crossed my arms, looking up at my new apartment in Manhattan, New York. It wasn't anything extraordinary; 3 stories tall, the walls were orange brick, the windows and door frame black and a short staircase with a black, metal railing leading to a white door. Some windows were adorned with boxes of red flowers or green shrubs that made it all a bit more inviting.

I sighed heavily before pushing myself off the side of the moving van and grabbed a box from the back. I prepared myself for the worst as I made my way up the flight of stairs, all the way up to the third floor. I had only seen pictures of the inside online, and who knew how old those pictures actually were.

I juggled the box in one arm as I dug the key out of my front pocket. After unlocking the door, I slowly turned the knob and peaked inside. I had absolutely nothing to worry about. It was a small apartment, but I expected that going in. The floor looked almost brand new, a beautiful oak wood, and the walls were all a creamy white. It was open, no wall separating the kitchen from the living room. The kitchen was small, but I didn't cook much. The light coming in from the 2 windows lit up the entire living room. I placed the box on top of the kitchen counter and walked through the empty apartment. The bedroom was on the opposite side of the front door, the bathroom on the left side next to the kitchen. It was small, charming, and I was in love with it.

I went back down to grab some more boxes from the moving truck. I stacked two small boxes on top of each other and cradled them in my arms. As I turned to step back onto the sidewalk, a cheeky, blonde-haired girl popped up right in front of me.

"Hey!" she exclaimed. Startled, the box I had precariously stacked on top came tumbling down to the ground. "Oh my, I'm so sorry!" She scrambled to pick up the box before giving me a wide grin. "You're not from here, are you?" I shook my head as it felt like the words I wanted to speak got tangled in my throat. After a short, and awkward, pause, the girl shifted the box in her arms and stretched her hand out to me.

"My name's Roseanna, but everyone usually calls me Rosie." I shifted the box in my own arms and shook her hand. "What's your name?" After swallowing the lump in my throat, I mustered up the best response I could.

"Um, Blythe," I mumbled, taking my hand out of hers and cradling the box in my arms once again. Looking at this pink-cheeked girl in front of me, I couldn't help but wonder, was she on something?

"What a pretty name!" she exclaimed, practically jumping up and down with glee. "So, Blythe, where are you from?" I stared at her with a blank expression, and it almost seemed like her smile was getting wider and wider.

"Uh, I'm from Iowa," I told her. Her jaw dropped in awe.

"You're a long way from home, girly." I refrained myself from snickering at her comment. "My grandma owns the building you're in. Need any help?" As I stuttered for a response, she grabbed another box from the back of the truck and started walking towards the door. I let out an exasperated sigh and grabbed a second box as well. I led her up to my apartment, and this continued until everything was out of the moving truck.

"Here's my number if you ever want to hang out," she said as I closed the garage-like door on the back of the moving truck. "Or if you need anything, or need someone to show you around the city, just give me a call!" She handed me my phone back after I persisted that I didn't need her number earlier.

"What's a good bar I could go to?" I asked her hesitantly, and her face lit up like a Christmas tree.

"Pour Decisions Bar and Grill is my favorite," she said. I couldn't stop a little snicker from escaping my lips this time. "And the guy that owns it is hot. I can take you there if you want." I shook my head, holding my hand up to stop her.