Socially awkward, anxious Erin Young moves to Briar Cove with her mother, little brother and her peculiar grandmother.
Her path soon crosses with that of the quirky, often rowdy Briar Cove clan. Will the wacky bunch help her get over her guilt of pa...
I can't move; my legs are just as horrified as I am. I wish I could just turn around and run back to my safe space. My sanctuary, far away from the terrifying swarm of creatures milling about in the school parking lot, filled with foreign purpose.
Do I still have a safe place to run to?
Two days ago, we moved into a tiny pillbox perched on top of a convenience store. I haven't met our direct neighbours yet, but someone on the floor below ours loooooooooves her karaoke game! She has a pretty good voice, but seriously, how many times a day can one person sing Coldplay's Feels Like I'm Falling in Love before they realise that there's no such thing as love?
At least not the romantic kind.
Lust! That's all! The words should be: Feels like I'm falling in lust... and will fall out of it again within a few days.
My mom, grandma, little brother and I left our lives in Grey Mount behind and came to Briar Cove, a small coastal town where the weather is always as pleasant as the people. Yup, that is the friggin' phrase on their equally corny website. I did some research before we came.
I don't agree with that pleasantness claim unless it was meant sarcastically, and then I don't want to meet the citizens. We had a wild rainstorm the first night after we moved in, and I've been too blooming tired to explore much since. At least, that was what I told myself and my mom. Truthfully, I was too anxious to leave the apartment. I've created a tiny cave for myself where I can feel marginally safe.
I miss my huge room in my huge house in the huge city that had been my home for almost 17 years. Why is it always the innocent, the victims, the hurt ones that need to pack up their lives and start all over in a quaint town where there is apparently no difference between the people and the weather?
How is that fair?!
I deserve this. I'm not the real victim, after all. I'm not innocent. I drag my guilt around with me like a thick cloak I cannot discard. It weighs me down, killing my joy.
I've only been in town two days, and so far, my community interaction consisted of paying for some snacks at the convenience store - the depressed-looking man working the cash register barely glanced up from his newspaper while scanning my purchases - and seeing a girl with an amazing mass of red curls flying in the breeze on the walkway between our apartment and the beach.
She was begging a half-dead pug to be a good little alien and make a nice poop for her to collect. I didn't stick around to meet her and accidentally find out why she's into collecting alien poop. I wanted to get to my room with the snacks I bought, and she was too busy giving her dog pooping instructions to notice me.
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