I sit perched in my reading nook, flipping pages of my book anxiously. Any minute, I will be meeting my new neighbors, who I have no intention of becoming acquainted with, no matter what my mother says. The woman knows I prefer being alone.
I don't remember the last time I had a friend. I don't even remember the last time I had someone over. It's been too long. In fact, I haven't left my house all summer. It's easier that way; you never have to face reality.
Me, making friends? Forget it. Been there, tried that. It wasn't successful. I don't know why people never really like to be near me, but it's always been like that. And that's okay, for me at least.
Too soon, my mother opens the door. "They're here, Elizabeth. Time to meet your new neighbors."
"I don't recall heari-" I begin, turning my head.
She's right. The truck is parked in our street, along with endless rows of boxes, furniture, and other necessities. I groan and close my shades.
"Elizabeth, you're going to go out there and introduce yourself. I've already met them, they're such lovely people, and there's even a boy your age-"
"We've discussed this. I'm not going anywhere," I scoff, rolling my eyes and begin reading my book.
My mother takes my book and throws it onto my bed. I immediately get up to retrieve it, giving her the chance to yank my hand and attempts to get me downstairs. I instantly go limp, causing my mother to drop me. Try she might, but she will never get me out there.
"Elizabeth Ann, you are going out there if it's the last thing I ever do."
"You say that every time," I argue. It's true; the amount of times my mother has tried to get me outside has reached its limit.
"I mean it. You're going into 12th grade, I don't want to see you end your year with no friends, like you have the past three years."
"What is the point of making friends this year if I'm just going to leave and never see them again next year?"
My mother gives me a look, signaling that the conversation was over and I was going out there, end of discussion. I huff and walk slowly downstairs to the front door. But before I even touch the door handle, the doorbell rings, nearly causing me to faint.
I open the door to find a boy.
His dark hair is all over his face, although held up by a bandanna. He's wearing a simple pearl white t-shirt with black jeans so tight you could call them leggings; he looks like he could be in a boyband. His face is in a cheery expression, instantly making me annoyed.
He sticks out his hand and says in a thick British accent, "Hi. I'm Harry, Harry Styles."
"I'm Elizabeth Mason," I say in a monotone, shaking his hand boringly, "you must be new to the neighborhood."
"I guess you could say that," he says in his deep voice, "my mum sent me here to get to know everyone. It's nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you too, I guess." If my mother was here she would be astounded at my saltiness, but I don't care. I'm not here to make friends.
"I can see by your face that you don't like me all that much," says Harry. He makes a small smile, trying to lighten things up, but I keep my annoyed expression.
"I don't really like talking to people, so naturally I don't like anyone."
"Well, that's a bummer." He says sarcastically. I can tell he isn't taking me seriously.
I furrow my eyebrows. "Look, if you're just going to come to my house and think you can-"
I'm interrupted by my mother yelling, "Elizabeth, who on earth is at the door?" and eventually find her joining me and Harry, wearing only her bathrobe. Harry raises his eyebrows to me and grins, causing me to turn a violent shade of red.
