Cracks in the Mirror

Moving Isn't Fun

Moving didn't seem like that big a change.

I mean, it was change.

But change is good, right?

Not always.

My name is Lily Smith, and I need to get out of here.

But more about that later.

Let's start at the beginning.

I'm like any average 13 year old. 

I hate homework with a burning intensity, love being with friends, get stressed during exams, have a lot of fun at parties, and have trouble deciding what to wear in the evening. 

I lived peacefully at an old English house at Meadow Gardens, Britain.

But not anymore. I am being forced to shift to another house. The rent at my present house is just too much for my parents to afford.

"Honey, we're going to shift to a new house. It will be a bit smaller than this one, but it's gonna be in a pretty...ahem...lovely state", my father, Matthew Smith, broke the news to me. He's a pretty great father, in most aspects, but breaking bad news is not one of his assets. To be honest, I pretty much hit the jackpot in the parent category, but I don't think I've ever shown them how much I actually appreciate them. (It's in the teenager contract.)

I am currently going through incredible physical pain. Finding everything, putting it in huge cartons and shifting it to the doorway is no easy task, I realise.

I know I'm going to miss all my friends, even Ricky Joseph, the school troublemaker. I would miss my school. I would miss cotton candy Sundays, I would miss secretly texting in class and I would definitely miss babysitting our neighbor's tiny dog whenever she was out of town. (I think it's unfair I even got paid for it.)

But most of all, I'm going to miss Elizabeth Wood, my best friend. We both spent all our time together. We would have sleepovers at each other's houses and go to the ice cream parlour together. We would roam on the roads aimlessly together, go to the coffee shop together, do our homework together and even watch the new series on TV together. (Who knew waiting three years for three episodes would be so rewarding?)

I would even miss my neighbourhood. I would miss Mrs. Wilson, who baked little multicolored muffins every time I came over. I would miss the café's creamy coffees, the weirdly bright ice creams, the big oak tree near my home and I would miss the white roses that 'mysteriously' grew in my backyard. (I might have been slightly responsible for that one.)

I would even miss Mr. Turner, who took the kids' balls and toys and whatever accidentally came into his backyard, but he always made up for it by giving all of us free ice creams, toffees, lollipops and cute little chocolate teddies. All of these things sounded very childish to me, and I never bought them myself, but they were pretty tasty.

My mother, Samantha Smith, said that moving to a new, lively place from the old house would be a good experience for me, and that I should accept new things more often. But I didn't want to experience anything new. I would rather stay at this 'old house' with my friends than at a new, strange place, where I didn't know anyone.

Even my tantrums, which usually worked, failed to budge my parents from going to the new house. I was miserable at heart, but since Elizabeth was happy for me - that I would get away from the old city and go to a 'new, wonderful place'- I started becoming a little excited too.

But the second I saw my new home after a 6-hour drive, all the excitement seeped away. My new house wasn't lively at all. Quite the opposite. There was only one word to describe it- dead.