For Y/N's eighth birthday, her father got her a special gift, an adorable plush toy that she loves dearly. What she didn't expect was the living, breathing man that came with it. Is her doll really talking and moving around, or is her imagination th...
_________________________________ YourPOV: Three Years Later _________________________________
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I anxiously make my way through the halls at school with one hand in my hoodie pocket to squeeze the arm of my plush friend, who's hiding inside. It felt awkward walking amongst the eighth graders knowing I was going to be a part of them now, even at my age. It certainly came as a surprise to me, but mom was so proud of me being able to skip a few grades to get here. Dad was hardly fazed, though, when I told him the news. He seemed happy for me, but it was like his mind was elsewhere. They have been fighting more lately.
It's been hard to ignore, but Max truly is a blessing. He did everything in his power to keep me from thinking about it and always succeeded in doing so. To be honest, I'm not at all comfortable being here. It just feels rushed, like everything's moving too fast, but I should be excited, right? Not many kids get this opportunity. Maybe it's just first day jitters?
I scan the classroom when I find it before heading to the nearest empty desk. I felt a little better after having a seat and setting my things on the desk, but then, someone looked over at me and a few other eyes followed. My feet shuffle as I hurriedly look away from them while holding Max's hand a little tighter. I wanted to hide when a girl with brown eyes and long, braided, black hair gets up to come my way with a kind look on her face. Seeing the expression did ease me a little, though.
"Hey, you lost or something? This is an eighth grade classroom," she mentions, probably thinking I mixed up the rooms. It was a natural conclusion, as I was clearly younger than everybody else here. I shake my head, having enough courage to look up at her face.
"N- No, this is the right class. I just skipped some grades," I mutter quietly, much to her surprise. After the shock wore off, her eyes sparkled like diamonds and her lips pulled into a bright smile.
"What?! No way! Really?! That's freaking awesome!" The girl laughs before turning to, who I assume are, her friends. She was talking to them prior to approaching me. "Hey, guys, check it out! Someone in this class is actually smart." Now, I didn't really want attention, but her light-hearted energy managed to get a smile out of me. Maybe I was being a nervous nelly, as Max would've put it?
"No way. How did you manage that?" asks another curious classmate who overheard.
"I struggled getting past seventh! You gotta be a genius or something!" exclaims another. I'm bombarded with more questions as more students crowded my desk, making me feel a little overwhelmed. To go from an absolute nervous wreck to the center of attention was too much to handle, and I barely got any room to answer anybody.
