This story chronicles your experiences in the bustling city of Hawking, New Oxford. With an amazing squad of best friends, these are gonna be the best days of your life.
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Ugh. The house is actually nice, so you can't hate it now. Your parents stand next to you, beaming. "Isn't it lovely?'' Your mum commented, leaning on your shoulder, until your father walks back down the driveway and interrupts you. "Okay honey, everything's done and dusted, so the movers can finally drop off the last pieces of furniture and we can officially move in!" "Yay! Ooh, sweetie, we need to get some groceries, maybe we might meet somebody from your new school! Wouldn't that be just wonderful?'' Why is she so exited? You wonder. Meeting new people was just another chore, and never paid off. Your mother, however, had VERY different opinions. Maybe it will be fun... maybe they won't be brats with more money than sense. Maybe. You thought. Time skip- half an hour later
The supermarket is freezing, the air-con on at full blast. Humming 'Helpless' you grab a packet of spaghetti. Turning around, you collide with something and are thrown onto your butt. A girl with short brown hair and glasses is sitting on the lino floor in front of you, surrounded by green apples. Looking around she starts repeating "shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit! Did I fuck up the pages? PLEASE tell me I didn't fuck up the pages!!". When she notices you, she stops frantically looking for her books and grimaces. " I am SO SORRY. I was reading, and wasn't looking where I was going, ack. Just, oh, can you see my book? I dropped it, and it was really expensive, and the pages might be permanently ruined, and- Oh. I'll help you up." Standing, she pulls you to your feet. "I'm sorry, i really didn't mean to do that. Shit, the apples." She scoops up the apples into the bag again, and starts looking under the shelves. Frowning, you ask "what's the book look like?" "Umm, uh, blue and red leather binding, cream front, massive"- she gestures the rough size-" and it's called Hamilton the Revolution." "That one?" You point to underneath the shelves, where a massive book is sitting, open on it's back. Handing it back, you ask, "you're a Hamilfan too?" "Yeah! I wish i could see it, but it's not touring, and I can't really stop studying to see it in America, and then school holidays are too short so-" She's interrupted by a buzzing in her jeans' pocket. Fumbling it, she starts sprinting away, book and bag of apples sitting in the crook of her arm, calling out "It was nice to meet you, but I gotta go!" You shake your head, pick up the pasta, and walk off to tear your mother away from whatever hour-long conversation she was having with a random person she had latched on to.
This is the book the girl was talking about
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