Connor and I: Chapter 1

         Don't worry honey; you're going to absolutely love this new place...

         Deb's favourite lie ran through my mind as I stumbled up the stairs with the oversized cardboard box in my hands. I scowled, mouthing the words with distaste, rolling my eyes

         I absolutely do not love our new place. Our old place was better- well as good as a house could get in six months. It was homey, made you feel welcome from the moment you stepped through the doors. In this new house, everything was straight, or "a la mode" as my mom called it. You felt awkward when you walked in, like a fat guy eating a salad at McDonalds. It looked horrible with the bare walls and off-white carpeting. If this was the future of household styles, I'm seriously considering living in a mud hut.

         I just love how I never get to pick where we go. It's always been about my mom. Whatever could make the problem disappear, she was all for it. Okay, I know it sounds like I'm exaggerating, but I swear on my life, I'm dead serious. I've been to eleven towns in the past six years. If that's not sad, than I don't know what is.

         I reached the top of the stairs and tried feeling my way to my new room. The hallway was long, and walking with a box the size of King Kong didn't make things any easier. Unfortunately for me, when God was giving out grace, I was out going to the washroom. So, it was no surprise when I walked right into a wall and went sprawling head over heels backwards. Screw my life.

         The contents of my box flew everywhere as I fell onto the floor. Trophies scattered, books tumbled, and clothes fell in a heap at my feet.

         I sighed in defeat, and rested my head against the wall. I closed my eyes, and imagined I was still in Brampford, hanging out with my friends, gushing over the boys. We were in the mall, sitting in our spot by the fountain. We snacked on fries and sipped root beer; shopping until we'd spent all our money, and borrowed each others for shoes. I smiled and opened my eyes, only to be disappointed by the bundle of jeans that lay by my feet.

         Deb bounded up the stairs, her eyes wide. "What happened?" she asked, her voice faintly hinting concern as she saw me sitting with my head against the wall. "I heard a loud crash and assumed you broke something." There was a slight Irish accent in her voice. I, thank goodness, did not acquire the slurred accent and stayed completely Canadian with my speech.

         I tilted my head towards her, raising my eyebrows. "Don't worry, Deb." I said. I used her real name as opposed to Mom, knowing it irritated her. "The stuff is fine. Nothing is broken, thanks for asking! I'm dying though. I think I my have lung cancer now. Your curiosity in my health just seemed to be the main topic of your concern."

         Deb winced at me calling her by her name, and forced a smile "Yes, Zoey, your health and security is always my main concern. That's why we moved to Oakville!"

         I looked away frowning at what she had said. My health is not what brought us to Oakville. She knew it, and I knew it. We were here because she had another relationship mess-up with the new man she met at a bar. I think this one's name was Nick, but I can't be sure. There were so many screw up kings that I just trained my brain to forget them. What's the point of warming up to them if they'll just make us move away?

         It always happened. The guy had a few dates, a little fun, and skipped out on Deb, leaving her unhappy, vulnerable and most of all, embarrassed. She would devour an entire box of ice cream, icing and cookie dough before coming to her senses and calming down.

         The next stage included a sob story phone call to my Grandpa. Now I'm not saying that we're a breaking the banks type of family, but my Grandpa is loaded. Back when he was younger, he fought in World War ll. He had taken a hit in the line of battle, protecting the General I believe it was, but miraculously survived. That's how he met Grandma, or Grammy as I like to call her. She was an army nurse and she nursed him day and night. When nobody thought he'd survive, he pulled through. Grammy had nursed him back to health and all was well. They then got married and lived happily ever after, the end, fairytale finish right? Well my Gramps got a fat pay load for risking his life for the United States most talented and cherished General. I know, sounds unbelievable but it's true.

         Anyways, my Mom would convince him that the town we were once just doing fine in, was a total death trap. She'd make it sound like we were sentanced to death or something and that we had to vamoose as quickly as possible.

         Deb would then buy a house in some strange new town, pack our stuff, load it into the truck and ship us off to the next town, where she would more then likely mess-up again and the process would repeat once more. A vicious circle of never ending catastrophy.

         When I think of my mom, I like to think of her as a fridge. She has this pull that drew certain people towards her, men in general. I guess what I'm basically trying to say is that Mom is a man magnet. They are attracted to her, but once the pull weaknes, they run away, looking for the next fridge to hold onto.

         My love life is the exact opposite. Since we never manage to stay in the same town for more then six months, I don't have the time to get to know someone well enough to develop a relationship. I had been on exactly three dates in my fifteen year old life, and the toll was not going up anytime soon. Deb would often comment on this, asking me why I wasn't out with new friends, or a nice boy. I would give her a look and stomp into my room, asking myself how she could even say something like that. It was her fault I didn't have a romantic social life. She wasn't setting a great example, running away because some worthless slob of a man walked out on her. She never even asked whether I wanted to move or not. So I guess I will always be a stain-less steel fridge, impossible for any magnets to hold onto me. What a shame. I think I could be a very lovable fridge.

         Deb picked up my various soccer trophies and a few mystery books I had kept over the years. She set them in my box, and dropped down next to me, her back resting against a wall. She ran her fingers through my hair, and I looked up at her.

         She was a pretty enough woman. She had fire red hair that hung straight down too her shoulders, with little streaks of blond and brown flowing through. Her emerald green eyes always held a twinkle of happiness. Her face wasn't gorgous, yet it still held a charming look that could trap a man into a full month long, all inclusive relationship. All this and more can be yours... if the price is right.

         "I know you miss your friends, Zo," Deb started off, totally blowing the moment by using that ridiculous nickname, "I miss my friends too. We just have to get through this together. It's a new start, a blank page in our book of life. You can start writing your way through it. You start school in a week. Lucky we moved in August. It would have been strange start school in the middle of the year!" I glared at her. My mother, a wanna-be Dr. Phil in the making.

         She giggled even though nothing was funny and stood up. She offered a hand. I rolled my eyes, but grasped her hand and allowed her to tug me to my feet.

         Deb left me to my mess. I picked up the remaining items and trudged into my room. My empty, white walled room. I narrowed my eyes, grunting in disapproval as I set down my box.

         "It looks like a hospital room." I said to myself, slowly walking around the room. The slick floor gleamed as the dim light cast a warm glow. It looked more like a kitchen then a bedroom. Who has tiles in their room? My footsteps all but echoed around the room. I couldn't stand it. I hate big, empty spaces, and hospitals. They creep me out more than anything else in the world. Now, I'm sleeping in my own, personal hospital room. Let's just add that to my happy list titled "Welcome to Oakville! YAY!"

         Our last house was in Brampford, where it stank of fries, gas exhaust, and body odour was perfect. Here, it was clean, green, and too quiet. Everything about this place sucked monkey tail so bad, that I'd happily face fifty math tests before settling down here. If you haven't guessed yet, I hated Oakville; from the moment our car entered its town boundaries.

         I rubbed my fingers into my temples trying to block out the headache that was still pounding from the fall. I kicked my door open, only slightly happy that my furniture had been brought up. It took a little less hospital out of the room seeing my old bed and dresser.

         There were six boxes on my bed, along with the gigantic box that I had brought up. My desk was placed so it was facing the windows that overlooked the quiet street. Beside it, was an oak wood dresser that still had Sailor Moon stickers on them from when I was young. In the corner was a large mirror, the kind that could spin around on an axle.

         I made my way over the mirror, running my long, manicured fingers through my hair. The reflective glass showed dark brown hair, with streaks of gold and red running through random strands of hair. Brown eyeliner and eye shadow brought out the bright, Irish green eyes that stared back at me, taking in my angled face, running over my athletic body.

         I sighed, turning away from the mirror, and hopped onto my bed, pushing boxes down as I did so. From one of the boxes, I took out bed sheets and a few pillows. I made my bed, trying hard to personalize my room enough to make it look a little less artificial. Bright, tye dye sheets, along with a black and pink comforter added a certain zing to the room. The bed helped, but still didn't take the fake out of the blank, white walls.

         I shook my head. These white walls have got to go, I thought, eyes flashing from one wall to the other. Even if I kill myself doing it, this room will have attitude, spunk, and creativity written all over it. White just doesn't cut it.

         Totally feeling out of it, I went over to my desk and sat down, looking over the empty street. "My street was never empty in Brampford," I muttered, adding to my pity party. Just as I was about to turn away, I heard yelling.

         Laughter filled the dusky sky outside as five boys ran towards my house, hockey net riding on their shoulders. Three of them looked to be about twelve, but the other two were definatly over sixteen. Each boy carried a wooden hockey stick, and one had goalie pads tied around his shoulder.

         I watched, captivated. This was the first form of life, other than my mother and I, that I have seen so far in Oakville. Of course I would be curious.I pressed my face closer the the window, able to see each boy's features clearly now that they were practically outside my house. The three short ones, who I assumed were younger, didn't really interest me. They looked obnoxious, and that made them invisible to me. I hate obnoxious people almost as much as I hate hospitals. They're like a little worm you find in an apple. Gross and unappitizing. The two taller boys were different though. Not worms, more like caterpillars. Extremely cute caterpillars.

         The four boys were fairly good looking you could say, but the fifth boy just blew me out of the water. No guy in Brampford, not even the dreamy Jason Woll, can compare to him. He was a giant at at least 6 foot, 6 inches. He looked like a football player, if you asked me. No, not even a football player, a chocolate bar. All nice on the eyes and making your mouth water. He's definately an Aero bar. Mmm, my favourite... Oh my god, I can't believe I just thought that. I seriously need a life.

         The boys set up for shots, facing towards my house. Wonderboy laughed, and for some odd reason, took a moment to glance towards my window. My eyes widened and I backed away, hoping he didn't see me. Wow, I feel like such a creeper. Take a picture and make a shrine why don'tcha?

         I staggered backwards, falling onto my bed with a loud thump. I closed me eyes and mentally slapped myself in the face. This can't happen! This place is supposed to suck, I'm angry at it remember? Yeah, angry's good, very good. Let's stick with that, shall we?