My freshman year in high school had been a hard one. I was new to my town and to make things harder, I had become a faceless student in a school of three thousand other people. By my senior year, however, I had made plenty of friends and I was vice president of the student body. I started my last year of high school confidently; my head held high. That is why it came as such a shock the night after my eighteenth birthday. Both of my parents came into the living room as I was watching television, curled up under a fleece blanket. Their expressions made me nervous. I felt tiny hairs bristling on the nape of my neck. I glanced from one to the other, trying to size up their thoughts. To my dismay, it didn’t work. I sat up straight on the sofa and let the blanket drop to my lap.
“What?” I asked anxiously. “What’s wrong?”
“Now honey,” my father began, “your mother and I have something we need to tell you. We didn’t want to worry you before your birthday had come, but we have to talk.”
“You may be upset,” said my mother, “but we will try to make this work. We promise.”
“Make what work?” I asked confusedly. “Stop talking in circles. What are you trying to say.”
“We’re moving, Brandee,” my father blurted. “To Minnesota.”
My mouth flapped open and closed like a fish out of water. All of the words that I tried to form seemed to evaporate into thin air before they even had a chance to touch my lips. I stared at the coffee table in front of me and said nothing for what seemed like hours. Without so much as another word, my parents silently slipped from the room. I curled up in bed that night and cried. I had no idea what things would be like in my new school. All I could imagine was my freshman year all over again. Before I knew it, my pain slid away slowly as I fell into a deep sleep.
A week later found me driving my Jetta to my new high school for my first day. We were out in the middle of nowhere. This place could not have been any more opposite of my hometown in Boston. Instead of three thousand people in my school, there were only three hundred. To me, moving to Minnesota was a culture shock. I drove for miles without seeing another car and to either side of me were rows upon rows of naked shivering trees.
I felt a sort of betrayal by my parents for making me move here in the middle of December. The Christmas countdown was down to nine days. I would only have one full week of classes before school let out for the holiday break. There was no way I would be able to make friends in that amount of time. All I could think was that the holidays were going to be lonely this year. I was accustomed to spending them with family and friends. This year it would just be family.
The near future abated quickly from my mind as I pulled into a parking space. The butterflies that had been fluttering about my stomach for the last fifteen minutes suddenly seemed to grow wings the size of hawks and threatened to come up and make an appearance. I settled my stomach as best I could and walked briskly into the school, unsuccessfully trying to escape the biting cold. The lobby was buzzing with activity and it seemed like all three hundred students were milling around the office.
“
For a tiny hick-ville school, it’s pretty hard to get anywhere,
” I thought, getting caught between people every step I took.
I gently pushed my way past the other students until I was at the receptionist’s desk. No one was behind the desk, so I stood waiting patiently for an administrator to come. I waited for about five minutes when I heard a voice from behind me.
“Brandee Santos?” the smooth male voice asked.
I turned to face whomever it was that had spoken to me. A good three or four inches taller than my five foot ten, I faced a young man who seemed to be around my age. I smiled nervously, immediately entranced by his emerald green eyes and friendly, warm smile. Long lashes lapped gently at his high cheekbones whenever he blinked. He had a beautiful copper toned face and a well-trimmed goatee that rested upon a strong mandible. Carelessly spiked, dark brown hair accentuated his look. He was well dressed with a loose black sweater and a pair of khaki cargo pants. I drank in the sight of him and thought I would faint just from being in his presence.
“Y-y-yes, that’s me,” I managed to stammer. I then gave him a quizzical look. “How did you know my name?”
“Seems I’ve forgotten my manners," he chuckled softly. He immediately outstretched a strong large hand to me. “I’m Alex Harrington. President of the student body. I’m here to show you around and help you get acquainted a little better.”
I reached out and shook his hand gently, resting only my fingers in his palm. His hand was so big, I thought it could easily crush my own. His palm was warm, dry, and unexpectedly soft. The heat emanating from his hand traveled down my fingertips and up to my cheeks. I managed to smile back at this modern day Adonis who was standing right in front of me.
“Do you have everything?” he inquired.
