One

 

Is there ever enough time for me in my day? The answer is no, no there is not. Between school, work, and picking up Jones and Jesse at their sixth-grade orientation, there is never enough time for just me. It’s only the first day in this wretched town, and I’m already hating it. I hate farming. Simple fact of life. Can Iowa be any more boring? The only thing exciting for miles and miles around is a cow or two, interspersed between dirt roads and wooden fences. I hated the country and I remember as a little kid I used to come down here all the time from Minnesota to spend the summer with my grandparents. I never thought for one second my parents would move here. Eek.

“Katja!” my mother called. I knew she was mad at me—I yelled at my little sister, Kassia, who’s eleven, for getting into my stuff. Not that I have much, but I know she was in there.

“What?” I asked irritated, when I got to the bottom of my staircase. It was the only way people could get to my room, through the giant hole in the ceiling and then down a spiraling staircase. I had claimed the room this morning when all the bottom floors were taken by my parents, my sister, and my two brothers. Thank god Savannah had moved out the month before because, for one, she would not put up with this stupid house, and, for two, I would have to share a room with Kassia, who’s six years younger than me (as of yesterday when I turned seventeen).

“Kat, why did you yell at Kassie? She says she was just looking for her teddy bear,” my mother said, patting Kassia’s head and looking angrily at me.

“For crying out loud! She was looking through my stuff without my permission, Mom! This is SO unfair!”

My mother gave me the sneering look with the beady eyes and the pursed lips. “If you say another word, you’re grounded. Now go take your shower.”

“But, Mom! I really want to straighten my hair. Can’t I please just take it when I get home tomorrow?”

“Go take it, now. If you take it now you can straighten your hair.”

“Oh good God! My hair doesn’t dry before ten! Ugh!” I stomped up the stairs and opened the little hole in the ceiling and climbed into my room. There were boxes everywhere and nothing except for my bed had been put up. The only thing downstairs was the mirror in the hall and the grandfather clock, ironically, given to us by my grandfather.

I was seventeen and slender, as my Dad liked to call me ( it used to be sixteen and slender). My Mom referred to me as the living wire. My sister just called me Katja (my stupid Russian heritage, gag). My brothers liked to call me Kitty because my mother and father called me Kat sometimes. I had the longest brown hair, ever. It went down to the middle of my back and it was as curly as anything. I always kept it in a ponytail and I never did anything else to it. There was nothing else to do but straighten it, but I could already see that that was a lost cause. Frizzy and wild were the only two words to describe my hair. The rest of me was pretty average except for my startling amber eyes. No one quite knew where I got them from, but they were like golden suns and they always stood out against my dark hair and pale skin. I hated being Katja Witte.

“Kat!” my mother called.

“Kitty!” both of my brothers, Jones and Jesse, called from downstairs.

“Katja!” my father called.

Obviously it was something gravely important because usually the boys were off somewhere playing video games and my parents were off reading somewhere or speaking stupid Russian to each other. Just because our grandfather, Ivan Witte, came from Russia didn’t mean my parents had to speak it. I turned down the opportunity to learn it from my grandfather when he asked me a couple of summers ago and we haven’t really been on good terms since then.

I opened the door on my floor that led to my staircase and nearly fell out and hit my head on the side of the hole. “Ouch!” I yelped, groping for my head and already finding a bump there. “Lovely,” I muttered before getting up and walking wobbly-legged down the stairs.

“Katja, we couldn’t give this to you yesterday because, for one, we hadn’t bought it yet, and for two, it would have been hard to give it to you with the move and everything. So here,” my father pulled a hand out of his pocket and I heard jingling. Our family was kind of rich, but we never showed it.

“Sorry it’s a little late, Kat, but we had to save up.”

My dad handed me keys to a 2003 Volvo XC90 T6. It was a sporty, roomy van-ish vehicle and they new I had always wanted a Volvo. It was mint green—my favorite. “Oh my gosh! You didn’t! It’s wonderful!” I was too shy to hug my parents (ironic since they’re my parents) but I ran out the front door where my brothers and sister were.

“Katja, I’m sorry I was in your room,” Kassia said, bowing her head. I was too happy to care so I just hugged her and walked towards where my car was parked on the curb.

“Does this mean you’ll drive us to school, Kitty?” Jones asked, running up to me wildly.

“Yeah, Kit-Kat! Please?” Jesse asked, tugging on my arm.

That was when I realized something. I was nearly six hours away from a place where I knew where everything was. I had no idea where the nearest gas station was, or any clue how to go to my new school without my mom’s help. “Maybe in a few months after we get situated.” I stroked the paint silently and saw my reflection in the glass—I was a total mess.

The boys went off to bed but Kassia stayed. “Katja, is middle school scary? Tomorrow’s my first day,” she said nervously.

I turned to look at her. She was eleven and already ten time more prettier than I ever was. She had already hit puberty and she had the best looks ever. Her green eyes had flecks of blue in them and her hair was a traditional Russian blond, cropped short to frame her pretty face. She looked like a kid supermodel and it was kind of annoying.

“Nah. It’s fun, actually.”

“But that was back in Minnesota, Katja. I don’t have any friends here.”

I laughed out loud. Kassia not having friends? Give me a break. “You’ll make new friends, Kassie. It’ll be great,” I said, putting an arm around her shoulders so we could admire my new car together.

“Katja! Kassia! Inside!” my mother called.

We walked back inside quietly and gave our parents kisses before heading off to bed. I stumbled up the stairs and stopped to feel the bump on my head. “Stupid door,” I whispered. I pushed open the hole in my ceiling, grateful that it didn’t come down on my fingers like I had envisioned.

I unpacked my fragile full-length mirror and stood sideways to examine myself. My hair hung down in curly ringlets all the way down my back like a cascading waterfall of mud. My eyes stared back at me, looking like a frightened fawn in winter. Well, November, actually. Same difference. My pale skin seemed illuminated by the small lamp overhead. I sighed. I was Katja Stephanie Marie Witte, the ordinary Minnesota girl with no boyfriends to speak of. Well, that is, she wants to speak of. Guys are just heartbreak and drama.

I pulled my hair into my ponytail again and pulled my pajamas out of a nearby box. I settled into my less-than-cozy bed and tried to sleep but just couldn’t. I kept thinking about tomorrow and how I would have to spend most of the day filling out papers and being gawked at by all the students because I was, one, either too pale or skinny, two, a little bit on the shorter side (five-foot three-inches), or, three, simply because I was the new girl.

This will be fun.

 

Did I wake up in a good mood? No way. Was I ready to start high school all over again? Heck no. So why was I putting on my favorite T-shirt, one that focused on my favorite band, Muse, and why was I putting on my pretty blue-jeans that were worn in the cool way? And why was I obsessing over my hair? I had no idea but I was not in the mood for Kassia.

“Katja, can I borrow your pretty shirt? You know that one from Hollister?” she asked quietly. Since she was normal size and I was…fun-sized, I guess, she could wear the same size as me. Of course, no one in the house fit in my double-zero jeans, but that just meant more for me.

I heard Phillip Morris, my one-year-old brother, crying down stairs. Kassia only had poked her head through my attic hole and was resting her hand on the creaky wooden floor.

“No! Now get out you little brat!”

She immediately retreated, probably to Mom, and slammed the hole shut behind her. I could hear her boots stomping down the metal spiral stairs angrily. I was glad I didn’t give in—she didn’t have to have everything she wanted.

“Katja Stephanie!”

Stupid little brat.

“Sorry, okay! Here’s the shirt!” I threw it down the stairs. “Stupid little brat,” I muttered again. She always got everything because she was the youngest in the house. Well, besides Phillip Morris.

I slipped on my favorite pair of black boots—they were insulated because they were really snow boots, but I loved to wear them everywhere with anything. I even wore them to a dance last year, along with a really expensive dress. That was in my sophomore year. My fun year. I slung my lime-green flower bag over my shoulder and went downstairs to wait for my mother.

“Bye, Oak. I’ll be back later on.” My mother gave my father a kiss on the forehead, forcing him to bend down to her small frame, like mine.

“Bye Echo.” What a corny name…

My mother dropped off the boys first at their seventh and eighth grade middle school (they were in seventh) and then she gave Kassia a kiss and sent her off to sixth grade, an exclusive school just for her year of adjusting. I was the only other person in a car and I could feel that it was the right atmosphere for a lecture.

“Katja, your sister really looks up to you,” she started, glancing over at me. I turned away tot eh window. “I know this is a pretty big adjustment for you, but it’s hard on her, too. Especially middle school.” She had already been in sixth grade, just not middle school. St. Paul’s middle school started at seventh grade.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

We arrived to the office a little later than our scheduled meeting. It was a small high school, but just a little bigger than my old school.

A lady walked in. She looked prim and proper. She was tall and a little plump, but she had great taste in clothing. “I’m Dr. Daniels. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Witte. You must be…Kat-jah?” Everyone always pronounced my name wrong, even if they were a “doctor”.

“Kat-yah,” I corrected, pronouncing it with the slightest hint of an accent. I knew my mother heard it because she glanced at me in surprise. I shook my head slightly.

“Please, have a seat.”

We filled out so many boring papers I almost fell asleep. Luckily, we were done by ten, but I was nervous because that meant I had to face people. I was clumsy, too, and that certainly didn’t help me any. My hair was put up in a ponytail, even though I left the house with it all down. It was a bad habit of mine—unconsciously putting my hair up.

“Here’s your schedule and here’s a map. Good luck and with those amazing grades and test scores, I’m sure I’ll be awarding you with honor roll this year,” Dr. Daniels said, handing me a map of the school and my schedule. She smiled warmly and I could tell she never smiled.

“Bye, sweetie. See you later,” my mom said, kissing me on the cheek.

I smiled and picked up my bag to walk out the door. As I walked down the hall, reading my map to the best of my ability, the bell rang. I could hear the separate alarm go off in my head—people, Katja! People! Ever since my fight with Molly Greene last year back in Minnesota, I hated any and all people of every kind. They were no good liars and losers. I found the nearest bathroom and snuck inside, closing a stall and putting the seat down to sit on it.

I heard a group of girls come in and fix their hair, giggling and gossiping.

“Oh em gee, Jane looks so cliché today! It must be so embarrassing. You’d think a great former-fashion model like Dr. Daniels would have given her a detention for it!” a girl said, snarling with obvious envy. Snickers sounded form all corners of the room.

“You look great, Gretta,” one complimented. Everyone else agreed.

“So does your brother,” one said. The room fell silent.

“Shut up, Denise,” Gretta sneered. “He’s in college now. You’re a junior. Get over him.”

“So Gretta, are you going to the same college as him next fall?” another girl asked. They all obviously decided it was time to go, because I could hear them all shuffling out of the room. When I was sure they were gone, I opened the stall and checked my appearance. Horrible. Ordinary. Katja.

I walked down the hall where a few people still lingered, receiving weird glances and look-over’s. As if I was some alien or something. I walked silently to fifth hour, Mrs. Tate, for English. I finally found my way to her room, even though I was almost five minutes passed the warning bell. (Dr. Daniels helped me learn the bell system throughout the morning, so I pretty much had it down). I opened the door and immediately, everyone turned their eyes to me.

“Are you…” Mrs. Tate glanced down at her desk for a moment. “Kat-jah Witte?” She smiled apologetically, knowing she had it wrong. “Sorry if I mispronounced it.”

“It’s Kat-yah,” I corrected, standing awkwardly.

“You can take a seat by Rosie back in the back.”

It was then that I met Rosie Regan for the first time.

Author's Note

Grammar Errors; as always. Lol still hope yall enjoy(: