text: The moving truck sat in the driveway, with Dad behind the wheel. Our entire life was in boxes in the back. My fingertips cling to the doorknob, not quite willing to let go, to leave behind my past. It’s silly, I know. I’m fourteen-I’m old enough to realize that I have to go, that I can’t just stay here. But my entire life up to this point was contained to those four walls, to that small yellow house on Wildflower Avenue on the outskirts of Chicago. Inside we have the most beautiful kitchen, a comfortable family room, and a bright sunroom with huge windows that let us see all the way to the city. We had a beautiful yard-a tire swing on the large apple tree, and a garden with produce. Dad honks the horn and motions for me to get in the car with Mom and Harper. I give a glance back to the house, and reluctantly pop into the front seat. Harper is playing with her plastic horses in her car seat, babbling happily. Mom gives us a smile and says, “Well! Jansen, Illinois, here we come!” I give a half-hearted grin, and Harper laughs. I pull up the browser on my phone and search up the town. Here is what I found: Jansen, Illinois Population-687 people Known for- This town is most notably recognized for the murders of Dr. Amelia Patel and Mr. Vince Harding six years ago. They were killed under mysterious circumstances. No suspects were identified, but the family of the victims suppose they will return to the area within a few years time to scope out their next victim. Residents are often wary of new neighbors. “Hey, Mom?” I say, becoming a bit nervous indeed. “Yes, Emery?” She responds, not taking her eyes off the road. “Uh, there’s a murderer in that town. Never caught. It says they don’t like new people.” “Oh, hon, the Internet is full of rumors. Jansen seems like a lovely, close-knit community of people. Now, I need to focus. Please keep an eye on Harper.” I sigh. Well, at least the house we are buying looks nice. I am excited to finally have my own bedroom. It really stunk having to share a bedroom with Harper, because she is only three and makes a mess. Mom said Harper can share a bathroom with her and dad, so I can have my own. But still, the whole murder thing unnerves me... We arrive at our new house later in the day. It’s ok, and is certainly larger than our Chicago home. It is blue with navy shutters and a brown roof. The backyard is so large, and I bet I can convince mom to get me a dog to keep me company. We head inside and split up as we look around. I race upstairs to my bedroom. Wow! It’s huge! I can’t wait for my furniture to get here, surely then this will feel like home! After a tossing-and-turning night of sleep on some air mattresses, it’s the first day at Jansen Middle School. We had bought supplies weeks before moving, and I was prepared physically, but my mind just couldn't wrap around a whole new school. A new school, new kids, new teachers, new social norms. I can’t do that. But the car turns the corner, and I am in front of the large, brick school. I say goodbye to Mom and head out of the car and into what I am sure is imminent doom. Kids are staring at me as I walk to the office. It’s like I have “New Kid” written on my forehead. When I get in front of the secretary’s desk, she gives me a startled look. She quickly gathers herself. “Hi! What are you doing here?” She says. I noticed her name on her desk- Ms. Patel. “Oh, hi. I’m Emerson Peters. I’m a new seventh grade student.” I reply. “Oh, well. Hi Emerson. Uh, go to room one hundred and twenty five. Just down that hall.” She quickly returns to typing on her computer. I mumble a quick thank you and head down the hallway. People are avoiding me like I have the plague. I sling my backpack over my shoulder and put my head down as I walk. Room one twenty-three, twenty-four, ah! Room one hundred twenty five! A sign on the door says “Mrs. Ortega’s Social Studies”. I knock, and a small lady with long, dark hair comes to the door and peers out the window into the hall. The door creaks open. “Welcome!” she says. “I’m Mrs. Ortega! You are Emerson, right?” “Emery,” I say. “Well, Emery, take a seat in that desk in the corner.” “Alright.” I head to the desk, which is separated from all the others. Kids whisper, and a tall girl with dark hair waves to me. She is wearing a shirt that says “Detroit” on it. I give her a small wave in return. After an excruciatingly long and boring social studies lesson on trade between Britain and the colonies, we are released for our next class. The tall girl is waiting outside the door. “I’m Melody,” she says. “Emery, right?” “Yeah,” I say. “I just moved here from Chicago.” “I moved from Detroit six weeks ago.” Melody says. “Why is everyone so ice cold here?” I ask. “Same for me when I moved here. Even the middle school is caught up in the whole murder thing. You hear about that?” “Yeah! It’s so weird!” I respond. “Especially Ms. Patel. Wait, is she related to-” “To Dr. Patel? Yeah.” Melody says. “That was her mother. We can talk at lunch-I need to get to math class.” “Ok. I need to check my locker, my mom said my schedule should be in there.” I tell her that and head to the wing where the lockers are. I find my locker quite easily-62782-and spend a good minute getting it open. Inside is a schedule. Oh no! I thought. I should have been in Language Arts class seven minutes ago! I just realized that no one else is in the hallway. I must have spent a lot of time at my locker! I rush to the classroom, room 131, and stop at the teacher's desk. She recoils a bit before speaking. “Oh, hello. My name is Mrs. Reynolds. I teach language arts here at Jansen Middle School. Why are you here?” “Uh, I’m supposed to be here. Reynold’s LA, 131.” I say. “I’m Emerson-er Emery.” “Well, I suppose you can have a seat at the spare desk in the back.” I nod and sit. Someone taps me on the shoulder. I eagerly turn around, but he whispers Killer, killer, back to get more! In my ear. I turn back around and try to focus on verbs. When the period is over, I run to my locker. I call my mom. “Emery! You shouldn’t be calling during school!” “We need to get out of here!” “Why ever so?” “Just pick me up. I... feel sick.” “I can be there in fifteen minutes. Go to the office.” “Ok. Love you.” “Bye, hon.” I rush to the main office, ignoring stares from kids I pass by. “My mother is signing me out,” I bark at Ms. Patel. She nods, a bit frightened, and waves me to the door. I go to my mother who is in the parking lot. I cry as I open the door and through sobs I say “I don’t want to live here. The kids are bad. The teachers are bad.” My mom sees the fright and sadness in my eyes, and agrees that people have treated her oddly, too. She promises to move us back to Chicago. Three weeks later, we are in a new Chicago home. We are watching the news when a special report comes on. “Thanks, Jim. Breaking news. The Jansen town murderer, identified as Jeremiah Garcia, is behind bars. His family is here to speak with us.” “Mom!” I say. “That’s my friend, Melody! That must be her dad!” Thank you for reading! Please comment feedback/suggestions to help me learn to be a better writer. If you enjoyed this story, likes are appreciated! Have a great day, and stay safe.