Before all this I was one of the most popualar girls in school. Skilled in gymnastics, fashionable, make-up savvy, extroverted, friendly, best English grades in class, ecetera. I had a list of friends that was as long as the country, it seemed I had the entire school and neighborhood at my feet like I was a beautiful deity. Alas, all of this school-wide fame, has come to an abrupt stop.
    I remember it all too clearly the sunny and bright day when Daddy ended up in a terrible car accident. A drunk driver had apparently collided with Daddy's car and Daddy died three days later. I don't want to remeber anything about it, I want to forget it and throw it all away. Just the image of Daddy all wounded and dieing like that, was enough to send shivers up my spine and tears in my eyes.
    Daddy's social worker friend, Karen, had heard about it and instantly rushed to my side to help. She told me I was going to have to live with my mother's siblings, in Smalltown, Countryside. My father had no siblings, my grandparents on both sides were deceased, those strangers were my only living relatives. What if there a bunch of hillibilly stupids who don't know the meaning of make-up or indoor plumbing? What if they're a group of overweight rednecks, with disgusting habits and abusive natures?
    Until I move in with my possible redneck relatives, I'm staying with Karen for a little while to sort things out. It's hard to keep my usual upbeat attitude with so much confusion, I know who I need, Annie. Her bright smiles and blond hair can bring a large grin to my face. I sweep my cellphone clear off of my vanity, and dial Annie's number. We agree to meet at the park, on Saturday.

%&%
    
    "Hey, Sharly!", I hear a familiar voice call out from behind me, "Sharls!" I turn around to see my "best-friend", Annie, skipping up to me, blond hair bouncing behind her. "Hey", she says a bit more quieter, "Sorry about your dad, Sharly..." she pauses and trails off slowly.
    "It's okay", I reply back to her, so she wouldn't have to be so quiet and feel so miserable. I came her for my cheering up, not hers.    
    Annie purses out her lips and pats me on the back, "Sharls, does this mean your going to move schools?"
    I want to change the subject...now. Can't we talk about something else? "Yeah...", I murmur, "Possibly switch ways of living if I have to." 
    Annie pokes her head out, cocking it a bit to the right, "Whaddya mean?" 
    I sigh, "I'm moving out all the way over to a small town in the middle of nowhere."
    Annie's mouth drops open, "B-but, Sharly!" she begins shakily, "You can't, you've got FRIENDS here!"
    I'm trying so hard not cry, Annie please shut up! Don't say anymore, I can't hear it! It's only going to make my eyes tear up.

    "What about the gymnastics team!? You're their leader!" Annie practically screams at me. It's like a mental slap in the face. "And, what about Jackie, huh? She still needs your help finding Mr. Right! Carol and Benny still need to learn your makeup tricks! What about me your BEST FRIEND!"
    I feel the burning, hot sensation welling up in my throat, I fight it back with all I that I have left. "Annie!" I shout interrupting her list of people that still need me, "Annie, listen! It's not my fault I have to move out with my relatives! It's not! Please stop blaming me for something I haven't even done!" 
    She backs away at my sudden outburst, her eyes now look a bit red, she rubs the sleeve of her sweatshirt over her teary brown orbs. "Sharly, I wasn't blaming you..."
    "If not that then what were you doing? Making me feel worse than I already feel!" I explode the words out, thrusting them at an un-deserving victim.
    She backs away a little more, sniffles and brings her arms back to her face. Now she moans and sobs so loudly; it hurts my heart. I shut up and try to apologize, "Annie..." She shakes her head violently and runs off. 
    I drop down to the bench, watching her run towards her house. My lips shake and I begin to cry. It's been too hard, too much has happened. 

%&%
    
    "Karen", I softly mumble to her, "Can't I just stay with you?"
    Karen has a pitiful look plastered onto her face, her mouth frowning and sympathy bubbling in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Sharly", she apologizes, "I wish you could, but your daddy wanted you to stay with a member of your family. The only living members that we know of are your mother's siblings." After noticining how miserable and gloomy I look, and how I've looked all day she comes over to me and wraps me in her arms. I hug her back and begin, for what seems like the billionth time today, to cry like a baby. She rubs me on the back and whispers soft, "It's okay"s and "I know"s of comfort. Though, they don't seem to bring too much of it.

    She then leaves me alone in my room. No Karen don't do that, I need somebody! I look at my shelves covered head to toe with gymnastics guides, make-up tutorials, and school books. I trudge to the shelf, and pick out a thin, little book jammed between two oversized textbooks. The title cover said 103 Classic Poems.

    I smile and flip the pages of the poem book to the dog-eared page, with a small poem by Robert Louis Stevenson. The childlike nature, soft word, and clever ryhme of the poem, warmed my aching heart. I replaced the book in it's secret hiding space between, Algebra II and Common Make-up Techniques.

    Looking again on the shelf, I pull out a ragged looking notebook from underneath a dictionary. On it, in sloppy lettering, was the words Math Notes. I open it and inside is not math notes at all, in fact quite the opposite poems and odes that I jotted down myself. I picked out and a random one and read it:

Breaking Secrets, Telling Promises
Something not to be heard
A silent word
Keep it safe and locked
Hide it so I won't be mocked.

Corss your heart and hope to die?
Please won't you try?
For me, your own friend?
Keep it safe until the end.

Why do you spill the beans,
And then end up one of my fiends?
Why must you tell my peers
When you and I have been friends for years?

Oh well, stories do end
In fact I'm glad you're not my friend.

    I wrote that one my first year in middle school, when I told my "friend" Jamie that I indeed collected toy trucks. As soon as it got out, I had to stop my hobby and denied trucks even existed. Because I was afraid, so afraid of what people might think of me. I remeber being so furious at Jamie, that I wanted to kill her. It was then that I wrote this poem. 
    I was...surprised at how well my poem turned out. I mad me me feel great, so indeed I wrote down another about hobbies, then about my grades, make-up, gym, Coach Wilson's haircut, Alison's pet bird, How Neil Davids looked adorable, anything and everything. Not all of them rhymed, and some were only two lines short.
    All through that year I wrote these down, and filled up one and a half notebooks with these poems. I shared these with nobody, I didn't want people to know how I felt about them or their pet bird. I didn't want them to say, "Oh, look it's little miss poet dork!" Trust me, I saw that happen to Faith Cooper, except it was with trivia.
    I guess I better start packing. I put the notebook away and search the house for any piece of luggage that I can find. I swing open closet doors, and hual large suitcases out of the confined spaces in-between piles of junk.
    Possibly getting organized and taking action will help me feel better. I hurry to my room with the empty luggage that I found, and start digging through my closet. One problem I seem to come across, I love all of my clothes. Not a single one in the entire dresser I can bear to part with. Anything nasty or dorky, I got rid of long before. True, I have to travel a bit lightly, but maybe just maybe, with some neat packing tricks, I can save my clothes!
    Try as I might, even with my mad folding skills, I only manage to fit half my wardrobe into the two largest overnight bags there. I sigh and plop onto my bed, looking at all of my fine clothing choices that I've developed. I groan in frustration. 
    I start to think of the rest of my wardrobe. What to do with out my amazing fashion choices? I have no clue. I sigh and slowly step toward the kitchen. I grab a white, plastic trash bag from a drawer in the kitchen and head back to my room.
    After opening the bag, I stuff the rest of my closet inside it with out a second thought. I make constant back and forth trips to the kitchen to get more trash bags, and I end up with four, overstuffed, garbage bags lined up along the edge of my bed. I let out a gasp of exaustion and sit down instantly on the ground.
    It'd be too much of a hassle to bring the bags with me, so I select one at random and throw into my luggage pile. With the other three, I just decided to write "FOR CHARITY" in black permanent marker.
    I toss the other ones aside and pack up my bookshelf. I put the poetry books and notebooks at the bottom of the cardboard box. I gently place all of my other novels, how to, and non-fictions neat and oderly like into the box. By the time the box is full, all that is left on my bookshelf are big textbooks. I'm not going to need them anymore so, I organize them into a seperate box which I'll give to the school.
    After about three hours, my room is nearly empty. My closet and dressers being cleaned out of it's many articles. The books vanished from the tall, lonely shelf that faced my bed. My bed being stripped bare, not even any sheets. Every single misealanoius knick-knack I owned was packed away in my suitcases, or shoved into a donation box. All my make-up is hidden in cases along with my hairbrush and jewelry. It's all gone.
    Karen comes into my room, silently at first in that sympathetic way. She sits down on my bed right next to me, causing the mattress springs to make a loud, irritating noise. "I see you've packed." she began, "Say...why don't we go out to eat?"
    I looked up at her, eager to listen to what she had to say.
    "How does... Naomi's Diner sound?" she suggested kindly.
    I nodded, "Okay, sounds fine."
    She smiled, "Why don't you get ready? I'll see you downstairs."