It was the fall of my eighth-grade year. That summer my family had moved almost a thousand miles from New Jersey to Missouri. Right from the start, I’d resisted the move. I just knew it was going to be awful.
Although I was glad that my parents, brother, grandmother, and dog were with me, and that my new teachers were all nice, I missed my old house and Christian Science Sunday School, not to mention my other grandparents, who were still in the Northeast. And I was intimidated by the thought of having to make new friends, because everybody’s “friend groups” already seemed to be established.
Right from the start, I’d resisted the move. I just knew it was going to be awful.