Unexpected Trip Home

“Manya! Get up!” my mom yelled for the millionth time that morning.  “If you are aren’t dressed in five minutes I’m dragging you to school in whatever your wearing right now!”

“I’m uuuup!” I yelled back glancing at my old Teletubbie pajamas and deciding that showing up to school wearing those would make the first day even more unbearable than it already was about to be.  Five minutes later my mom handed me a crinkled paper bag and I looked in it cringing.

“What is this?” I ask. 

“It’s your lunch.”

“Why does it smell like that?”

My mom looked away, obviously hurt.  I had always bought lunch at my old school but this school was bring your lunch only.  My mom was self-conscious about her bad cooking and rubbing it in was my revenge that morning.

            “If it really bothers you, we can pick up a Lunch-able on the way to school, but lets just go so you’re not late on your first day.”

“Oh no I wouldn’t want that to happen.”  I mumbled sarcastically under my breath. 

            The first day of school, a day, which for most people is a day of excitement and new beginnings, was for me a day I never wanted to take part in.  A new school, a new state, and a completely new home – all of these new things had been sprung upon me at the end of the summer and now all of a sudden I was in Berkeley, California, a place with far to much sun, getting ready for my first day of third grade.  I was never truly against Berkeley, I just wasn’t sure why we needed to leave when our whole life was back home. My house, my friends, even my dad was back in Seattle.  But as a girl of only eight those decisions are made for you and no matter how much I resented it, it was happening.

            I arrived at the gates of my new school.  Looking around I saw the typical elementary school atmosphere.  The play ground was filled with before school activity, kids happily enjoying each others company playing tag or kickball - which were both games that I enjoyed – I paused thinking about joining in but I let the moment pass and walked quickly inside the school.  It’s not that I was anti social; back in Seattle I had lots of friends.  We had all known each other for all or at least most of our lives.  Leaving them was the worst part of moving away.  My best friend Elizabeth was also my crime-fighting partner.  We thought of ourselves as detectives.  We solved all the problems an eight year old can have, like when someone’s lunch money was stolen from their backpack or finding proof that a teacher was intentionally picking on a student.  We were the private eyes, am elementary version of Veronica Mars.  I missed her most out of all my friends.  My pet rat Lovey was my replacement partner but it really wasn’t the same.  Still I was not looking for friends at my new school.  As far as I was concerned I had as many friends as I would ever need, just in another state.  With that in mind I went through my first day without one friendly look or approachable smile to anyone. 

            “Hey, are you new?!” A frizzy haired girl sat next to me.  I could feel her friendliness radiating off of her.  It was about as welcome as a disease and had as little an effect on my me as chicken pox has on a recovered chicken pox patient reexposed– in other words it had no effect whatsoever.

I looked at her a moment before replying, “Yes are you?”  I continued starring at her, never breaking out of my slightly menacing expression. 

“Erm… no,” she managed to squeak before hurrying back over to her friends. 

I could hear them giggling and whispering but it didn’t faze me as I hungrily spread the tomato sauce over my pizza Lunch-able.

            On my walk home I passed by the same group of girls and heard the familiar sounds of gossip.  I barely noticed and defiantly didn’t care.  I was determined not to fit in because fitting in would be complying with this new life.  A life that I didn’t ask for and didn’t want any part of.  I didn’t feel like the girl eating lunch by herself hating the world.  That girl was someone else and I was still back in Seattle. 

            “Hey!  How was school?”  My mom asked me as I walked through the door.  I answered her with a slam of the door and a glare that could make Goosebumps pop up in ninety degree weather.  I went straight to my room where my pet rat was starring at her wheel. 

“Hi Lovey, so I went to school today.  I think I freaked people out a little but at least the first day is over, right?”

Silence was all that came back to me.  Actually more like a nibbling sound which isn’t much better.  This was the first moment I thought about maybe giving in and making a real friend, one that was human.  But the moment passed me by and I continued going to school with the same attitude.

            After the first week the word had spread through the third grade about the weird new girl.  I could tell by the way people looked at me and I had no trouble keeping to myself at lunch anymore, I practically had my own table.  In a few weeks I went from most talked about to completely invisible.  I just walked through a life that I felt like I wasn’t even living, until it suddenly became exciting.

            “Alright class,” my teacher said one afternoon, “I have a surprise for you all.  The PTA has raised money for each grade to go on one field trip.”

 She showed us a thick manila envelope stuffed with cash.  A round of “ooos” and “ahhhs” went around the classroom.  I just sat there.

“I thought we could go to Sacramento to learn about the government,” the excited faces turned to frowns at this but quickly changed back when the teacher said “but since that is more fourth grade curriculum I was thinking Marine World instead.”

My classmates’ excitement raised the energy for the rest of the day and even I felt a bit happier at the thought of day at an amusement park.  Little did I know that something even more thrilling was about to happen in just a few hours.

            After school that day I was the last in the classroom, lazily gathering my stuff from the cloakroom, which is the small room where we hung up our coats and our backpacks.  While I was in there I heard some rustling in the classroom.  I peaked out the door and saw one of my classmates frantically searching through the teacher’s desk until she found the manila envelope.  I just stood there open mouthed as she pulled out a handful of bills and then stashed the envelope back in the desk.  I stood in the cloakroom for an extra minute taking it in.  ‘Looks like Berkeley has started getting exciting’ I thought.

            The next day at school I studied the fieldtrip money thief also known as Cindy.  She sat primly in her seat; her ears and eyes wide open to whatever our teacher was saying to the class.  She was the perfect student, always did her homework and cried at the mere thought of a B on a test.  Definitely not thief material.  I didn’t have the urge to turn her in because honestly, I could care less about the field trip but I was curious.  Why did she need the money so bad that she would go through the trouble of stealing it?

            It took a few days before anyone noticed some of the money had been taken.  When the teacher did announce it, the class went into chaos.  We had backpack checks, as if the thief would steal the money and then keep it in their backpacks, or parents were called and students began randomly placing the blame on everyone else.  But no one suspected Cindy.

            “We all know it was Manya.” I overheard a boy say at lunch.

            “ Yeah she doesn’t care about the field trip.  She was the only one who wasn’t excited about it.”  Another one of my classmates said.

            Soon word had spread that I had stolen the money.  I got more hated looks and squinty glares that week than I had ever received in my eight years of life. I tried to shake it off, tried to tell myself that it didn’t matter, that I didn’t care but it was beginning to get to me.  When my teacher asked to talk with me after school I knew that she believed the rumors too.

            “Manya, if you did take the money you wont get in trouble if you tell me now.” She said.  When I told her I didn’t she gave me a look of disapproval and doubt.  That look forced me into action and with the determination of a convict wrongly accused I went on a stocking mission. 

            I followed Cindy when she got off the school bus to her house.  From a far distance her house appears to be a normal upper middle class home perhaps a bit crisper and well kept then most but other than that very ordinary.  When I got closer I saw the item that made the house slightly more than ordinary, a big brass Jesus bearing cross hung next to the door and under it a quote from the bible that said “blessed are the meek for they shall inherit the earth”.  I was so caught up in my snooping that I nearly jumped out of my skin when Cindy opened the front door and saw me dilly-dallying around her front yard. 

            “What are you doing here?” Cindy asked.

            “Look Cindy, I know you took the money.” I said getting right to the point.

            “What are you talking abo…”

            “I saw you take it so don’t lie about it.” I interrupted. “I just don’t want to get blamed for it so if you would just give the money back then everything will be fine.”

            “I can’t give it back. I already spent it.” She said.

            “Well, can u return what you bought for it?  I mean can’t you just save up your allowance for a new American Girl doll or whatever you spent the money on.”

            “I didn’t buy an American girl doll!” she shouted angrily and to my surprise tears were welling up in her eyes.   I started to realize that something was really wrong.  Cindy confided in me the real reason she took the money.  (Out of respect for her privacy I wont reveal her secret in this paper.)

            I felt bad about my approach and talked with her briefly outside until she invited me in.  She was happy to have someone to talk to about it since she had to keep it a secret from everyone, especially from her parents.  They were very religious Christians and would have probably disowned her if they had found out.  Cindy explained that she hadn’t known where else to get the money and stealing it felt like the only option.  We ended up spending the rest of the afternoon just hanging out and she became my first friend in Berkeley. 

            I finally started opening up at school and eventually became accepted by my peers.  In turn I accepted my new life for what it was and with time began to love it as much as I had my life in Seattle.  As for the money it never got returned and although my classmates were disappointed about the fieldtrip I was overjoyed that Cindy had taken the money because the experience brought back the real me.  The field trip money did much more than buy marine world tickets, it bought me a ticket to happiness in Berkeley, a place a could finally call home.