Young Writers Society

August 19 • Monday

“Hello. This blog wasn’t my idea; my therapist told me I should keep a journal before I moved, but no one keeps a journal anymore, so I thought I’d try this instead.” Mentioning a therapist in the second sentence? Abominable. Scratch that.

“If I had one wish, I’d go back to California, but it looks like I’m here in Wyoming instead.” An utter lie, and the truth was unbearable.

“Poll: What’s your favorite animal? I’ve got a rabbit—maybe they aren’t quite as good as a sibling, but they’re pretty fun to have around.” What kind of junk was this? Nothing that need ever show up on the internet under his name.

Finnley looked at the spread of notebook paper littering his desk. He didn’t have the heart to cross out any of the possibilities, but they were all absolutely rotten. Maybe he wasn’t a half bad writer, but blogs were entirely out of his territory. Even essays weren’t really his style. If only, he thought wryly, I could write blog posts entirely in poetry. It had crossed his mind earlier, but the verses he had planned on opening the blog with only made it as far as the paper, just like all the other terrible starts.

Just thinking of terrible starts made him groan and slump down in his chair, pull the hood of his sweatshirt over his head. The blog wasn’t the only thing Finnley was due to start that day. It was time to start school. As if to punctuate that thought, his mom knocked sharply on the door.

“Finnley? Finnley are you up yet?” she called from outside his room. Her voice was muffled by the door, by the scattered stacks of cardboard boxes that Finnley didn’t have the heart to unpack.

“Yes, Mom,” he dutifully called back. He had been up since three in the morning and was already fully dressed, but his mother didn’t need to know that. Goodness only knew how much she already fretted over Finnley—he didn’t need to give her another reason to.

“That’s wonderful! The school is close enough to walk, I know we went there once before, but I mapped it out for you because you might have forgotten by the time you’ve done a whole day of school…” Finnley tuned out the rest of what she was saying and stretched his arms over the back of the chair to crack his back.

“Make new friends,” she was saying as he pulled himself out of his chair and threaded his way between the boxes on the floor. Finnley snorted softly. She made it sound as if a new school was a new chance at life, but he hadn’t made friends since he was a little kid. The phrase was by no means a new one, and just as it didn’t help then, it wouldn’t help now.

“Good morning,” he said, opening the door. Realizing that the words came out more sourly than intended, he pulled the corners of his lips up in a smile that was put on just for his mother.

“Finnley!” she said warmly, and his smile took on an air of sincerity. Her eyes fell from his face to his favorite sweatshirt and jeans and her lips curled into a small frown. Here it comes. “Are you really wearing that on the first day of school? Don’t you want to make a good first impression? Besides, Finnley, it’s eighty degrees out there today, I wouldn’t want you to overheat.”

“I’ll be just fine,” Finnley replied, but the moment was already ruined. As he turned to shuffle back into the room, his mom leaned against the crooked door frame, eyes turned from scolding to worrying. Over the years he’d had his fair share of both, but the worrying was still hardest to hear. He held in a sigh as he waited for her to come out with it.

“Of course, I understand if you just want to lie low for a little while. I’d love for you to find some kids your age, but, well… maybe it’s better to focus on your classes for now. I know it was hard on you last year.”

That didn’t help. Every time she said the words “last year”, tiny slivers of memory kept trying to resurface in Finnley’s brain. This time: a flash of a smile, even teeth. Bags already packed to go. He shoved the images down before more could follow. In the strained silence that had descended, his mom gave a little cough.

“Yeah, classes,” Finnley said, a little stupidly and too late for the natural flow of conversation to resume. “I’m glad we, er, decided to take it down a notch this year, but I’ll still need to study.”

She nodded. She didn’t look very satisfied, but she nodded. Unfolding her arms, she checked her watch and a fresh wave of concern passed over her face. “It’s time for me to go—time for you to go, too. You’ll be alright getting to school on your own?” She wouldn’t say it, didn’t want to prevent him from making his own choices, but she wanted to know that he’d change clothes, that he’d try to make a good impression.

“Sure,” Finnley replied. To both questions. He didn’t want to try and dress nice, to try and act nice, but it would take a load off his mother if he did. That made it worth it to him. She nodded once more, still uncertain, and then hurried down the stairs. Finnley listened to the front door creak open and shut, followed by the quick slam of the car door. Finnley poked through a few boxes before finding the one filled with his nicer clothes. Mostly untouched. There hadn’t been much occasion for them; hadn’t been much occasion to go outside at all. He was reluctant to abandon his sweatshirt, which had become a sort of shield for him, but it was too hot for that in any case.

Leaving the grey curtains at the window shut despite the light streaming through them, Finnley slung his backpack over his shoulder and clattered down the stairs. It wasn’t Finnley who was noisy, just the stairs. Another thing to get used to in this house. He couldn’t quite call it his own, not yet.

It was not actually eighty outside, but if Finnley had to guess, it might get that hot around one or two in the afternoon. In California, he called those the indoor hours, but it made little difference because he so rarely did anything outside.

He would never admit it to his mother, but he had in fact already forgotten the way to school, and was actually grateful for the directions she wrote down. As he wound his way out of the neighborhood, a pine forest rose up on one side. Dark and majestic, the trees stood straight and tall just a little ways from the sidewalk. Finnley paused to admire them for a moment, to breathe in the scent of pine. Some things here were still the same as home.

As he continued on, however, his nerves began to get to him. Probably something he’d inherited from his mother. His skin prickled and his hands began to fidget. He looked to the forest again for comfort, for solace, but found none there. Finnley sighed and hit his head lightly with his hand to remind himself: It was going to be a perfectly normal day—he would slide into this town unnoticed and unbothered. It was what he was good at.