I haven’t stayed at any school longer than a year since I was in sixth grade. I’m not an army brat but if I were, life would be easier to explain.
After twelve glistening years on the sunny coast of Venice Beach, California, my parents decided to uproot our little family. Almost out of nowhere we packed up our RV, Dad's latest impulse purchase, and relocated to Tempe, AZ. Of course it was via Las Vegas where we stayed for three months, leaving me to this day wondering if we actually lived there. I was in school for a month, that’s singular, and then we moved on.
By the time I was halfway through high school, we had made choppy progress zigzagging eastward through Colorado Springs, Topeka (it’s Kansas but never go there), Omaha (where my mother literally said, “Whoopsie”) and back down to St. Louis. From there, it was over into Nashville, or so I say because nobody has heard of “Smyrna-no-it-is-not-an-STD" Tennessee. There was a brief stint in Cincinnati before we headed up to Cleveland, which I gave the parentals points for, seeing as how we managed to stay in the same state. I was confident we’d stay there since we appeared to be at the dead end, Lake Erie, home to 2,000 shipwrecks, my life not included. Plus nine months was a record. But nope! I got to see Pittsburgh (because it sounds better than South Side Flats) and finally, what tour of the States would be complete without Delaware City? I just realized I left out Albuquerque, but mostly because I wasn’t there long enough to learn how to spell it. I maintain, there should be a “k”, obviously.
"Tell us about yourself, uh Genesis, is it? Genesis Cooper? Did I say that right?" asked Mrs. Flattery, my newest (and God willing, final) homeroom teacher. I graduate in seven months and I am praying like a religious freak that my parents will not try to move again before I'm done. Like a total idiot, I was actually surprised two weeks ago when they said we were headed for New York and now, here I am in New Jersey, obviously not exactly as glamorous as New York. Thank you, Mom and Dad.
"Just Geni actually," I replied giving her my serial killer stare, mom's words, not mine. I absolutely hate my name, shocking I know, and it specifically says in every chart, because I have to make it clear every time I enroll somewhere, that I only go by Geni, as in Jenny. My full name should never be said out loud for the very obvious reason of being named after the first book in the Bible. Who can explain Genesis? Besides Phil Collins? Truth is, Dad was going through a strange biblical phase when I was born and he thought it was a cute name for a girl. How he got it past Mom, I'll never understand. Even she only ever calls me Geni.
As I look at the pale, pimply, disinterested group, all too bored with me to care about my horrifying name, my heart stops. I lock eyes with a set of shamrock green lasers staring back at me, mirroring my disbelief. I cannot friggin' believe Jason Andrews is here. If my parents find out, we'll be in Maine by the end of the week.
"Geni? Hello, Geni, are you in there?" Mrs. Flattery, with that awkward grown-up giggle, is snapping her obnoxious red talons at my face. It brings me back to the room, cold and drab aside from the famous Great Gatsby poster on the back wall between the two windows. Those watchful eyes. I shuddered.
"Oh, hi, sorry," I say. "Not much to tell. I hate math, l like music. Pretty typical I guess."
"Well, we're happy to have you. Go ahead and sit wherever's open." She gestured toward the room as if presenting it to me, an exciting buffet of possibilities when in reality it was a fully loaded trap. Head down, notebook held in tight to my chest, I went to the farthest left corner seat in the back row, as far away from Jason Andrews as I could get. And even though I didn't look, I felt his eyes on me every second…