Savannah
I’m sprinting across a grassy meadow, hair flying all over. The wind is whistling in my ears. I’m sure you’re probably imagining me prancing in circles around the meadow, but that’s so not what’s going on right now.
My lungs are gasping for air. My brain is trying to force my legs to stop, but they resist, pulling me forward at full speed. I glance behind me, and I see nothing. I immediately skid to a stop and scan my surroundings.
It’s silent. I lost it again, I scold myself. Before I can turn around and jog back home, I am knocked flat on my face. My heart is thumping, my face frozen with fear. I flip onto my back, and spring up onto my feet. Nothing is there.
“W-W-W-What? How is that..? Huh?” I turn in a circle, and absorb what just happened. I attempt to shake off my confusion, and I ponder this on the way home.
I am greeted at the door by my little brother, Harry.
“SAVANNAH! Mommy said no running in the mornings!”
I thank him profusely for reminding me of my mother’s most imperative rule. Meaning, I yelled at him and called him some names. I get to my bedroom as fast as I can, so my mom doesn’t see me.
In my room, I pop open my small compact mirror to look at my reflection. My hazel eyes bore into my own forehead. I have braided my golden-brown hair to the side, and I’m wearing my older sister, Brielle’s hand-me-downs.
I sit down on the floor, putting the compact aside, and take a look around my new room. We moved here from Vermont in August. My life in Vermont was the same as my life here. I’m liking it in Montana though. Right now, I live in Helena, the capital of Montana. I started 8th grade and not so long after turned 14 on August 28th.
14 is supposed to be a great age when you understand grown-up stuff and all, but I’ve only been 14 for a month, and it sucks. All the grown-ups do is ignore you, and think that you’re nothing more than a frivolous child. And don't even get me started with the brats at school. They all think I'm held back, because I'm already 14 when school starts. What makes it even worse is that I am a terrible student.
My walls are currently bare, except for my collection board, which also happens to be the only thing I have unloaded from the incessant boxes that surround me. My bed is still in pieces, waiting to be put together and slept on. I’ve slept on the couch in my living room for almost 2 months. I haven’t really felt the need to sleep in my bed, especially because I’ve gotten comfortable on the couch.
My collection wall is a memento from when I was a kid. I used to want to start a collection because “everyone” had one. One part of the board has 50 post cards, but then I gave up on that. Another part has couch quarters. They’re a bunch of quarters I’ve found in couches.
I always found at least 20 of an object before moving on. My collection includes ABC gum, stamps, staples, and more. I stopped collecting about a year ago.
I was always jealous of everyone in my kindergarten class, because they were always showing off what they had collected. Some of them collected snail shells, while others collected maple leaves. I could never make it past 5 of one object without losing my patience.
We moved here to escape the memory of my dad, but he haunts me everywhere I go. He was the one who told me that I could collect what I wanted, but I had to do at least 20 of it. Me being the naïve 5 year old, I started with the easiest: ABC (Already Been Chewed) gum.
My pensive thoughts are interrupted by my mom’s incredibly loud voice.
“Savannah! Come downstairs! It’s time for school!”
“Coming!” I shout as I grab my backpack and race outside.
“Open the door, Bree!” I say to my sister.
“It’s Brielle” she says, while applying her mascara in the rearview mirror.
“Just open the door, Brielle!” my mom yells from the doorway.
“Ugh, whatever.” she says, slipping the mascara wand back into the small bottle and unlocking the car. “Well? What are you waiting for? Get in, freckles,” she says.
I slide into the backseat of our silver Toyota Corolla. As we pull out of the driveway, I get a glance of the meadow. Not now, I tell myself. After school, definitely.
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Everyone believes that school is where people go to make friends. I believe that school is where people go to learn. Easy for me to say though. I have no friends. No one really speaks to me or talks to me about anything.
Actually, it’s kind of the opposite. I don’t talk to anyone, because it makes me vulnerable to pain. It’s how my dad died. I’ll just say not everyone is who wish they could be.
I may like school, but I don’t pay much attention to it. It’s the first class of the day and I’m already completely zoned out.
“Ms. Goldstein?” Professor Heidelberg calls my name.
“What?” I answer disrespectfully.
She makes a gesture towards the chalkboard. My face goes blank as I slowly slide out of my seat. I make a smug face like I know exactly what I’m doing. As I stand up, a feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around.
“She wants you to find the value of x!” a random girl whispers to me.
I strut over to the chalkboard, and proudly fill in the value of x. Professor Heidelberg inspects my response, searching for a way for me to be wrong.
“Impressive, Ms. Goldstein,” my teacher exclaims.
I give random girl a thumbs-up as I slide back into my seat. She grins, and flashes a thumbs up back at me.
After the bell rings, the random girl approaches me, and asks me to sit with her for lunch. At first, I’m reluctant, and then I realize that I have no one to sit with anyways.
“I’m Yoko Young,” she tells me.
“Savannah Goldstein,” I reply, taking a bite of my ham and cheese sandwich. Before she can speak another word, I start again. “Why did you tell me what to do in math? You knew I wasn’t paying attention.”
“It’s 8th grade math,” she responds, “is anyone paying attention? And besides, everyone has things on their minds sometimes.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but I abruptly close it after realizing that she has a point.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I ask.
“I want to be friends with you.” Yoko says looking me straight in the eyes, not a trace of laughter on her face.
I snort, waiting for a better excuse. “Well, how do I know that I want to be friends with you?” I inquire.
“I guess you’ll just have to take your chances.” she shrugs at me.
We eat in silence for the rest of lunch. I was looking to start another collection, but not of friends. Take my chances? Who does this girl think she is? I know these kind of people. They make you think you can trust them, and you do, but then they stab you in the back.
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After school, I hop out of the car and head straight to the meadow.
“Savannah!” Brielle shouts to me, marching over in her stilettos, “Come back here! Mom said to do your homework first!”
She starts to walk closer to the meadow, but I stop her. “You sure you want to do that?” I ask, indicating towards her shoes.
She glances at her feet and glares at me. “Ugh! Do whatever you want!” she finally says, retreating back to our house.
I drop my backpack to the ground, and run into the meadow. I pause. If something dangerous is really out there, I should catch it, so it stops terrorizing our town, I think to myself.
I walk back to my house, and go straight to my backyard. We had a shed installed, and keep all my dad’s tools in it.
I walk into the shed, and grab one of his homemade bear traps. Before I take it, I run my hand over the engraving on the trap. Every time my dad created something, whether it was a trap or an art project, he would put “Goldstein” on it.
I smile, remembering what life was like before. My heart pangs every time I think of him.
I snap out of my sentimentality and hurry over to the meadow. I lay the trap out on the ground in front of me.
I then shout out, “HEY! COME OUT!” Not even a peep from the surrounding woods. I try again, louder. “HEY! WHATEVER YOU ARE! COME OUT HERE!”
I see rustling in the trees. I take a deep breath. Stay calm, I tell myself. I hear a growl behind me, and I feel my heart stop. I take a slow step forward, and turn around. I open my mouth to scream, but no sound comes out.
A huge black and white striped cat sits in front of me. As it gets ready to pounce, and turn around and run towards the woods. Stupid, I know, but home is in the same direction as where it is. I look behind me and suddenly remember the trap. I turn my head back ahead, but it’s too late.
I try to stop, but I end up tripping over the trap. I’m laying on my side, and as I touch my forehead, I bring my fingers back down to see blood. Shit. Mom is going to kill me. I reach over to my backpack, but my head feels like it’s being pierced by a knife. Black spots are dancing in front of my face.
“H-H-Help!” I moan.
The last thing I see is the trap, laying in the grass. My eyes flutter shut, and the world goes black.
