So Not Happening

Chapter Four: Welcome To Farm Life

Chapter Four: "Welcome to farm life."

~♡~

Dear Loyal Readers of Ask Miss Hillard,

As you know, when it is time for the reigning advice queen, Miss Hillard, to move on, she must pass the torch. It is with great sadness (believe me, you have no idea) that I type my last blog entry as your queen of advice, your royalty of reason. My successor has been chosen, and the new Miss Hillard will begin next week. So keep those e-mails coming. The new Miss Hillard has plenty of wisdom to share.

Thank you, my readers, for trusting me with your questions and dilemmas. As I leave our fine school, it seems I have acquired problems of my own. Who does an advice columnist go to for help? Please keep your former friend in your thoughts and prayers as I leave my beloved city and go to a place of complete and utter lack of refinement. I will be living on a farm complete with dirt roads and cows. I have been assured there are no muddy pigs, as we all know from dissection lab last year about my little swine phobia. But, ladies, my situation is dire. This town probably has no fashion. No style. No Starbucks, people! War criminals probably see better conditions.

Think of me fondly and know that your problems filled me with joy.

~♡~

I shut my laptop and stare out my airplane window. Oklahoma in all its green glory stretches out beneath me.

"Thank you for flying American Airlines. We welcome you to Tulsa. If this is your final destination, you can pick up your baggage . . ."

Welcome to Tulsa. An hour away from my new home in a town called Truman. My stomach clenches at the very idea. I can't shake this feeling that I'll wake up any moment and discover this has all been a bad dream. I'll jump out of bed, find my parents drinking lattes in the living room, and be safely tucked away in our Manhattan apartment. God can do anything, right? Give sight to the blind, heal the lame, raise the dead . . . roll the stone away and resurrect my old life.

Fifteen minutes later I follow the crowd to the baggage claim.

And there stands my mom.

Surrounded by my new stepfamily---Jake the Giant and his two monger sons.

"Bella!" She rushes to me, arms open wide, and pulls me close. "I've missed you!"

"You too." My face is pressed to her shoulder.

Mom takes a step back, her face beaming. "I can't wait to get you all settled in. We got back from the honeymoon a few days early, so I've been fixing up your room."

"Yeah, as in the room that used to be mine."

I look past my mom's shoulder to find Logan glaring at me like I'm overcooked spinach.

Robbie runs around us, a red Superman cape flying behind him. "Me and Budge are roomies now."

I stare at Logan's back as he walks away. "Remind me again why people call him Budge?"

Mom shrugs. "A nickname from his mother."

I guess it's better than Bubba.

An hour later, Jake's old Tahoe lurches to a stop in the dusty driveway.

"Home sweet home." Mom hugs me for the trillionth time. "I can't wait for you to see your room."

"Oh . . . the waiting has been just as painful for me too." I peel my legs out of the vehicle and step onto the ground.