The Super Jerk Trilogy (Now 3-in-1)

1. Still Don't Know My Name

{Sarah}

Life is like a photograph.

   At least, that's what they say. I suppose whoever "they" were didn't know me. Not that I hate photography. I've been doing it since I was given my first camera at five years old. But I'd only chosen to capture the good things in my life. There weren't many, so that was when I'd started staying away from home more often, with only my camera.

   I guess you could say my home life wasn't great. My older brother was suicidal from improperly managed depression. My two younger sisters, though they were only sixteen — a year younger than me — had already managed to land themselves in juvenile detention three times between the both of them. Then there was my father, a single parent and working two jobs to support us.

   No wonder my parents were divorced.

   And lastly, me. I was considered the "good child." The stereotypical kind. The grades, the friends, even the attitude. Call it what you want, but I never cared.

   So that's why I was surprised when I came home late one night after a failed movie marathon–meaning everyone had fallen asleep–and my father sprung the news on me.

   "We're moving."

   I stopped in the entryway, rooted to the spot. "What?"

   "We're moving. With your job and mine, we've saved enough. And besides, I just might find a better one elsewhere."

   "But why?" I shot back, confused and a little angry. I didn't want to move. I was perfectly happy here.

   "Sar, I don't see what's so hard about this." He crossed his arms over his chest.

   "Fine. To where?"

   "St. Louis."

   "You mean we're moving out of the state?" My voice got louder with every word. "Are you kidding me?"

   "We aren't going to be that far away. Besides, I've been meaning to get out of Detroit for a while."

≈≈

Needless to say, here we are now, in St. Louis, mid-August, at the start of my senior year. My brother, Victor, has yet to come join us from the rehab center, and my sisters, Tally and Tanya, are going to be coming home at the end of the month. That is, once they get out of juvie.

   I expect nothing from this new school year, aside from the fact that I know a total of zero people and that I will probably be bullied by the entire female population. I suppose my two classes at the community college doesn't help that.

   It's when I'm squinting down at my schedule, covered with boxes full of numbers and three minutes to go until the first bell, that I hear a voice behind me.

   "You look lost."

   I turn on my heel. There's a boy standing there, in a blue button-down and plaid shorts, his brown eyes curious behind his big glasses.

   "I'm Trevor," he says, sticking his hand out. 

   "Sarah." It takes me a second to realize he wants a handshake. No one shakes hands anymore.

   "So you're lost?" Trevor says again, after we've shaken properly.

   "I think so." I hope he'll hold his judgement about me when I ask the next question. "What are all these columns?"

   "Let's take a look," He straightens his glasses, and when he speaks next, it's a terrible imitation of a British accent. "I have walked these halls for the past three years, m'lady."