It seems as if it were just a day ago that I graduated preschool. My parents were so proud. I got a cheap piece of paper with the words, "Congratulations, Kaylin Carla Deadmond!" What was being celebrated, I had no clue. There was no reason for me to be rewarded; I had spent the entire year learning how to write the letter A, and had barely completed learning the sounds of the alphabet. It was pointless, like a game to me, and I was glad to be released into the freedom of the summer.
Goodplain is usually a quiet town, but during my early years, the hotter seasons were pure chaos. Everyone was heading to the colder city of Santa Cisco to enjoy the freezing cold waves of the Pacific Ocean, and more than often my family and I would end up being stuck in traffic for nine hours after simply going to the grocery store, which was literally three blocks away from my first house. So, we usually walked wherever we wanted to go. I often stayed home with one of my parents and my baby sister while one member of the group went out into the burning sun for thirty minutes to buy a little bag of food that would get us through the week. Fortunately, we were close.
Then came kindergarten. It was a complete repeat of preschool, except this time around, I could actually read short stories. I was so bored, and the constant coloring we had to do made my wrist beg for mercy. However, I tried my best to make friends. There was one girl who I constantly tried to get attention from, but I was always overshadowed by her twin sister, Justice. They were closer than anyone on Earth, and I just sat back and watched, only being able to talk to her when her sister was absent. There was another kid, too, a little boy from Mexico named Aaron, although we all called him Tom for no apparent reason. Tom and I got along just fine in kindergarten until we both started a game where everyone was an animal in the zoo. It got pretty violent when the crocodile bit the flamingo, and then the flamingo told the zookeeper all about it. Tom and I recieved all the blame, and we were on the red chart for an entire day. He didn't seem too upset by it, but I, being a complete perfectionist, was devastated. I sobbed and begged the teacher to move me back to the bright green chart, but she threatened to call my parents if I didn't face the facts and continue with my life. I didn't ever talk to the boy ever again, and the next time he saw me on campus, he didn't remember my name.
By the time I had hardly mastered proper handwriting, it was all over, and I was sent flying to true elementary school. First grade was incredibly entertaining; our teacher made us sing multiplication songs every morning, and we had to do the most ridiculous dances along with it. I sort of bounced around without any rhythym, but she never really caught me. School was a breeze, and I actually received from the class. I enjoyed learning at that time, and I felt like nothing could throw me off balance. Unfortunately, second grade ended up being pure torture. I found myself hanging out among the wrong people; I tried to join in their games, but they ignored me, pretending like I wasn't even a human being. I was also incredibly sensitive; if I got one question wrong or a teacher mispronounced my name, I would break down and cry. But if anything, I was incredibly bored. The teacher's method of teaching was dull, and after I tested into the advanced program, she made several other students and me tutor kids who, no matter how many times they were told, would never understand any concepts that were being explained in class. Many had to repeat the grade.
My first lesson of the world's cruelity was received that year, when one of the other second graders told me that something outstanding would happen if I held up my middle finger to my best friend. Unfortunately, a girl named Ellie, who was perhaps the biggest tattletale in the entire school, was my closest comrade at the time, so I unknowingly flipped her off. She ran to a teacher right away, and when they came over, I was wailing so hard that I couldn't breathe. It was impossible to tell the teacher what had actually occurred through my tears and uneven gasps, and the principal called home. I had never seen my family be so disappointed yet so understanding in my entire life.
YOU ARE READING
Up until now, Kaylin Deadmond has lived the life of the usual child. She had friends, but wasn't too popular, and a high grade-point average, although she occasionally worked a little too hard for it. However, in middle school, things start to chang...