Michael: Dear Diary

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Another one requested by the lovely softemo6 !






You had met Michael when you were ten years old.

You had been less than thrilled to find out that your mother had gotten a promotion in Sydney, Australia; meaning that you'd have to kiss your old friends, your old school, your old house, and your old life goodbye. As a preteen, it felt like the absolute end of the world.

"Stupid mom's work..." you had mumbled to yourself as your parents' car slowly pulled into the driveway of a cozy-looking house.

"Chloe," your mother sighed. "I know you miss your old home, but you'll be fine."

You just rolled your eyes. Sure. Whatever.

The car came to a stop, and you jumped out of the backseat. You grabbed your pillow, blanket, and duffel bag full of clothing. The moving truck pulled in behind your parents' car, causing you to groan. Unpacking was the last thing you wanted to do.

You glanced up at the house. It was painted a light brown, with a white garage door. It didn't look too much different from the houses in the surrounding neighborhood.

Just as you began to journey towards the front door, you noticed a movement out of the corner of your eye. Your head jerked to see, and you were just in time to see a head full of dirty blond disheveled hair disappear into the garage of the house next to yours. You shook your head and walked into the house.

You immediately scrunched up your nose in disgust at the empty living space. Dusty wood floors creaked beneath your feet as you began your journey towards the stairs, the walls were a plain and boring white, and worst of all: it smelled like old mothballs.

You sighed heavily as you entered an empty bedroom upstairs, feeling like all of the rooms looked the exact same. You set your duffel bag down on the old creaky mattress (which your parents had PROMISED they would replace with a new one as soon as you were settled in) and unzipped it, grabbing your prized diary and walking over to the side window, staring down at the street below.

You opened up your diary and grabbed the pen from the side rings, starting to scribble down some words of distaste.

'Dear Diary,

I hate this stupid house, it's stinky and old. I hate Australia, it's probably also stinky and old. Mom and dad are getting stinky and old so I guess that works for them.'

You jumped when you suddenly noticed a tapping at your window. You glanced out the window, noticing another window directly across from yours at the next-door neighbors' house.

A boy was poking his head out the window, a wide grin on his face. He had a handful of legos in one of his hands. You found his grin to be contagious, so you giggled and opened up your window.

"HI!" you yelled, waving at the boy.

"HI! IM MICHAEL!" he called back, the twangy Australian accent ringing in your ears.

"IM Y/N!" you exclaimed. "I JUST MOVED HERE!"

The boy, Michael, responded with a giggle. "I KNOW! I SAW THE TRUCK!"

"I'M TEN! HOW OLD ARE YOU?" you yelled.

"TEN AND A HALF!" Michael replied with a smirk. "IM OLDER THAN YOU!"

You immediately glared at him. "WHATEVER. ANYWAYS, WHY ARE YOU THROWING LEGOS AT MY WINDOW?"

"BECAUSE I DONT HAVE ANY ROCKS!" he called back. "AND I WANNA BE YOUR FRIEND!"

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