In all my life, I have never stayed more than three years at a single school, and never will. From kindergarten through my senior year of college, I will have earned credits from nine different institutions, and will do so by the time I’m twenty-one. I’m not a military brat, nor an exchange student, I’m just one of millions living with the consequences of having a slightly-less boring life than the average Centennial.
Being the New Kid is always rough, repetitive to the point where telling your new peers and teachers, “No, my name is spelled like this,” plays on a loop in your dreams. It’s the nausea that comes when the lunch bell rings and you realize you’ll have to sit alone in the corner and hope some kind-hearted mind-reader arrives to bail you out. It’s the maze of hallways and false advertisements that lead you to slaughter if you walk into the class that isn’t yours halfway through the foreign language lecture you can’t understand. It’s all the big issues and inconsequential nuances of being New, and it’s stagnant in its formula like a pre-algebra textbook.
But every place is different, and it’s those differences you have to focus on. That’s what making it as the New Kid is all about.