The Synergy Project Magazine - September 2020

THE NEW KID
A MEMOIR
By: Julia Loritz
I remember the night before lying
in an unfamiliar bed. We’d been here
for less than a month, through the
dwindling weeks of summer. As early
as it was in the season, outside the
leaves were turning ever so subtly -
slowly - into crisp reds and yellows. My
room was one I shared with my little
brother. Our older brother, we knew,
lay awake in the room across the hall,
one just as empty as our own, nothing
more than a closet, bed, thin layer of
paint, and little decor we would often
add to as we adjusted to life in our
new neighborhood.
Sleep came slowly and left all
too soon as our bodies attempted to
coax us into the morning, one that we
all were dreading. Mom woke us from
our shallow slumbers promptly at 6:30,
tapping our shoulders and speaking
softly but just loud enough to open our
eyes. She half-smiled as we stretched.
I felt my heavy eyelids rise while my
pupils adjusted to the light seeping
through the blinds. I woke in a good
mood, that - as quickly as it arrived
- disappeared with the realization of
the day ahead. With no idea what
to expect, I was tempted to pull the
covers over my head and hide, but
instead found the courage in my naive,
elementary mind to give in. I crawled
to the edge of my bed, where I found
the outfit I had meticulously picked out
the night before. I pulled my shirt over
my sleep-swollen face and trudged
dizzily down the carpeted steps. My
dad had prepared breakfast, but I
wasn’t in the mood to eat. Anxiety
made me sick to my stomach. I
remember feeling that everything I
was experiencing was only temporary:
from the house, the school, to leaving
everything I knew behind.
Saying goodbye to my best
friend of 8 years felt temporary, too.
I preferred not to acknowledge the
truth sitting in the back corners of
my mind. At least we’d be together
again in 3 years when middle school
began. We figured it would come
soon enough. I thought about this as
my parents guided me and my little
brother to our new bus stop. At the
cul-de-sac, another girl who looked
about my brother’s age joined us. We
didn’t speak, not even to our parents,
until waving goodbye from the foggy
windows of the school bus. I found
10 THE SYNERGY PROJECT MAGAZINE
a spot at the back. I sat at the edge
of the seat next to a girl with purpleframed
glasses. I felt her eyes burning
at the side of my head. I turned my
knees and feet into the aisle, almost
falling off with every sharp turn.
Looking ahead, I stared cautiously
at the girls ahead of me. They were
jabbering with little hesitation as I
watched, wondering how they could
be so comfortable on their first day. I
guess not many were like me, foreign
and unknowing of whatever was at the
end of the bus ride.
‘The new kid’, that was me.
I’d never been the new kid before.
I’d always been welcomed and
recognized at school, but today that all
changed. I couldn’t believe that all the
faces I was seeing- brand new to my
eye- were ones that existed this whole
time in an alternate, adjacent reality.
My world seemed so small before.
Now, it was growing, or perhaps just
shifting. I wasn’t sure if I liked it yet.
I watched out the window,
reading street names I’d never heard
of. New faces waited impatiently at
cul-de-sacs and intersections with
flat backpacks slumped over their
shoulders. Barbed wire wrapped
around my throat as the bus grew
closer to the school. Swallowing tears
and clenching my teeth, my legs shook
as I stood to match those in front of
me. Kids pushed to get into the aisle
as others bounded down the steps,
marching onto the sidewalk. I walked
at the edge of the mob. I was shoved
through the doors into a hallway
with colorful tiles barely visible with
the tennis shoe-d feet stomping and
ruining the freshly waxed floors. I
looked from side to side. Standing on
my tippy toes, I tried desperately to
remember where my classroom was
supposed to be. I found my cubby
hidden at the very end of the hall,
my classroom to its left. I swung my
backpack down off of my shoulders,
hooking it inside. Unzipping it, I
emptied my brand new school supplies
from my backpack, looking at my
shoes as I walked into the classroom.
I smiled shyly at my teacher. She had
a blonde bob haircut and a sweet
Carolina accent she cheerily greeted
each student with.
The desk with my name plastered
onto its sleek wooden surface was all
the way in the front of the classroom.
Reading the names surrounding it, I
realized I recognized no one. I was
alone. The pressure behind my eyes
grew as I sank into my chair, not
looking up as several others skipped
into the door.
The bell rang. I sucked in my
breath and squeezed my eyes shut.
“Good morning everyone!” Her name
was Mrs. S. The
class mumbled
a response. My
mouth stayed
glued shut.
I
managed to
avoid eye
contact with
everyone at my
table until one
asked, “Wait,
are you new?”
“Yeah,”
I muttered,
looking down
once more.
“Oh.
Cool.” No, not
really, I wanted
to say.
“So, how
was everyone’s summer?” Mrs. S asked
the class.
“Good!”
“I’m glad to hear that.” She
continued the introductory spiel, but I
barely heard over the pounding in my