An Awkward Move – short story

On September 10, 2025September 10, 2025 By Lauren Scott, AuthorIn Poetry70 Comments

***Photo by Marcus Lenk on Pexels.com***

Clinking of pots and pans echoes throughout the house. I sit on my bed, leaning against the pine headboard while Mom’s busy in the kitchen getting dinner ready. Dad will walk through the door any minute sporting his huge smile, happy to see his family after a long day’s work. I miss my brother, Jack, who moved out last August for his first year in college. The house is quiet without him pushing my buttons. He was really good at teasing his younger sister! Now that he’s not here, my heart has a big hole in it, and the void triggers my negative head space. My back slides down the headboard, taking my mood with it. Suddenly, I can hear my grandma say, “You shouldn’t slouch, dear.” My mind drifts about life: everything I love and hate. I know hate is a strong word, but it’s the word that fits. I love my family; it’s me I have a problem with. When I first heard the Taylor Swift song, “The Outside” I felt as though she wrote the lyrics for me.

Dad recently accepted a job in this small town. He told Mom that it would benefit his banking career and would be a good change from the big city for all of us. She supported him, so I had to move. After all, I’m a minor. The bummer is that I’m a new student at the high school in the middle of my junior year. Not easy for a sixteen-year-old, but I forgive my parents. Maybe I’m more mature than other teenagers. Sometimes parents have their reasons for doing things and kids will never get it. Most of the time, mine are cool, so I try to understand their decision – even if this move has been awkward for me.

When I’m on campus, I feel like a weed in a garden of roses. Acne is so annoying, and my body is the bane of my existence. My parents thought I was cute when I was a chubby, little girl. But cute isn’t what I see staring at me in the mirror. My long, auburn hair, and blue eyes that change to green are the only things I like about myself. I need to lose a few pounds too. The current culture is no body-shaming, but kids do it anyway because some kids are jerks, boys and girls!

I’m just not a pretty girl on campus, and I don’t care if I’m pretty or not, but being judged makes me feel uncomfortable. I turn a corner in the hall and there’s another model-thin girl strolling past me. It’s not like they didn’t exist back home in the big city, and pretty girls come in all shapes and sizes. Thin doesn’t mean perfect and thin doesn’t always mean healthy.

So why do I feel unsure about myself? One thing I’m sure of is that I miss the bright lights and energy buzzing through the streets of the big city, horns honking, and people walking fast in every direction with someplace important they need to be. I had three girlfriends back home, and a couple of boys who weren’t crushes, but cool to hang out with. All the kids in my inner circle accepted each other for who they were. The same insecurities lived with me, but the friends I made were more accepting. We’ve stayed in touch through texts, emails, and talking on the phone, but I wonder if our friendships will eventually fade. It’s hard when you can’t see each other in person. On campus, the perfect kids stare and laugh behind my back. Are these assumptions in my head? No, I couldn’t make up the staring and laughing. I know the difference between reality and imagination.

I tap on the calendar in my cell phone…three months, two weeks, and four days have passed since the big move across the state. Funny how it feels like a year! My finger hovers above the Facebook app, and I know it’s the wrong move. Stay away, I warn myself, but I don’t listen. I scroll through photos of my friends hanging out with other friends; they seem to mock me. Why don’t I delete my account? I really hate social media, which alone puts me in a different circle than most teens. I’m not one of those girls who likes to share meals, clothes, and fingernail polish. It’s so stupid!

“Emma, you need to just be yourself,” Mom reminds me. She and Dad drill the point across to not worry about what others think. “Try to put yourself out there to make friends, Em,” Dad says. Sure. No problem…in a new high school and new town. Easier said than done. I wonder if they’ve forgotten what it’s like to be young.

I close out the Facebook app as quickly as I opened it. If you ask me about popularity, it’s never been important. But I need to find my own group of friends. I want to belong. I want to find my own corner on campus. A patch of grass where I can park myself and talk with other girls or boys who like the things I do…cats, dogs, hiking, reading, writing, and listening to music. Can my peers overlook what my mirror shows me? Are my insecurities confusing my perspective? Time plays an important role in life – more wisdom from my parents. So, after more time passes, I may like this town. I may like the school. I may fit in. It’s hard to imagine, but I don’t feel it’s impossible.

Mom’s voice travels up the stairs like a pop song melody, telling me that dinner’s on the table. I can smell her spaghetti sauce. She is the best cook! The Italian aroma lifts my spirits as my stomach growls. I slide off my bed and hit the stairs running. Dad got home twenty minutes earlier, giving him and Mom time to catch up before I join them. We sit down at our oak dining table and they ask about my highs and lows. It’s a good way for them to understand what I’m going through. I can talk to them about anything. They have an open door policy, but there’s one thing I haven’t shared…

After dinner, I offer to do the dishes, but mom gives me the night off. I take the stairs two at a time back to my room. I pull my cat journal out of my desk drawer and slide into my usual spot on the bed, pushing my pillow up against the headboard and scooting back into it. My thoughts wander on the lined pages. It’s amazing how time flies when I’m reading a great book or writing. The sun begins to set. Darkness slowly falls outside my window. The bright moon winks at me through my shutters, and it’s comforting. Tomorrow is Friday. One more day at school before the weekend. I can make it. Wow, I feel tired, but my thoughts won’t sleep.

I think about how we used to go to church as a family. It’s been a few years since my parents became frustrated with some people in the congregation. Disheartened enough that they decided to step away from organized religion. I still say prayers though. Does God listen? I don’t know, but I always feel better afterwards. I’m sure it helps just getting the words out. Telling the universe about what makes me happy and anxious. And I always say what I’m grateful for – Mom and Dad who love me and who try their best, and Jack who I miss so much. I know how lucky I am.

Tonight is different though. I close my eyes, and I pray for something that I’ve never talked about. I didn’t want Mom and Dad to worry about me or feel bad about moving. So, tonight I pray for a friend, someone to laugh with. Someone to calm the negative thoughts spinning inside my mind. Parents can only help to a certain point. A friend will ease the awkwardness of moving to a strange town in the middle of high school. A friend will make me feel accepted. Just one friend. Can you hear me, God? Am I asking for too much? It’s not like I’m asking for two.

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© Lauren Scott, Baydreamerwrites.com
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I didn’t know you then

On February 14, 2022February 14, 2022 By Lauren Scott, AuthorIn Poetry45 Comments

I didn’t know you then
on that high school campus.
I didn’t pass you by
in the halls of science.

In language of your peers,
your name was common.
I, the wallflower.
You, the chameleon.

You blended into anywhere.
I had my one special niche.
The music building, my haven
just across the bridge.

Popularity didn’t seek me out.
You sported that football jersey.
My legs marched in drill team.
The players didn’t see me.

You and she were solid,
but off, again and again.
We stumbled through the years.
I was meant to meet him.

Then in between the lines,
our paths meandered together.
The reason happened for us.
Life was changed, perfect, better.

Lauren Scott (c) 2022
Happy Valentine’s Day ❤️

The Way it Was

On May 19, 2020May 31, 2020 By Lauren Scott, AuthorIn Singing, Stories72 Comments

Is there someone in your life who made a strong, positive impact? Someone who motivated you to step out of your comfort zone? My answer is yes, and this is my story:

The year is 1970…and tonight’s special performance takes place in my home where the center of the living room is my stage and an antique mahogany chair is my podium. A small cassette tape recorder rests on the floral cushioned seat. I wear a powder blue dress and my shoulder-length brown hair usually worn down is swept up into pigtails. I press play on the recorder and sing my heart out. My parents and aunt and uncle cheer me on from their seats, and following my curtsy when the last melody is sung, they tell me the show was phenomenal. That night remains as glowing as yesterday’s sunrise. I was nine years old but already knew I wanted to be a singer. Barbra Streisand became my vocal idol. Her voice wowed me the first time I heard it, and regardless of how often I listened to her, my arms would get goosebumps. During those years, I fell asleep each night with one of Barbra’s albums spinning on my record player, lulling me to sleep. Unbeknownst to the amazing singer, many a night we would perform a duet using my special hairbrush-microphone. I had a wild imagination and wanted to be just like her.

Whenever I had the chance, I held concerts in my room, imagining sold-out crowds. As a teenager, I joined school choirs, but it was not until my junior year of high school that I truly found the self-confidence to pursue my dream. That year, the music department welcomed a new teacher, Ron Perry. He was in his mid-twenties and became more of a friend to his students than a teacher. He treated us as equals, and over time, it was natural for us to call him Ron. During his first week, he focused on listening to us individually to determine what part we would sing. I was nervous when he called my name, but I managed to echo the notes he played on the piano, and was surprised when he praised my singing ability. I knew I could carry a tune, but to hear these encouraging words from the new teacher boosted my self-esteem.

I became part of the alto section and the choir soon began working on a Christmas repertoire for the December concert. The solo offered was a jazzy version of “Silent Night” and I was one of several students who auditioned. I was thrilled to be chosen – this was my first solo. The concert took place in the school’s historic Louis E. Plummer Auditorium; with the plush red seats and bold red curtain, I felt privileged to perform a solo in this iconic building. Little did I know then that another big solo opportunity was on the horizon.

Ron continued his teaching outside of school as the director of his church choir. In the upcoming summer of 1978, the choir was going on tour to the east coast. He was generous to invite the high school choir to tryout if they wished to join the road trip adventure. I auditioned for the rock gospel solo but had not planned to, believing I only had a voice for ballads; the song was “Hallelujah” by the group, Seawind. Ron wanted me to tryout; he felt my voice would be good for the solo. My feelings were opposite. I told him that I couldn’t sing a rock song! I probably couldn’t even reach that high note! Despite my can’t-do attitude, I auditioned, executing that high note! I was one of three contenders, though – not a shoo-in, but the solo was mine. I was ecstatic and thanked Ron for nudging me.

With auditions complete and summer approaching, the choir prepared for tour. Excitement bounced off the walls. Mostly teenagers, we traveled in a classic yellow school bus, leaving Southern California and heading across country. What a crazy, fun time that bus ride was, laughing and singing and getting to know each other while blazing through state lines. We had several performances on the calendar and we stayed in the various churches where the concerts were held. I performed “Hallelujah” in each concert and was exhilarated by the positive reactions.

When the tour ended, that rock solo led me to perform for a convention with an audience of more than 2000, and what an experience singing for so many people. Before I walked on stage, Ron told me that if I get nervous, to look above the heads and don’t make eye contact. He said that a smile makes you feel good, but a negative look can affect your singing. I must say, the far wall of the concert hall needed a paint job! Afterwards, the event planner praised my performance, and I held onto her words for what seemed like eternity.

“Hallelujah” also paved the path to winning 2^nd place in the senior talent show the following year. I have tucked vivid memories of that exciting evening into a corner of my mind. I opened up the second act singing the rock song. My pianist, Kathryn, started playing the introduction as the red velvet curtain rose. In spite of the butterflies in my stomach, I walked on stage into the limelight and began belting out the lyrics. Hearing the audience clap after I sang the last note whirled me into euphoria. I closed the act by singing Barbra’s “The Way We Were,” and the audience’s reaction was even more passionate than the first. So this is what it feels like, I thought.

Lauren talent show 1979

Even though singing was my ultimate passion, my priorities shifted after graduation. I lived with my parents at the time but was ready for a taste of independence; however, the only way to make this happen was to quit college and begin earning a steady paycheck. I made the choice. I put this plan into action, placing my dream of a singing career on the back burner. Several years passed when I met the man who soon became my husband, and in the years to follow, our family grew when our daughter and son were born. But this life trajectory did not stop me from singing. My husband and children stayed entertained with my serenading around the house. I even joined local choirs. Eventually though, my time was devoted to family and less and less to singing. But I was proud when my daughter developed the same passion, adding harmony to those years.

Memories of listening to Barbra – becoming mesmerized by her beautiful voice and even her quirky, yet classy Brooklyn personality – remain a dynamic part of my youth. She inspired me to pursue something I truly loved and my high school experience was better for it. I was also fortunate to see her in concert at The Arrowhead Pond in Anaheim. When she strolled on stage in an elegant black gown, opening the concert with the song “As If We Never Said Good-Bye,” my eyes welled up. It was an evening of pure magic.

I believe most of us have a favorite teacher who made a great impact on our lives. Ron was that teacher for me. To say that he was influential sounds minimal. His way of encouraging me to try for those seemingly unreachable solos, jolted me into stepping out of my insecurities. Because of his faith in me, I danced into a world where if we try new things, pushing fear aside, there is a good chance for positive outcomes.

I had my moments in the spotlight. I felt the excitement and anticipation of walking onto that stage, listening to the inspiring buzz from the audience when I sang those first few words. I am grateful for this time in my life and I will always offer the sincerest appreciation to Barbra and Ron. If it were not for them, my passion would have fallen by the wayside without the chance to crescendo into such a memorable musical past.

I hope you enjoyed my walk down memory lane, and if you answered yes to my question and feel like sharing even a snippet of your story, I’d love to read about it. ❤