You can always choose to catch more flies using honey than vinegar, but that’s the catch: it is a choice! I suppose I’m not at all alone in feeling like my life isn’t interesting enough to make a story out of, but then again, you would have to question why I am writing this to begin with. I’m Izzy, short for Isadora, and I live in a place that I’ve come to see as magical. Although, my view of this city had to earn what it’s worth as it used to have an ant-sized reputation in my mind. Setting the scene, I’m fourteen; afraid to love, a friend of being.
School has never been my strong point, but I’ve rarely made anything other than A’s. School, oh why even bother to mention that thing? I was just about to start high school at Joenby High, the newly-renovated and only high school in town, situated only about two blocks from my place. Even worse, I was coerced into being placed into the school’s “higher end” program, the Prestige, by my mother and father, both of whom were wooed into doing so during a parent-teacher conference with my patronizing science teacher, Mrs. Tora, from last year:
“Little Miss [four foot ten] Isadora! She’s SUCH a peach! [I never say anything!] She has never received anything less than ONE hundred percent! [All I do is complete every assignment, woman. Like I’m supposed to?] I would LOVE for Isadora to attend the Prestige; her future is science! [Bleh…]”
Attending Joenby seemed like a real nightmare as I could practically see it from my bedroom window. I had been living in Smithfield, Virginia for three years at that point, but still never managed to get a feel for the people there. Interestingly enough, if you knew anything about this town you’d realize that it managed to be a very charming, diverse, and thriving community despite the fact that it barely has eight thousand residents; a small town that is very accommodating to foot traffic, at that. Luckily, the city’s easy accessibility (and safe reputation) allowed for me to be able to slip out of my house without a moment’s notice, drift around town for a few, and be back in my room before anyone knew I had ever left.
“Little Isadora. Izzy. There is a plate of food on your mat. Be sure to nourish your cells before our session.”
I know what you may be thinking: no exclamation points; cells? Well, my parents are anything but typical. Both being strict followers of the Buddhist faith, they seldom raise their voices over anything. Elders (including teachers) come first and obedience is held in the highest respect in this faith. I suppose this actually explains why my grades are high enough to make it into the Prestige, ye olde Tiger parents!
I managed to stuff my moderately chubby self into workout clothing and scurried down as fast as I could to my yoga mat and chowed down, situated between my parent’s mats. Our living room had no chairs or couches whatsoever, so we had space to stretch for days. It was like clockwork that I would perform this every weekday. I had always wondered why my parents made me do yoga alongside them as it clearly wasn’t working on my body, mind, OR soul, but seeing as I was the child and they, the parents, I knew to keep my mouth shut. Our session was done and I bowed to my parents, ran up to my room, changed into my pajamas and hopped into bed. Tomorrow was day one of the rest of my life. High school, I mean.