“I hate moving!” I shouted at my parents.
“I know you’re angry, Simon,” my dad said, “but I promise this will be the last time we move again.”
“You always say that,” I said. I slouched into the couch.
“I promise,” my dad said.
Dad and Mom continued to pack the kitchen supplies while I got up and packed my things in my room. Then laid on my bed and punched my pillow. I was going to miss my old room I named: the dungeon.
That night as we drove away from our old house, I hoped I was going like were I was going to live.
I woke up early in my new room and couldn’t fall back to sleep. I looked around my new room. It was gross. It had spider webs up on the corners of the ceilings. The painting on the walls was a soggy green. And the carpet was slushy orange. I would call my new room: the barf.
I walked down the hallway and took a walk on my new neighborhood on Storywood Street. Houses were beginning to look wacky. My eyes begin to get so daze I took a slow walk. One was painted striped like a zebra. A house painted with parrots on it. Another house was upside down. Another house had a backyard with tigers, lions, and hippos.
Older people, like my parents, were on bicycles. Down in ditches on skateboards shouting “YEAH!” And, on roller-blades, racing with their friends. Kids my age said hi to me as they zoomed by in their cars, trucks, and motorcycles!
Later, I saw my new school I’d be going to the next day. It hovered 500 feet in the sky!
A shiny silver escalator led the way to the school. I hopped on. Heading straight for school, I thought, Storywood Street was odd, but I liked it. I peeked through windows of my school. The chalkboards were all triangles. The student’s desks were huge. The teacher’s desks were tiny. I looked at my watch. It was almost breakfast time! I hopped back on the escalator. Suddenly, the escalator wobbled to the left, then to the right, then to the left again. Then everywhere. I was going to fall off!
“Simon!” Mom shouted. “ Wake up! Time to get ready for school!”
I woke up in my new room. It wasn’t gross. I looked out the window. Storywood Street…everything was a dream. Storywood St. was ordinary.
I got out of bed. Got dressed. I brushed my teeth. Ate that terrible oatmeal my mom Makes me eat at then went to the bus stop.
At the bus stop, I met a girl. She looked real punk. Her hair was spiked. She wore an AC/DC shirt with camouflage pants. Combat boots. On the bus, I squirmed when she kept looking at me.
“Looks like you’re new here,” she said. “My name is Danielle.”
She introduced me to her friends at school and we played dodgeball at recess.
After school, Danielle and I went to her house. I met her five-year old brother, Mikey, running around the house wearing a black apron on his back. He thought he was Batman.
After doing our homework, we played in her backyard. She had a giant trampoline. As I jumped up and down on it, I thought about the dream. Even though Storywood St. wasn’t weird. I knew I was going to like it living here.