Clara gives me a look. "Beauty, you do know we're both going to high school this summer and-"

I mute her. We're doing a video chat on our phones. It's the last week of summer break, and Clara and I are going to different high schools because I moved. 

My family moved south this summer. We used to live in Toronto but my parents decided to move us to a whole new country. The United States. Land of the free. Home of the brave. The stars spangle on its flag. America. 

Ugh. I can't believe I just said that.

Canadians and Americans like to make fun of each other. Now that we're living in Sunnyvale, California, I just know when everyone in my school finds out I'm Canadian, there will be a few problems.

But there were always problems.

Clara unmutes herself. "Beauty!" She yells. "Anyways, as I was saying don't care what others think of you."

"Easy for you to say," I mutter but she hears me.

"I'm serious! Looks don't matter! Personality does! Beauty! Your name is Beauty! Do you know what that means?"

"Mom's calling me," I lie. "Got to go," and I press the hang-up button and then turn my phone off. I lie on my back with my phone on my stomach and my hands over it. I close my eyes and replay the scenes of my old school in my head.

Back in elementary school, nobody cared how you looked. But all of a sudden when Clara and I entered middle school, everyone cared about looks. They dressed differently, had a different attitude, and even wore makeup. If someone looked weird, you would be considered an outcast.

That's why Clara's my best friend. We don't fit in. We're different. 

But Clara did make a few friends, so she won't be lonely when she goes to high school. I will. People thought Clara was kind and generous. I think they took advantage of her. I used to tell her that, but she ignored me.

On the other hand, I had no friends (Except Clara of course). Everyone hated me for some reason.

I bet it was because I "looked different".

"She's so weird." They would say.

"She doesn't fit in."

"Her name is Beauty? It doesn't match her."

I open my eyes and see my cat Numay lying on my bed. 

"HI, Numay," I say.

My older brother David named him. Well, kind of. His name was originally Nutmeg, but David thought we said Numay and started calling him that. Our cat got used to that name, and only came to you when you say "Numay". So we decided to change the name.

Numay meows and jumps onto my dresser. He meows again and walks back and forth.

I smile. "At least someone is cheerful today." I take Numay and scratch the back of his ear. He purrs. 

My phone buzzes and I see a text from Mom. She must have been calling me from downstairs and I didn't hear. 

Oops.

Come downstairs. it says. I respond with ok and put Numay down. I open the door and walk downstairs. Mom is near the entrance.

"Thank goodness your here! I need your help. The moving man brought the last few boxes today." Mom says. She grabs a box from the stack.

"I thought you said we were done packing?" I ask.

"I thought so too until your Dad remembered he left a few at home," Mom says.

"Forgetful father," David mutters as he walks in.

Mom gives David "the look". "Anyways, let's unpack these. Your father's in the garage unpacking the mechanical stuff." She pulls the box up and walks to the kitchen.

David ruffles my hair. "I bet you can't lift any of these you little doorknob."

I rub my head. "Stop calling me that," and I go to pick up a box. Woah. It's really heavy but I manage to take it to the living room.

"Let me show you how it's done," David says when I come back. He kisses his arms and stretches them. I roll my eyes. He looks for the largest box and attempts to lift it up. He sighs and drops the box.

I giggle.

"Well, this isn't fair. You got an easy box." He says, "Humph!"

"Sure whatever," I grin. I lean closer to his ear. "Nice try doorknob."

"Why you little-" Too late. I run upstairs and slam the door behind me. I hear David banging on the door and I laugh. 

I look at my phone and see 50 messages from Clara. She's still talking about how "looks don't matter". My smile fades and I delete all her messages. She's known me for so long. Does she really think I'll read them? Does she really think that people will like me now? I know they won't. It's so obvious.

I lay back on my bed. 

High school is gonna be so weird.