Chapter one

My name is Carmen Khoole. I moved to America from Germany when I was just a year old. Now I'm fourteen, and consider myself a normal American girl. My parents, Kurt and Lisle, lived in Germany their whole lives until my dad's job needed him on their American offices. I was just a year old, so I don't remember Germany that well, but I know it was beautiful, and there was great milk chocolate there (my favorite).
By the time I was three, my parents and I all spoke good English. We had settled down in the town of Old Woodstock. In the neighborhood where we lived, there weren't many three year olds in the neighborhood, so I spent my time helping mother around the house, "cooking" with my play-dough, cleaning my doll houses, (but never my room) and wishing I were back in Germany with other people like me.
Then when I was five I started pre-school. That first day, I was so nervous; I seriously almost threw-up. As my mom was driving me to school, the car was very tense. I knew my mother was on the verge of tears because her little helper was on her way to begin school, leaving her alone in the house all day (well at least until noon). Even then I knew that all I had to say was "Mama, I don't want to go," and she would turn that car right around. But I didn't say a thing.
During those two hours at school we learned many songs about the country, like the Star Spangled banner, and Sea to Shining Sea. Sea to Shining Sea was my favorite, and I let people know it. I sang it as loudly as I could. After sing time we had playtime. It was in the playroom which had an indoor tree house and jungle-gym. There were slides and blocks and almost any toy imaginable. And, there were a lot of kids. There were so many kids, I knew that I could manage to snag one friend, even with my serious shyness problem. So I went around running and screaming with groups of kids at a time, but it seemed as if everyone was already in a clique and had one or more best friend. So I tried to blend in, acting happy, but on the inside I felt like I was dying, dying of pain. I was hurting so bad, I told myself that I wasn't ever coming back to pre-school.
Despite my promise to myself, mom and dad made me go back to pre- school every day. Everyday was the same, and for a while I tried to make friends. I'd open up to some kids, but after a week, I closed the book. I'd had enough. I was being as nice to everyone as they were unwelcome to me, but what I got in return wasn't what I wanted. What I got was the cold shoulder or a cruel, cold look. When I got home at night, I would cry to my mom, and she would comfort me and tell me everything is okay. I tried to believe her, but I couldn't do it, I just couldn't.