Out of all 180 days of the school year, the last day is always the strangest. There are tears and laughter, and very few book bags. A number of crazy outfits can be seen, most of which break the dress code. Lockers are empty and nothing is hung on the walls. You say goodbye to people you never spoke to the entire year; you promise to meet up with acquaintances that you loathed before the sentimentality of everything took to your head.

For the most part, it is a day of endings. But for me, the last day of 9th grade was the start of something. Because that was the day I met Landon.

I got off the bus that afternoon, hoping to have a snack and then call my friend Lexi and celebrate being one year closer to graduation. But things never work out as I plan. As I wandered towards my house (cursing the fact that it was located at the end of the cul-de-sac) I noticed a giant moving van, parked smack dab in front of my driveway. I realized that somebody was finally moving in to the Anderson's old house, the place had been empty for months.

Since I was in a good mood I figured I'd say hi to the new neighbors and maybe the movers as well. I was no stranger to moving so I knew the weird tough guys who spent their days hauling sofas through too-small doors were interesting to talk with. If you can deal with the choppiness of the conversation, that is. You know - "My (deep breath) daughters are four and (loud panting noise) six, so their still into Barbie dolls (gasps for breath) but one time Jessica took the Barbie's head (pause for Darth Vader sound) and put it...". You get the picture.

But during the various times I've moved I learned a lot, like how to stand on my head (against one of the many empty walls in my new house), how to burp like a truck driver (from the truck driver himself). When I moved here, to North Carolina, from Michigan, I learned how to-

My thoughts were interrupted when a cardboard box filled to the point where it was nearly bursting being lifted skimmed the top of my head. I took a step back, and then tried to peer around the box to get a glimpse of whoever was carrying it.

"Watch out Hun. I think this one's filled with china and if it were to fall on you would mean the end of both of us," A deep voice told me. The forearm wrapped around the box was sporting a tattoo of a snake/cross/skull design. Nice.

I navigated my way around a ramp and one of those pushing cart things -the kind that seem useless, to make my way to the front door. It was open of course and I decided I'd meet the new neighbors, even I didn't come bearing cookies or a casserole or a yellow pages book. That was one of the most life-altering decisions that I made all summer long.

I knocked on the door anyways, not expecting anyone to answer, not with how hectic it was, but a moment later I saw a woman with brown hair piled on her hair in a messy bun, stroll towards me from the kitchen. She sidestepped a chair that was sitting upside down in the foyer and gave me a smile.

"I apologize for the mess; you must be from next door!" At my confused glance she added, "Your mother stopped by earlier and mentioned that she had a daughter who was my son's age, and that she would send her over as soon as she got home. I figured that you must be her; you and your mother are so similar looking."

Oh. Everybody always thinks we look alike, and I guess I can't argue that we don't. We both have hair halfway in between the colors of blonde and brown, which is annoying if you have to describe your appearance for something. Like on those little cards you fill out for missing children, the ones with your photo and height and weight. We also both have green eyes, and so I wear eyeliner and I end up looking like a cat. No crap about 'glittering emeralds' or anything. I don't know, I get that sometimes and I guess it should be taken as a compliment but it's like comparing your eyes to stone. Thanks, but I don't have stones for eyes.

I might look like my mom, but I act nothing like her. She's the type who wears pearls and makes cake from scratch. My personality is more like how my dad's is - was. I keep forgetting he's gone.

The neighbor lady was looking at me funny, waiting for some sort of reply. When she figured out she wasn't going to get much of one, she spoke again.

"Let me go get my son. He's has got to be around here somewhere." A moment later she exclaimed, "Ah, there you are Landon, come say hello to..."

She trailed off, expecting that I'd fill in the blank with my name. Instead I stood there like an idiot with my jaw dropped (figuratively, of course) when I got a glimpse of the guy.