Wait, Who's Moving?

Written by Krishan Myrick

Co-written by La'Nardo Myrick Sr.

Illustrated by La'Nardo Myrick Sr.

Published by KLM Enterprises Services Publishing

Kansas City, Missouri

Publication Date: April 4, 2024

REVISED 4/8/2024

This book is available online at:

Page Count: 32

Wait, Whose Moving?

        A woman adorned in a floral dress, embodying the gentle spirit of spring, entered with a quiet authority and settled behind the desk at the front. With the grace of one accustomed to the ebb and flow of classroom dynamics, she picked up a clipboard and began the ritual of roll call. "Shan Smith," she announced, her voice a soothing balm. "Here," came Shan's reply, from the front row, her voice a mere whisper, her fingers entwined tightly around her backpack, as if seeking courage from its familiar texture. "Class, let’s extend our warmest welcome to Ms. Shan Smith," the teacher, Ms. Minnie, introduced, her voice imbued with a warmth that painted smiles on the students' faces and coaxed a chorus of hellos from them. "Welcome to our 8th-grade class, Shan," she continued, her cheerful spirit undimmed by the mundanities of her daily duties. Yet, within Shan's chest, a storm brewed, her eyes brimming with unshed tears, her heart whispering, "I don't want to be here."

        As Ms. Minnie pressed on, her words intended to weave a tapestry of belonging, "We are glad to have you with us," Shan's soul recoiled, whispering back into the void, "I'm not glad." The dam broke, tears cascading down her cheeks, not in a quiet trickle but in a torrent of pent-up emotion, drawing a collective sigh from the classroom, a shared moment of empathy. Sensing the depth of Shan's distress, Ms. Minnie turned to her assistant, Ms. Kinny, with a nod that spoke volumes, "Hey, continue, and let me see what is wrong with our new student, okay?" As Ms. Kinny took the helm, calling out names with practiced ease, Ms. Minnie approached Shan, her voice a gentle caress, "Okay, calm down Shan and take a walk with me, okay?"

        Shan rose, her backpack clutched like a lifeline, her steps halting, as if each one was a battle won against the gravity of her sorrow. Together, they stepped out of the classroom, leaving behind the echoes of childhood's cruelty and the faint hope of understanding, stepping into the corridor where light and shadows danced, promising a moment of reprieve, a chance for new beginnings in the

comforting embrace of a teacher's kindness.

        Off in the distance, there was some kind of noise, but Shan wasn’t paying any mind to it. She was too caught up in her own world of sadness, feeling like she didn’t belong in this new school. Around her, life went on; a bunch of kids were all hyped up, whispering and gossiping about this new star basketball player that just transferred. Teachers were doing their usual thing, trying to herd the students like cats, saying, “Ok, kids, move along, move along,” trying to keep the hallway traffic flowing. Other students would stroll by, sneaking glances at Shan, noticing how out of place she looked, kinda like she just landed from another planet. She felt their eyes on her but didn’t really see them, lost in her own thoughts.

        As Ms. Minnie and Shan walked by the group talking about the basketball star, they passed this tall girl who everyone said was the next big thing in basketball. You could just see it, the way both Shan and the tall girl seemed to be in a bubble of their own misery, not really there in the hallway with everyone else. It was like they were both somewhere far away, mentally. Even if nobody else noticed, it was clear as day that both of them were struggling, trying to find their footing in a place that felt so alien. In that brief moment, as they walked by, it felt like there was this silent understanding between them, a shared feeling of being completely out of sync with the world around them.

        They strolled through the corridors, their steps echoing a rhythm of tentative hope, to a door bearing the simple, yet profound, title "Counselor." Upon entering, they were greeted by the presence of a rather stout figure, the personification of both discipline and warmth, who stood up with a jovial, "Hey, Ms. Minnie. How are we doing today?" Ms. Minnie, with a comforting hand on Shan's shoulder,

directed her to a chair, turning towards the figure known to many as Coach Ramsey, the guardian of the school's basketball dreams. "Well, we've got ourselves a new gem from Atlanta," Ms. Minnie shared, her voice carrying a blend of concern and resolve. "Just needs a bit of a heart-to-heart." Coach Ramsey, his gaze softening at Shan, offered his support with a nod, "Of course, take all the time you need. I'll be just next door."

        Grateful, Ms. Minnie reached for a tissue, handing it to Shan with a gentle, "There, there. Now, what's weighing on that brave heart of yours?" Shan, her gaze flitting between the tissue and Ms. Minnie, found herself ensnared by a tangle of emotions, her voice a hesitant whisper, "I...I just wish I could call my mom. This place...it's just not where I belong." Ms. Minnie, settling beside Shan, encouraged her, "Take all the time you need, but let's try to untangle these feelings, together."

        Shan, relinquishing her backpack's hold, inhaled deeply, a decision made. Her story unfolded, a tapestry of a life once vibrant with the roles she cherished—basketball player, cheerleader, a mentor to the little ones, and, most importantly, a sister to Ryan, her beacon of purpose. "Back in Atlanta, my life was full. My days were spent in the joyous chaos of the Early Learning Center, my afternoons on the court or cheering on my team. And Ryan...he was my charge, my heart walking outside my body," Shan confessed, the weight of her words hanging in the air.

        Ms. Minnie, her heart touched by Shan's devotion, was about to speak when Coach Ramsey, with the quiet stealth of one accustomed to the courts, re-entered, a folder in hand. "Ms. Minnie, a small favor, if I may? Shan, could you assist me with a task? These papers need to find their way to the office, and it would mean the world if you could deliver them." His request, cloaked in simplicity, carried an undertone of something greater, a lesson perhaps only a coach could impart.

        Ms. Minnie, puzzled yet intrigued, nodded, and Shan, with a newfound purpose, accepted the mission, the papers in her hands a lifeline. Coach Ramsey's parting smirk, "And do get the name of the receiver; it's always good to know whom we entrust our messages to," hinted at a wisdom yet to be revealed.

        As Shan disappeared from view, Ms. Minnie's expression, a blend of shock and curiosity, met Coach Ramsey's chuckling, "Nothing up my sleeve. Just a bit of paperwork, that's all." Their laughter, a shared secret, echoed softly, a prelude to the hope and healing that lay just around the corner, for both Shan and the new life she was about to navigate.

        As Shan gingerly opened the door to the bustling office, the lively hum of school life enveloped her. Two students, lost in their own world of conversation, brushed past her, leaving a trail of adolescent energy in their wake. The office was a hive of activity, a stark contrast to the emotional turmoil she felt within. With a hesitant step, Shan approached the counter, her voice barely above a whisper, "Where do I put these?" A voice, clear and confident, directed her from under a dark blue hoodie, "In that basket. Over there at the end." Shan followed the guidance, her movements slow, her mind still adrift in memories of a life once lived.

        As she deposited the papers into the basket, her gaze wandered, taking in the vibrant walls adorned with pictures, the words sprawling across them in big, bold fonts and colors, a celebration of achievements and aspirations. The trophies, standing sentinel in a large glass case, caught her eye, each one a testament to the prowess and dedication of those who had come before. A pang of longing struck her, the sight a stark reminder of the accolades she had left behind.

        Compelled by Coach Ramsey's instruction, Shan retraced her steps to the boy in the blue hoodie, her curiosity piqued. "What's your name? Coach Ramsey told me to get a name," she inquired, her voice steadier now. "I'm Lee," came the response, accompanied by a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes, his student badge a silent affirmation of his identity.

        As Shan prepared to leave, the office continued its relentless dance of comings and goings, a backdrop to the new chapter she was reluctantly scripting. A brief observation of a slender lady, surrounded by students and radiating warmth with her smile, offered a fleeting distraction, a momentary respite from her thoughts. Yet, Lee's words, "Err, you better head back to coach," snapped her back to reality, his figure disappearing down the hallway, a reminder of the tasks at hand.

        Upon her return, Ms. Minnie's voice, gentle yet firm, beckoned her to continue her story. Shan's words spilled out, a mixture of pride and sorrow, her achievements in Atlanta casting a long shadow over her current state of anonymity. "But, here, I’m nobody," she concluded, the weight of her admission bringing tears to her eyes.

        Ms. Minnie's understanding response, "I understand, Shan," was a balm to her wounded spirit. In the quiet of the counselor's office, the simple act of reaching for a tissue felt monumental to Shan. Each movement was heavy with the weight of her emotions, a tangible manifestation of the upheaval in her life. As she settled back into her chair, her voice found its way through the silence, carrying the burden of her confusion and surprise. "I didn't even know we were moving," she confessed, the words hanging in the air, a testament to the sudden changes she had been forced to navigate.

        The sudden entrance of Coach Ramsey, with his commanding presence and the immediacy of his

request, cut through the heavy atmosphere. "Ms. Minnie, they need you in your room, and Shan, I need you to take this hall pass to the band room and pick up a package for me." The hall pass, an unassuming ruler marked with the words ‘hall pass’, seemed almost comical in its simplicity, yet it represented a small, tangible task in a day that had felt untethered from normalcy.

        As Coach Ramsey handed her the makeshift pass, Shan's initial hesitation was palpable. "Yes, sir. but I don't know where…" Her voice trailed off, uncertainty written across her face. Coach Ramsey's interruption was both a challenge and a reassurance, a gentle prod back into the rhythm of school life. "Just ask anyone you see. I am sure someone from Atlanta can get around our small school." The laughter that followed, shared between Coach, Ms. Minnie, and even Shan, was a brief respite from the day's earlier tensions, a reminder of the resilience that often accompanies youth.

        Ms. Minnie's departure, marked by a knowing wink to Coach Ramsey, left Shan standing at the threshold of a new journey, both literal and metaphorical. With the hall pass in hand, she was tasked with navigating the physical layout of her new school, a seemingly mundane errand that carried with it the potential for new interactions and perhaps the first steps toward building new connections.

        This moment, while fleeting, was pivotal for Shan. It represented the beginning of her transition from an outsider, burdened by the suddenness of her relocation and the loss of her established identity, to an active participant in her new environment. The encouragement to engage with her peers, to ask for directions, and to complete a task on her own was a subtle yet significant nudge towards independence and adaptation.

        As Shan ventured out of the office, the ruler in her hand more than just a hall pass but a symbol of

her journey ahead, she was embarking on more than just a simple errand. She was taking the first steps towards finding her place in this new chapter of her life, armed with the knowledge that, despite the uncertainties and challenges that lay ahead, she had allies in her corner, ready to guide and support her through the transition.

        As Shan meandered through the halls, guided by the echoes of her own steps, she encountered a man whose presence seemed as integral to the school as the walls that held it upright. Clad in a uniform, his broom in hand like a wand casting cleanliness in his wake, he turned at her voice. The sight of his beard brought a flash of familiarity to Shan, a comforting reminder of the male teachers back in Atlanta, whose faces were often framed in similar fashion. "How can I help you?" he asked, his voice carrying the warmth of someone accustomed to guiding lost souls.

        Seeking the gym, a destination that promised a slice of her old life, Shan was directed by Mr. Coop, the janitor, whose name tag lent a personal touch to his helpful gesture. Grateful, she ventured toward the gym, her heart a mix of anticipation and nerves. "Thanks, Mr. Coop," she called over her shoulder, her voice steadier now, buoyed by the unexpected kindness.

        The gym door swung open to reveal a scene pulsing with energy, a vivid tableau of movement and sound. It was a world unto itself, where the air vibrated with the thud of basketballs, the sharp whistles of instruction, and the seamless choreography of students in motion. Amidst it all stood Coach Day, a figure of authority and enthusiasm, her laughter a bright thread in the tapestry of gymnasium sounds.

        The stray basketball that rolled to a stop by Shan's foot was like a key, unlocking a chest of memories filled with the joy of play, teamwork, and the clear, sharp focus that the game demanded.

Her instinctive response to pick it up and start dribbling was as natural as breathing, a testament to countless hours spent on the court.

        When the tall boy with blonde hair called for the ball, Shan's pass to him was smooth and practiced, a silent display of her skill and her connection to the game. This simple interaction, brief as it was, tethered her to the moment, to the gym, and to a semblance of belonging.

        Coach Day's approach, papers in hand, brought Shan back from her reverie. "Shan, right? I’m Coach Day, the soccer coach. Take these back and tell Coach Ramsey I said thanks." The directive, accompanied by a recognition of her identity, was a small but significant affirmation for Shan. It was another thread weaving her into the fabric of this new place.

        As she turned to leave, the banners and posters adorning the gym walls caught her eye, each one a celebration of achievements and aspirations, a mirror to her own history of triumphs and the potential for new victories. In this moment, surrounded by the echoes of achievements past and the palpable drive for future glory, Shan found a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, this new school could become another home, a place where her talents could shine, where new bonds could be forged, and where her story could continue to unfold with resilience and joy.

        The moment the school bell rang, its unique tone—a curious blend of traditional bell and modern buzzer—acted as a clarion call for Shan, marking the rhythm of school life that was both foreign and familiar. As students spilled into the hallways, their energy and movement a vivid echo of her previous life, Shan found herself caught between the past and the present, the known and the unknown. Amid this bustling sea of change, a small smile found its way to her lips. This ritual of changing classes,

though slightly different from her old school, was a thread of normalcy in the tapestry of her new environment.

        Catching sight of Lee and others she recognized from the office, Shan felt a fleeting sense of connection, a reminder that relationships, however nascent, were beginning to form. It was in this moment of reflection that she saw Coach Ramsey, a familiar face in the swirl of newness, waiting with a quiet patience that spoke of understanding.

        As he took the box from her hands, his words offered a glimpse into his own journey of adaptation, a narrative of change that mirrored Shan's. "Thanks, Shan. I don't think you know, but I came here a year ago. Yes, a big move for me, also. Everything was new and kind of scary." This shared experience, revealed in a few simple sentences, forged a new connection between them, a bridge built on the common ground of transition and the courage it demands.

        With a gentle gesture, Coach Rmsey opened the door to the counselor’s office, ushering Shan back into the space where her story had been momentarily paused. The familiar sight of Ms. Minnie, waiting with a calm presence, was a beacon of stability in the whirlwind of Shan's day. "Well, where were we talking about young lady? You were talking about moving, I think," Ms. Minnie prompted, her voice a gentle nudge back into the flow of their conversation.

        Shan's slow walk back to her seat, her glance cast back towards the hallway and its vibrant display of student life, was a physical manifestation of her internal struggle. The excitement and chaos outside contrasted sharply with the quiet introspection of the counselor’s office, a reminder of the dual worlds she was navigating. In this moment, Shan stood at the crossroads of her past and her future, her

memories of Atlanta mingling with the burgeoning experiences of her new school.

        This transition, marked by moments of connection, shared stories, and the simple yet profound acts of kindness, was the beginning of Shan's journey towards acceptance and belonging. With each step, each conversation, and each shared experience, she was weaving herself into the fabric of her new community, finding her place in a world that was gradually becoming less foreign and more like home. As Ms. Minnie gestured towards the chair, an unspoken invitation to continue sharing her story, Shan felt a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. Settling into the seat, she was acutely aware of the stark contrast between the vibrant chaos of the hallway and the serene sanctuary of the counselor's office. The outside world, with its myriad characters and unfolding dramas, momentarily receded as she prepared to delve back into her own narrative, a story punctuated by unexpected turns and profound changes.

        "Yes ma’am, I didn’t know I was moving. Me and Ryan came home from summer camp," Shan began, her voice steady but tinged with the remnants of surprise and the sharp edge of nostalgia. "My parents told Ryan and me to get ready for dinner. I’ll never forget we had the best dinner that night, fried chicken, mac and cheese, green beans, cornbread, and mom made my favorite, Banana Pudding." As she recounted the details of that evening, the memory seemed to fill the room, a tableau of warmth, comfort, and the simple joy of a family meal shared.

        The turn in Shan's story came sharply, a pivot that mirrored the abrupt changes in her life. "Dad was quiet, and then mom said, ‘Kids, Granny has cancer.’" The weight of those words, the pause that followed, the clearing of her father's throat—each detail was etched in Shan's memory, a stark reminder of the moment her world began to shift.