Chapter 1

“Once upon a time” is such a crappy and generic way to start a story, but it’s how I’m starting mine. Really, there is no other decent way to start this sorry excuse of a tale like mine. As I am writing this, I realize that none of you will believe me. Well, I might as well get on with it.

Once upon a time, I lived in the city of opportunities. The place where you can do anything imaginable. Where cultures and languages blended together. It was the melting pot of the melting pot. That’s right, NYC. The streets were always busy with people and places to go. I loved it there. I had friends and clubs I was committed to. My parents and I lived in a small apartment on 47th street. The apartment was perfect for us three. I mean the one bathroom was a stretch, but we managed. There was a huge window where I would observe all the busy people bustling to their homes. I played soccer at central park with all of my friends on Friday nights. You’re probably wondering why I would want to leave. Well, I didn’t.

I participated in many things as well. I did the regular baseball and basketball, but addition to those I did academic bowl, show choir, and robotics club. I thoroughly enjoyed all of them too.

There was and still is a slight problem. I have a genetic, progressive, and terminal disease that affects the mucus build up in my lungs known as Cystic Fibrosis or CF. This has and will impact me for the rest of my life. This disease is like a weight I carry around on my shoulders. It will cut my life in half. Literally, my life expectancy is 37 years. In order to even get to 14, I have to do many, many things. To start off my day, I have to do 2 inhalers. Following, I do 30 minutes of a chest therapy that feels like I’m on the Mambo. Excluding all of this, every single meal and snack I eat, I have to take enzymes to get me nutrients that the mucus is destroying. Not to mention the forty-plus pills I have to take every single day. To round out the day, I have yet another 30-minute stationary roller coaster.

Wow. That’s not the main point though. Mom and Dad always said that I need salty air and that we really shouldn’t be living in traffic-heavy and polluted New York City. I always argued that it was going to be fine. We lived near the Hudson River. The Hudson is salt water, right? Besides, I said previously, I’m already kinda set and stone here. I’ve been here since I was born fourteen years ago. I can’t go now I almost got a girl for me. Plus I was just about to graduate middle school, and I’ll be a freshman in the fall. My doctor was here. Are they actually going to change my doctors? There was no reason to move.

My friends and I are close, I guess. I’m over at their apartments every other day. They raise money for my annual “Walk for a Cure”1 and know what I need if I sleep over. We play basketball at the community center. My closest though, go to the library with me and actually shut up when I’m reading. You see, I’m kinda a bookworm.

After school one day, my mom came to me. I was sitting at the old oak table in our kitchen rushing to finish my homework, there was a book called Maximum Ride that I couldn’t put down and I needed to finish it.

She came up behind me and said, “Alex, honey, we need to talk about some important news.”

I automatically assumed the worst. Do I have to get another surgery? Is she pregnant? Did Dad die in a car crash?

“What?” I asked impatiently.

“We’re moving.”

“MOVING?”

“Yes, It’s such a cute house and-”

“I don’t care how cute the house is!” I yelled feeling bad for our neighbors, ”Where are we moving to?”

“It’s not that far away. We’re moving to California!”

“Mom! California is all the way across the country!”

“It’ll be good for you honey! Just think. The salty air is good for your lungs, and no pollution to counter that!” She stated enthusiastically.

Just as I had expected. Lurking in the back of my mind was the thought of moving to a remote place with no traffic noises to lull me to sleep. No Broadway shows every night. No soccer games in Central Park. No towering bookshelves. No familiar faces.

“I don’t want to move, though,” I whined like a 3-year-old.

“We already bought the house.”

I knew there was no getting out of this one.

“Fine,” I spat, making sure she knew I was not happy with this. Turns out the Hudson River is not salted. It’s fresh water.