All credits to Disney. I do not own anything!
Okay, HELLO! This is my first Jessie fanfic. I don't really like the show (no offense, Disney) (And other people of the world), but I (was) seriously PSYCHO about Cameron Boyce. He's a year older, we're in the same grade, and born in the same month. Coincidental, right? Anyways, I liked him a lot (not anymore) (maybe ;D ), but I wanted to make this story enjoyable :) And also a good story. So, I'll finally SHUT UP, and, please, R&R!
"But Mom, Dad!" I groan. "I love it here. I don't want to move to New York." Oh, hey, my name's Jess. (My dream name, guys, not a carbon copy of Jessie!) I'm twelve years old. No, make that thirteen. Well, practically. Tomorrow I'll officially be a teenager. Can you believe it? I'm so thrilled!
But not when we're planning to move to the Big Apple A DAY before the biggest day of my LIFE.
"Oh, Jess," my mom says, turning to me from her now-stuffed suitcase. "It'll be so fun. You just wait."
"You know how many kidnappings there were in New York?" I ask, making an excuse.
"Oh, I don't know. How many?"
"Oh, um..." she caught me off guard there. "Too many too count."
She smiles. "You'll like it in the Big Apple," she says. "You may meet some lovely new people!"
I roll my eyes. "Sure. You know when you say it'll be awesome and it never is?" It's 5 o'clock in the morning, so I'm seriously stressing. I mean, HELLO, who wakes up at this time?
"But you'll like it this time!" my mom says, and reaches over to muffle my hair.
I shrink away from her touch. "No, I won't. We're giving up our awesome pool house with an elevator for a stupid apartment!"
I huff and plop down on her bed.
"Oh, just hush! You will like it, and when you do, I'll be waiting with a boiling hot pot of 'I told you so!' " Mom says. "Are you packed up? Where's Dad?" She looks around frantically.
"Mom. He's right there," I say, and point to her side.
She looks to her left and smiles. "Oh, I guess I'm just a little tense, that's all."
6 o'clock. Early. Sleepy. Packed. Sad. I honestly did not want to leave our awesome pool house with an elevator. I mean, hello, you never leave that kind of house. I wonder how many people and how long it took to build a kind of house like that? I mean, 5 years, at least. That house that we live (or I guess lived) in was pure luxury.
"Mom, don't you kind of think we're getting carried away?" I ask her. "I mean, moving away and all."
"Naw. It's just a house. And that's the thrill of life! Moving to new places. Isn't it great?" she asks dreamily.
Woah. No, moving away from a great house is totally not a thrill. It was miserable. I had to clean! I mean, EWWW!
7 o'clock. It's raining, cold, and the air smells like wet dust and grime. I inhale some air and sneeze.
"This air is so clean!" I say sarcastically.
"I know, isn't it? So fresh! I told you you'd like this place," Mom says, not catching my sarcasm. She sets her suitcase down. "Well, here it is! Our new home."
I drop my suitcase. "This place?" I ask. "It looks like a dump! Where'd you search it up? In Shabby Apartments incorporated?"
"How'd you know?" Mom says, amazed.
My mouth drops open, and some dirty drips of rain fall into my mouth, which I spit out and close my mouth.
"I'm kidding," my Mom says. Mom and Dad come over to me. "You'll love it," they assure. Sure, I will.
"Well, let's go in this dump," I say unhappily.
By the door, a man greets us and opens the door. "How are you folks toda-" He's cut off. His badge reads TONY. Huh, better not ever come her on Fridays, I mean, who cuts themselves off in the middle of a sentence? Hello, rude!
"Oh. My. Gosh." He raises a hand to his mouth and jumps up and down, squealing like a little girl. "You're the-the-!"
"Yeah, yeah, the Greenfield's? We get that a lot," I taunt. I pick up my suitcase and walk through the open door.
"Is she always like this?" he whispers to my parents, and my mom shakes her head. "She's having a rough time," she says.
Just then, some crazy kids come crashing through the lobby stairs. An African girl, a freckled-face boy (which I found a bit cute), an Indian boy, and girl with blonde curls rush out. They're laughing. "We totally got away with putting gluein Bertram's shoes!" the African girl says, laughing. I'm guessing they're trouble-makers?
The blonde-haired girl starts to say something, but is cut off. Again? Do people know how rude and totally annoying that is?
"Oh. My. Gosh!" the girl says, and runs over to me. "I know this girl! Is your last name by chance Greenfield?" she asks. She has awe in her voice when she says my last name.
"Hello," I say.
She squeals just like how Tony did. "I love your fashion magazines!" she says, freaking. I shrug, then realize something. "Hey, is your last name by chance Ross?"
"The one and only," the freckle-faced boy says, coming up behind his sister.
"Wow! I love your movies! Golactopus 4 and 5 are my faves!" I say.
"Yep! Do you know our names?" the blonde-haired girl says quickly, like she really wants to know more about me.
"Um, no," I say.
"Well, I'm Emma," she says. "This is Luke." She points to freckle-face. He waves and I smile. "This is Zuri." She beckons to the African girl. "Hello," I say. "And this is Ravi," Emma says lastly. "Sup," I say.
"Well, now we know our names. Can we hear yours?" Emma asks. Wow, this girl really wants to get to the point, huh?
"Jessica," I say. "But you can just call me Jess."
"Hi, Jess," the Ross family says in unison.
"So, I've never seen you around New York," Luke says casually.
"I just moved," I say. "From, well, I'm too sad to tell. It's a long story."
"Okie-dokie," Luke says. "I've been there, done that."
I blush. Wait, why am I blushing? I do not blush easily. Why am I blushing? Am I going nuts? Did this kid make me blush? If so, he must have powers or something, because, like I said, I do not blush easily!
"Do you want to meet our butler?" Zuri asks. "Unfortunately, he may be in a very sticky situation." Everyone laughs, and I do too-which is weird.
I look at my parents over my shoulder. My mom waves. "Go ahead," she says freely.
I smile, and turn back to these kids. "Okay."
I skip up the stairs right next to Freckle-Face, and while we hop up the stairs bumpily in a group, his hand brushes mine, and I feel heat go up my arm like a stick of dynamite being lit. What is wrong with me?