At first, I didn’t really want anyone to know that I would be leaving.

I was scared of what my friends would say, and if I would be gossiped about.

But if it ever came up, I would know what to say.
I’d tell them that my dad was making me go to some weird camp in London so I could excersize my creative mind and build self confidence,
and yada yada yada.

However, the thought of having to tell anyone that made me a bit nervous; I don’t know why.

A few days after my father and I had recieved the letter from Mr. Chrysanthemum,
Mr. Brown, his employee sent another letter containing the details of my departure and other boring stuff.

I would be leaving a week after school got out, June 20.
So I had about two months to say goodbye to Pleasantville.

Quite frankly, two years wouldn’t have been enough time for me.

But I knew the first person I would call—January.