It Could Always Be Worse: Woodview Stories, #1

By Ian Rose Castro

 

After a traumatic experience in her hometown of Miami, Elena Flores moves away to live with the father she's never met. It's not easy starting a new school in the middle of October, so when her half sister invites her to a party, she thinks "what's the worst that could happen?" Elena must learn to navigate her new life in the wealthy suburbs of Long Island and try to build relationships, but that's hard to do when she doesn't know who to trust and she can't let go of her anger and sadness.

 

Woodview Stories is a Young Adult contemporary fiction book series. It tells the coming of age tales of a diverse group of teens living in the affluent Long Island neighborhood of Woodview. The overarching story progresses through the books chronologically with each installment switching narrator to focus on a different person's point of view.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ian Rose Castro
• Release date: Sep 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223951087

Ian Rose Castro

Ian Rose Castro (he/they) was an avid reader as a child, but as a queer Latine teen, he always wished he could see more characters like him and his friends in the books he read. He has always loved creative writing, so he decided to try writing his own.  Ian graduated from Drexel University magna cum laude, with a B.S. in Music Industry, dual minors in Communication and Business Administration, and a Certificate in Creative Writing and Publishing. He loves to listen to music, binge trashy TV, and cuddle with his dog. He currently lives on Long Island.

Book preview

It Could Always Be Worse

Ian Rose Castro

Copyright © 2023 by Ian Rose Castro

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval without permission in writing from the author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

For my mom (who is alive).

It Could Always Be Worse

A Woodview Story

by Ian Rose Castro

Contents

It Could Always Be Worse

Playlist

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Coming Soon

Footnotes

Playlist

Track 1: Astronaut by Simple Plan

Track 2: Everything is Alright by Motion City Soundtrack

Track 3: broken by lovelytheband

Track 4: Dance Dance Dance by Astrid S

Track 5: Hungover by Kesha

Track 6: Rumor Has It by Adele

Track 7: Way Less Sad by AJR

Track 8: Tonight, Tonight by Hot Chelle Rae

Track 9: Bad Blood by Taylor Swift

Track 10: Lost It All by Black Veil Brides

Track 11: Polygraph Eyes by Yungblud

Track 12: Human by Christina Perri

Track 13: If We Have Each Other by Alec Benjamin

Track 14: Forgive Me Friend by Smith & Thell

Track 15: Someone To You by Banners

Track 16: I Wanna Get Better by Bleachers

Track 17: The Story by Conan Gray

Track 18: Days by the Kinks

1

Astronaut

I think you’re going to really like it here, Elena. Woodview High is a very good school, right Jo?

Jo doesn’t respond. A few minutes earlier, she had slipped an AirPod into her ear and hidden it under her long, straight, blonde hair, so she probably hasn’t heard a word her mom had said on this drive.

There are a lot of extracurriculars too. I don’t know what you’re into, but I’m sure we can find something right up your alley. Meg rambles on and on, despite neither me nor Jo responding even once since we’ve gotten into the car. I know she means well, but I'm not up for small talk today — or maybe ever again.

You have your class schedule, right? They’re supposed to assign a student to show you around, but if you need anything else, just ask Jo. You’ll help her out if she needs anything, won’t you?

Still no answer from either of us. You’d think she’d have caught on by now. Maybe she has and just prefers a one-sided conversation to a fully silent car ride.

We pull to a stop in front of a large brick building. Woodview High School. It doesn’t look like anything special. Jo gets out of the car and slams the door, but I feel like I owe Meg a little more than that.

Thank you for the ride Mrs. Reilly, I say, as I unbuckle my seatbelt.

It’s no problem, she replies, and please, call me Meg.

I nod, not quite ready for that level of familiarity yet. As I reach for the door handle, she speaks again.

I know you’re not psyched about moving here, she says, and rightfully so, of course. But if there’s anything I can do to make things a little easier, just say the word.

I nod again. I probably should say something, but it seems like too much effort, so instead I give a half hearted smile and exit the car.

Jo was far enough ahead of me that by the time I enter the school, she’s nowhere to be found. Not that it really matters. She has already informed me that at school, we don’t know each other. So contrary to Meg’s belief, I’m on my own here.

The main office is easy enough to find, but somehow I doubt the rest of the day will go as smoothly. I approach the front desk where a secretary is sitting behind a name placard that reads Ms. Goldberg. She hardly looks up from her computer as she asks, Can I help you?

I’m supposed to get a tour or something, I say, feeling abnormally awkward. I’m new here.

Elena Flores? A voice behind me calls. I turn around to see a boy who looks older than me, probably an upperclassman. He’s got dark brown curls sticking out from under a backwards baseball cap and is at least a full head taller than me.

I look up at him and he looks down at me. His eyes wander like he’s examining every inch of my body and I involuntarily tighten. Yeah, that’s me.

He extends his hand. I’m Levi Haddad. I’m supposed to give you a tour of the school.

He’s looking into my eyes now, and I realize I may have been examining him in the same way. Oh, right, I stammer, nice to meet you.

Should we get started?

I nod slightly. I guess so.

He leads me out of the office and down a long hallway. The walls are covered with plaques with photos of people whom I assume are former students. I wonder what they all did to be honored in this way and how there could possibly be so many alumni who’ve done noteworthy things.

The building’s divided based on subject, Levi explains. Each subject has a wing and, for the most part, all classes are in their respective wings. But there are some exceptions and it looks like your first period class is one of them.

You know my schedule? I ask.

He nods. They gave me a copy. I don’t know why your Spanish class is being taught in the History wing this year, but that’s the classroom right there.

I glance into the room that he’s gesturing toward. The walls are decorated with maps of different regions of the world and there’s a poster with the Preamble to the Constitution on it. It certainly looks more like a Social Studies classroom than a Spanish classroom.

I had Señora Maldonado freshman year. She makes the class super easy.

I laugh at his comment, but when he looks at me with a raised brow I realize how rude that must seem. Sorry. I’m only laughing ‘cause I don’t really need an easy Spanish class, I explain, or any Spanish class for that matter.

Right. Flores. That makes sense.

We keep walking. He goes over which hallways are designated for which subjects. I try my best to pay attention, but, honestly, it's a struggle. I don’t care where the library or the gym or the cafeteria is. My life has been turned completely upside down, and there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s hard to feel like anything else matters.

Elena?

I look up at him. We’ve stopped walking and he’s staring at me like he’s expecting me to answer a question I don’t remember being asked.

He repeats himself slowly. Do you have any questions?

No, I don’t think so, I lie, knowing damn well I have no idea how to get around here. Thank you.

I feel like I did a real lousy job on this tour. He says it less to me and more just into the air. Do you want me to walk you back to your first period class?

You don’t have to.

Do you have any idea how to get there on your own?

I hesitate and he starts to laugh. There’s my answer, he says, still chuckling slightly. C’mon, I’ll show you.

He starts to walk back in the direction we came from and I hesitantly follow. So where are you from?

Miami, I answer, barely audible.

Nice. Probably would’ve been easier if you moved over the summer, rather than starting a month into the year.

Well what fun is it doing things the easy way?

He smiles in a way so that only one side of his lips turn upwards. Fair enough. So why’d you move here?

I suddenly feel a lump forming in my throat. I knew people would ask me this, but I was dreading it. I swallow and give my prepared answer. My dad lives here. It’s not a lie. It’s just not the whole truth, exactly.

That’s cool. So you wanted to be closer to your dad?

This question was a little bit harder to navigate. I didn’t exactly want to. I didn’t have a choice. But I don’t need to reveal all my baggage to a total stranger. What’s with all the questions? I say instead.

I’m just making small talk, he states. I was under the impression that it was a normal thing to do.

I try not to roll my eyes. He’s just trying to be nice. It’s not his fault I don’t want to be here. Sorry, I’m just not in the mood to chat.

He shrugs. Fine. We can walk in silence.

I want to feel bad. He’s being perfectly nice, but I can’t really bring myself to feel anything at all. I suppose it’s better to stay silent. I really shouldn’t use up all of my social energy before classes even start.

When we arrive back downstairs, Levi wishes me good luck and gives me a half hearted smile before leaving me to face the school day on my own. I take a seat in the back row, hoping fewer people will look at me if I sit there. It doesn’t exactly work. Nearly everyone stares at me as they enter the room. A few even whisper and glance back at me once they sit down. I try to ignore it.

Buenos días clase. Señora Maldonado stands at the front of class in a flowing dark green dress. She has long, wavy, dark brown hair, which falls almost to her hips and I can’t help but think that it kind of reminds me of my mom’s. ¿Quién quiere empezar hoy?[1]

No one responds and she sighs, beginning to walk up and down the aisles. I guess I’ll just have to pick someone to start. In a sing-songy voice she asks, who should our first victim be? She stops next to a slender boy with baby blue hair and slams her hand lightly on his desk. Señor Hayashi, ¿quieres hablar?[2]

The boy scrunches up his face but nods anyway.

Muchas gracias! She leans on his desk and flashes a smile. She seems young for a teacher. I can’t imagine she’s any older than her late twenties. She definitely seems to have the energy to support that theory. Qué hicieron este fin de semana pasada?[3]

He speaks softly and slowly. El fin de semana pasada, yo fui al cine. It’s clear he has prepared this answer in advance on the off chance that Señora Maldonado chose him to pick on today.[4]

Qué divertido, she continues. ¿Con quién fuiste?[5]

He blinks. She awaits his answer, but none comes. ¿Repita por favor?[6]

This class is going to be torture. I could’ve answered these questions in Kindergarten, but these students clearly have no idea what’s going on. Señora Maldonado