Modern Family Pre-Pilot –The Dunphy’s First Day of School

I am currently undergoing the motions of stereotypical teenage angst.

“You’re so dramatic, Alex,” Mom says, sliding a bowl of cereal across the table towards me.

“Appreciate the support,” I mumble, not lifting my head from where it’s rested against the cool, granite surface.

Luke tsks from across the table. “You’re a Debby Downer. I think of a new school is super fun.”

I raise my head to glare at him. “You’re illiterate,” I say.

Mom pinches my shoulder as she walks by me to go upstairs, likely on a mission to tow Haley from her bed and propel her downstairs for breakfast. It’s a fruitless effort; Haley is as stubborn as an ox and about as thrilled to attend our new school as I am. Yet another angsty teen added to the Dunphy household. We’ve constructed a somewhat-clear image on what to expect from our new school, Haley and I, if any of the countless high school rom-coms we watched back in our hometown of Sedona are trustworthy sources. Haley’s stressing over the guarantee of tanned white boys with snapbacks and obnoxiously flawless teeth, and I’m stressing over the promise that a person like me—someone whose level of social skills is veering into the negatives—is destined to get pummeled by pretty much everyone.

In Sedona, it wasn’t like that. Our local school only hosted two hundred students, and my friends and I often went outside for lunch and played ultimate, basking in the Arizona sun and smell of pine. The atmosphere was serene, a soothing hum always in the background somewhere, and there was no crevice of that town that didn’t feel like home.

But then my dad’s new promotion in real estate required us to move here, to the restless city of Los Angeles, where the dense heat feels suffocating and all the deafening noise from the day rings through your head as you toss and turn in your sleep. We arrived two weeks ago, and there are still some boxes yet to be unpacked. (We’re lazy. And dad’s a hoarder in denial.)

Today is my first day at a new school in Los Angeles as an eighth grader. And that sentence alone is enough to send my prepubescent, naive body into cardiac arrest.

Oh, Jesus. My life has practically become a high school rom-com itself. I physically cannot reach any lower than this.

“Are you gonna eat that?” Luke asks, gesturing towards my untouched cereal and effectively cutting off my self-pitying thoughts. I shoot him an unimpressed look, sliding my bowl of now-soggy Frosted Flakes in his direction. He all but inhales the whole thing. It takes immense effort not to grimace.

“You’re a disgrace,” I tell him.

He just grins at me, his crooked teeth beaming. (His right front tooth is hanging by a thread—all thanks to his heartbreaking baseball skills. It should be a sin to let him play.)

“I’m seventeen, Mom.” Haley’s sleep-induced voice fills the room as she pads down the stairs in her pajamas. “It may as well be illegal to force your child into a new school for senior year.”

Mom is sporting a severe frown as she follows Haley into the kitchen, shaking her head. “You girls are overreacting. Look at Luke— he’s not nervous at all.”

“He’s Luke,” Haley says at the same time I say, “He’s Luke.”

Luke blinks. Mom rubs her forehead. “Get ready for school, all of you,” she says. “Or else you’ll be late.”

“Are you driving us?” I ask, sliding off my seat from the table. “No, which reminds me…” Mom marches towards the stairs. “Phi-il!” she hollers. “Wake up! You need to take the kids to school!”

It’s silent.

“Phil!”

There’s a thump from above, followed by a very startled, “Wha?” Mom groans. “This house is a mess,” she mumbles, stomping up the stairs.

And when Haley, Luke, and I finally drag ourselves to brush our teeth and get changed, I can’t help but think, Scene One of Alex Dunphy’s abomination of a high school rom-com—completed.

Angela Yang | Greenwood College School | Grade 10