My editor is quite possibly the best editor ever. She looked at the manuscript I gave her, saw the heart of the story and helped whack away all that didn't work, build up what did work and make the story true to what I had originally intended but never could've done without her. I hate to think what it would have been without all her changes, yet some of them were tough to make. You never want to hear that you have to write five new scenes when you feel like you're going to scream if you have to look at the manuscript one more time. And cutting out scenes you slaved to write is a tough thing. But every call she made along these lines was the right one, even when it came to this scene below, the scene I think of as "Mrs. Tuna Casserole." I loved this scene so much I read it at my MFA thesis reading. And when my editor mentioned that it might need to go, I had a moment when I thought I might cry. But she was right: it didn't add anything to the story and it kind of bogged down the start, so out it went. The story is better for it but I still kind of miss it. So it gives me some comfort to post it here, where it can get a little place to live on.

When my parents first told me we were moving to Prague, I was excited. I loved Manhattan, but things had gotten rough in the past year, and some time in Prague, kicking around Europe before I headed off to college sounded great to me. We'd been to Prague and I'd loved it. My parents were thrilled by my happy reaction and it wasn't until I asked if we'd live in the Jewish quarter that the truth of the matter came out.

"Oh, honey, no, we meant Prague, NY, that little town we went to last Memorial Day weekend," my mother said, her eyes suddenly not quite meeting my gaze.

We had gone to Prague, NY for a "country get-away", though for me the place to get away from was the country. I spent the whole time in my room at the Bed and Breakfast reading and counting the hours til we returned to civilization.

"You have to be kidding!" I gasped, feeling physically assaulted at the thought of actually living in such a place.

"Honey, you'll love it, you'll see! Dad and I both grew up in small towns and we turned out okay." The rest of what she said was lost on me as I streaked across our living room, practically knocking over the large wooden fertility sculpture by the doorway, and into my room where I slammed the door.

I didn't speak to my parents for a week, though I think they looked back on that time as a blessing, because once I started talking to them, I railed into them for making such a choice. I threatened to have them arrested for cruel and unusual punishment, and when that didn't pan out, I decided to declare myself an emancipated minor. That plan fizzled when I realized I'd have to drop out of school to support myself. In the end my feelings on the matter made no difference whatsoever: the moving truck came and all my possessions were snatched out of our beautiful condo on West 78th, where potential sub-letters had practically maimed each other for the right to live there while we were away "indefinitely", as my mom put it. It went without saying that it was no problem to rent a place in Prague- there were like fifty houses available and absolutely no competition for any of them.

I hated Prague the first time we'd visited, but that was nothing compared to the loathing I felt for it after we'd been there a few days. At home there were restaurants with food from all over the world, here it was pizza or cheap Chinese. At home there were amazing consignment and vintage shops where I created my wardrobe, here there was a General Store with styles from the nineties and a Sears. At home we could see movies the moment they were released, and not just big budget: all independent movies came to New York. Prague had one movie theater with two theaters showing films I'd seen back in June. And hated.

And then there were the people. On our second day there a woman from the Welcome Wagon came by. I had actually not thought such a thing existed- I had assumed it was a joke when I'd read about it in books because who in the name of God would want some stranger knocking on their door as they were trying to unpack and set up a home? But there she was, in her polyester shorts suit with a tuna casserole and a basket of coupons from the local businesses (it was a very small basket.) We're vegetarians, but my mom pretended to like the casserole and invited the woman in, where she talked my mom's ear off about how amazing the apples were when they ripened- Prague was all about apple orchards and a lot of people in town either owned them, managed them or worked in them, at least according to Mrs. Tuna Casserole.

"We just know you and that pretty little daughter of yours will love it here!" she trilled.

I gagged in the other room, where I was eavesdropping instead of unpacking dishes.

"Yes," my mother said, loudly, to cover up the noise I was making. "I'm sure we'll all love it."

Which is what she kept trying to ram down my throat. I'd point out there was nothing to do and she'd start making a list of things like picking apples or taking a walk.

"No, actual fun things that I'd like," I told her.

"How do you know you wouldn't like picking apples? You've never done it before."

But it doesn't take a genius to know when something is going to suck, even if you've never done it before.