((Hey guys! New book, one I actually hope to finish this time. Comment and vote. Thanks!))
Chapter 1
I am Ebony Black. Ebony black is my hair colour, short and viciously straight with a soft, full fringe that falls over my eyes. The reason why my fringe hangs there is that my eyes are silver, and everyone thinks I'm a freak. I'm not talking grey here. I'm talking metallic, shiny eyes that glint in the sun and don't respond to heat.Even the doctors can't explain it. I've been through so many operations, so much hurt, and still no result. Moving from England to Australia just made things worse. It's so sunny here in Forest Hill that my eyes are more noticeable than ever. Back in London it was cloudy maybe not every day, but a lot of the time. When I made the transition to high school after moving, I didn't have a clue. So many people stared at me, at my eyes, on that first day at Forest Hill High that I shivered all the way through my first few classes. The last bell for the day, the one that signalled home time, finally rang after what seemed like years. Boy, was I glad to get out of there. A whole year passed, a whole year of teasing and funny looks and rumours and whispering. It was my first day of Year Eight today. I got off the bus at the Pepper Street bus stop, the bus stop closest to my street,Whitewood Road. I descended down the shining metal staircase, barely touching the handrail before leaving the last trace of an awful school day behind. I watch the bus stutter and cough its way into the distance. I was sure I could see three figures, boys, making faces at me and stretching their eyes into funny shapes.
I bet it was Aaron Stenfield and his mates.
Today,I walk up the Whitewood Road in the burning summer heat, sweat dripping down my face and spreading through my . It must be 40 degrees out here today. Typical Australia. Come to think of it, our street is really typical. Nearly all the houses are orange brick with burnt auburn, wavy, tiled roofs, neatly cut lawns and rose bushes. To be honest, it looks like a retirement home. Yet somehow, developers actually think the place looks good. Typical Developers. Typical coastal town. Typical Australia. I'm at the front of my house know. It's a big, stone place that reminds me a little of a castle, with ivy crawling about the front arch. As I walk along the overgrown cobblestone path, I nearly trip over a ceramic fairy, one of the many ceramic things scattered througout the mass of bramble, blackberry and ivy plants. I finally get to the front steps, exhausted and panting. I open the creaky redwood gum door and step inside.
"Mum, I'm home," I call as I drop my front door key on the table next to the door. Behind it is a hat rack. I hang up my blue school cap. I walk down the hallway and stop in front of the hallway mirror. The sun moves across the double paned oak window behind me. I stare at the mirror. My eyes flash silver and stare back at me. That alone is enough to make me cringe. Suddenly, something red, orange, yellow and gold slams into me and squeezes me tight. For a moment, I panic. Then I realise it's just Mum.
My mother, Janice Black, is a tall, skinny woman with greyish green eyes. I think it was this colour and dad's ice blue that gave me my silver, but I keep on doubting this as my eyes should in that case have blue and green in them. Mum tries to be 'hip'. Except her kind of hip must be from about 70 years ago. I mean honestly, who wears red, flower print kaftans that hang down on one side,flared orange tie die pants undeneath, braided tan hippy headbands adorned with dangly warm-coloured beads and rainbow socks under red thongs? Socks under thongs, for goodness' sake! That has to be a fashion crime to some extent. It's like I'm the greyscale and she's the colour."Hi, Mum," I rasp, almost choking in her tight grip. "Hi, sugar!" squeals Mum. "Come on. I have something for you. Close your eyes." I do as she says and she covers them just to make sure. She's leading me into the loungeroom I think. I hope that the surprise is something like new school socks. Something boring. Not like her last surprise. That frog toasted in the sun... I forgot to give it fresh water. And the surprise before that was some ridiculous hippy headband and a freshly-baked plate of cookies. Lets just say that after eating them all I had a very long date with the toilet. But when I open my eyes, there, on the dark oak wood kitchen bench next to the loungeroom (both are clean for once) is the most beautiful, silver and blue marbled dress, complete with a silver necklace with a mother-of-pearl centerpiece set in sterling silver. I'm not going to ask how much it must've cost. "I thought you might need something to wear to that social of yours next week," she says, nudging me. "Bet there's going to be cute boys there."
Oh.
I forgot. We have to have dance partners. Boys. But I don't even have girls that like me as friends, let alone boys that like me in that way. "I'm sorry, Mum," I say, fighting back tears. "Take them back to the shop. I'm not going." Mum frowns. "But honey, it's your Year 8 start of term social!" I shake my head. "I can't." Even if I did want to go, Brad wouldn't dance with me. Brad Turner is the top hottie in our year. Even vicious Year Nine girls can't resist him. He's got golden-brown hair that curls just below the neck, chocolate brown eyes and some seriously nice muscles. The only thing that makes me remotely normal to anyone in the school is that I like him, and he doesn't hate me. It's a shame he likes Tanya Crawford (or so everyone says.) She's the top mean girl, and has bullied me ever since I started this school. I kind of wish I had her pretty dark brown curls. But I would never be her. She likes him, he likes her. And you would like him too. Girls pass him pretty much anywhere and instantly drop their jaws. Problem is, he's popular.
I'm just a freak.
