Love Comes At A Price

Chapter 1

I always had a crappy life. Everyone bullied me. I had something special about me, I just couldn't tell what it was but no one else seemed to notice it...or me unless they were making fun of me. I just wanted this to stop, to find someone to make me feel good for once. That's not my parents, they let me do whatever I wanted unless it came to their religion. They are Mormon, I'm not. I don't have any religion, I do what I want until I face my parents.

The sound of my annoying alarm sounded. Beep beep beep. I reach over, half asleep, and turn it off.

"Not again," I face palm and pull the ugly, pink polka dotted sheets off of me.

My room looks like a 10 year olds room with the pink theme. I begged my mom to let me paint it blue I even said I'd pay for it. She refused.

"Time for another damn day of school," I said under my breath. I reach into my drawer and pull out a black Green Day tee, dark blue skinny jeans, and black Vans.

I walk out of my room into the completely white, pristine bathroom down the hall. My short mom stops me in front of the door.

"I don't think you can have that attitude today," she says blocking the door with her hand.

"What attitude I just got up," I said with a little bit of sassiness. I go through this every morning.

"I said no attitude. Now go in there and get dressed," she points to the bathroom. I walk in there and lock the door behind me.

That's what I was going to do but she just so happened to stop me right in the middle of the process.

I look in the very clean mirror. I looked even worse than yesterday. I usually try to cover it with makeup but nothing like what those sluts at school wear. I change into my outfit and look at myself in the full body mirror in the corner of the large basement bathroom. I'm thin, maybe even a little underweight.

I got the whole downstairs to myself. That is until my mom decides to interrupt whatever I'm doing.

"Time for the makeup," I head back into my room, sit at this little white makeup table and turn on the light. I put on foundation, some eyeliner, and mascara. Nothing too extreme. Just the basic things to cover my under eye circles.

I put my hair in a messy bun and head to the kitchen to stuff my face. It's already 6:45, I have 15 minute until the bus gets here, I thought to myself. I eat my Frosted Flakes, and leave. They were the only "unhealthy" cereal my parents would even allow to be in their house. Not that they're any worse than other things normal people eat.

I just stand at the bus stop trying to look busy texting while in reality I'm just playing Crossy Road. Today this guy bumps into me, making me drop my stuff.

"Watch where you're going!" I yell. I look up to see a guy with short brown hair and beautiful blue eyes.

Everyone turns to look at us.

"Sorry, let me help you with that," he has a buttery smooth voice and smells like he just walked from a magazine shoot...not in a weird way.

We both pick up my stuff and the bright red lights of the bus gets there.

"Hey, I'm Anthony. Mind if I sit with you on the bus?" says the guy who just bumped into me.

"Uh sure."

No one ever asks to sit with me and I like it that way. We get on the bus and sit near the front a few rows behind the bus driver. 

"So what's your name," I nervously look at him.

I debate telling him another name since we'll probably never talk again. "Aubree," I say quietly, deciding on my real name. "Are you new here, I've never seen you before?"

"Yeah, my dad got a job here. I'm from New York, it's a lot different here in Minnesota."

I nod and hope we can get to school fast. After fifteen long minutes of silence we're there. I hurry off the bus and try to get away from him. I push through the crowds and try to get into the school and to my locker.

"Aubree!" I hear from behind me.

I look behind me and see Anthony he's running towards me. So majestic with his hair flowing in the wind he created. He stops right beside me.

"Can I come with you since you're the only person I know here?"

Feeling sorry I say yes and we go to my locker. The noise of people shouting at each other and other conversations keeps us from having much small talk since they were right by the hall entrance near my locker.

"So where's your locker," I say trying to make conversation.

Anthony pulls out a crumpled sheet of paper with most likely a class schedule and locker information on it.

"Number 789."

"Oh that's just down this hall,"

I open my locker and grab my book for math, locking it back up.

"I'll show you," I was surprised with what I said and could tell he was appreciative by the huge smile that surfaced his face.