Dreaming Doesn't Hurt, Right?

1: Popular

A/N hey..well this story is my first story on wattpad, transferred from my word doc.  would really appreciate it if you'd tell me what you think and give suggestions? =]    i don't think i'll be putting a cast because i like imagining what my characters look like, and dont like it when my picture of them is ruined =/. so go ahaead and imagine =] oh yeah, also many of the situations on this story are real situations that have happened to me, and many are made up, but i won't be saying which is real and which is fake to save my reputation. =/

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When I was born, my mother didn’t want me.  She wanted to give me up for adoption.  The nurse was appalled by my mother’s reaction when she tried to put me in my mom’s arms.  How could a mother not want her child? 

After hours of seeing me lay there on the hospital crib, bawling my ass off, my mom finally gave in.  Sometimes I think she regrets of having have taken me in, and wishes she could of have left me in the hospital, and given me up for adoption.  We don’t get along.  She always says she loves me, but it’s whatever in my books. 

In fourth grade that’s when I started to realize I was always going to be at the bottom of the totem pole of popularity.  Girls too young to understand what a slut was were already acting like one, and they were pretty popular amongst the rest of the fourth graders.  They paraded around the school playground with many other nine year old girls, who were less “popular”, trailing after them, trying to be included into their group in hopes of becoming “popular”. 

Popularity was the biggest issue throughout my elementary and middle school years.  I always tried to hang out with the “popular” kids, but was never noticed, even though my mom was the principal at school.  Maybe that was the reason no one liked me.  The only way I got popular was when I flipped off Kevin, a kid who no one liked.  He cried in class on a daily basis, and was considered a geek, so everyone saw it acceptable to bully him.  So one day he was being bullied by Ma ‘Nay and her group of fourth grade sluts. 

“You’re a fag, Kevin.” Ma ’Nay was saying.

“Yeah, a complete fag, you fag.”  Ashantee, her accomplice said, pointing at his nose.

“Fuck you.” Kevin said, looking at both of them, trying to put on a show of machismo.

“Ew! He said fuck you!” Another girl said, giggling.

“You wish you could!” they cackled at Kevin.

As they kept taunting him, I thought I would finally be noticed and accepted into their group of short skirts and uniform blouses sizes too small.  I neared Kevin and gave him the bird. 

“Omagash, Ruthbella!  You are so mean!” sneered one of Ma ’Nay’s accomplices.

“Yeah so mean!”

“You are such a bitch!”

“Imma tell a teacher on you!” Kevin yelled. 

I felt a sort of pride swelling in my chest, think he meant he was going to tell on them, but I thought wrong.

“Ooo-hoo-hoo! Ruthie’s getting in trouble!” the group of fourth grade sluts jeered at me.

I ran towards the restroom, the only place I knew where I wouldn’t be taunted, and only hiding place available.  Mrs. Fitch went into the bathroom.  After many minutes of her calling me to come out, she gave up. 

When I got home, my mom hounded me, saying I had become the school scandal.  By the things my mom was telling me, I had finally become popular, but not to the rest of the fourth grade class, but the teachers.  I had ruined my mother’s carefully constructed reputation. 

Middle school brought many new things, at the same time it was the worst school year.  I was introduced to rock, my drug for life.  Nothing could separate me from my drug.  Bethany had gotten me into the rock scene after her brother had visited her from college.  He had brought with him all these CDs from different genres of rock, getting her into the music, teaching her everything he knew about rock music, and she passed all of that to me.  By the end of sixth grade, we were singing along to Green Day, Linkin Park, and Fall Out Boy.  During the summer vacation before seventh, we begged her brother to take us to see a local band perform, but he said we were too young.  We begged, but he kept insisting no.  When he was getting ready to leave, she and I snuck into the back seat of his car, giggling from the excitement that kept bubbling from inside us.

After some couple of minutes of driving, he made a stop.  The back door to the back seats opened.

“Yeah, we’ll probably—Whoa!  I think Jem’s kidnapping kids over here!” Some guy with midnight blue hair peered in.

“Ha!  Yeah, and I’m gonna molest you, too!” Bethany’s brother joked, obviously not knowing what midnight blue haired guy was talking about.  He stuck his head in and looked at the back seat, wondering why his friends weren’t getting in.  “O my God!  What are you guys doing here?!  Dude, if mom realizes you guys are with me, I’m in so much trouble!  O my God!” he exclaimed covering his face with his hands, hoping we would disappear.

“Please Jem, don’t take us back home!” Bethany pleaded.  “I promise I won’t tell mom about this!”

“O my God!  What am I supposed to do?  O my God!” he kept saying.

“Dude, chill, just take ‘em back home.”  A guy with red hair, and purple contact lenses suggested.

“We’re gonna be late.  Look, Beth, I’ll take you guys along, but please don’t tell mom about this.”

 “No problem-o, Jem-o!” we said in unison, grinning as big as Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland.

                Arriving there was a whole new level in my life.  Entering, I was greeted by the blast of screaming guitars, thundering bass riffs, and purring voices, beckoning me to join them on stage.  Well that’s what it felt like to my twelve-year old ears.

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 so what you think? =]