Delinquents and an Innocent (Rewrite)

Chapter 1:Way to Go Life....Not!!

*~*~*~*~* Victorya POV *~*~*~*~*

So, lucky me gets to start off our dramatic tale through love, tragedy, excitement --- wait a second. I am getting so far ahead of myself, aren't I?

I'm so sorry. Before we get to the love, tragedy, and excitement, I have to give you the background information required for you to actually understand the good stuff. Bear with me here, sorry again.

My name is Victorya Cross (people call me Tory), the official nerdy, wide eyed Head Innocent that is too much of a good girl to do anything even remotely rebellious here at Jefferson High School located in "sunny" San Francisco. (Please do note my sarcasm here).

Jefferson High is your cliche stereotypical high school. We've got the dumb, but athletically skilled meat heads and their equally dumb but extra slutty counterparts: the cheerleaders, the scary and mysteriously attractive juvenile delinquents, the children of the arts with a slight marijuana problem, and then, my group: the Innocents. Here gathered all of the nerds and dorks that were smarter, worked harder, actually had morals, and we're really good kids. But that's not what makes you popular, it's actually quite the opposite. That's the kind of stuff that gets you at the bottom of the social ladder, which gets you thrown into lockers.

Which coincidentally, is where our story starts. With me. Being shoved. Into some lockers. Way to go life....Not!!!!

"Well, nerd, how do you like me now, huh?" The blonde cheerleader sneers, meanly, towering over my form; hunched in pain after being thrown into the lockers. I think her name is Tiffany? Maybe? I'm naming her Tiffany, regardless.

Tiffany pulls me into a standing position by my curly blonde hair (although I assume that clumps of it will come out in her perfectly manicured nails).

"Can't we talk this out? Please, don't be so rash!!" I protest weakly, so she doesn't continue to rip my hair out. Tiffany just glares at me, her blue eyes burning. She probably doesn't even know what the word 'rash' means.

"I'll stop when you do my homework, nerd!" The blonde hisses and I have to refrain from face palming at her logic.

Being a nerd isn't a bad thing. In ten years, I'm going to be a rich and published author/artist and she is going to be working the street corners to try and make the bills.

Wait, what am I doing? Imagining the future is not going to get me out of this mess. If only it weren't class time and there were still teachers wandering the halls to save me from the airhead's clutches.

I grimace and stiffen, waiting for the final blow, but then a new, icy voice snaps from down the hall. Quiet and dangerous, "Just what do you think you're doing?"

I start to sigh in relief, my saviour has come! Then I recognize the voice and my body stiffens again.