The Music in Me

Authors note: Hola readers!:) I have a new story here, almost 2 years in the making now, and I've been working so darn hard to make it exactly as I and SailorMiniMoon have pictured it. She had won my Summary Making Contest way back then and her story line was amazing, I just had to make it into a story, since i had been having terrible writer's block and a lot on my plate entering highschool. So she is the co-author pretty much:) But I really hope it lives up to her, I, and all of the Wattpader's expectations. So, without further ado, I give you, The Music in Me:) FEEDBACK! I can't make the story any better without opinions from my viewers! Vote, comment, rate! Thank you<3 Ps. I would like to warn that there is slight swearing in this book, it seems more age appropriate for the characters at times. Thank you:)  (Hayley to the right)

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I slammed my fist down on my wailing alarm clock and groaned. I rolled over in my bed and plopped down onto my floor, face first may I add. I propped myself up with both my hands and looked around my small, but cluttered, room. Out of this whole half a million dollar house, my phenomenal mother gives me the smallest possible one. It used to be a storage room, AKA the attic. Enough said. I used to have an average room, but once my disturbingly animated cousin, Suton, moved in and my mom instantaneously gave her my room and up to the attic I went. Of course Hillary got to stay right where she was because she's the 'golden child' of the family. I could care less. I will never forgive Hillary for what she's done.

*Flashback*

It all happened 11 years ago. I was six years old. I had loved playing the violin more than anything, it was an innocent escape from the rest of the world. It was the one thing I exceeded in over Hillary, and she noticed. We had once gone picnicking on a large hill with a small cliff. It had a breathtaking view It was a family tradition to do this at the birth of spring, on this very hill. Dad had started the tradition when I was two and Hillary was three. Two years later he died in a car on his way home from work, and mom couldn't part with the tradition. We went every year in memory of him. Mom was sulking. I was four. Mom was setting the food up while I sat on the edge of the cliff swinging my legs back and forth, watching the clouds pass by. I was thinking of the violin. I heard rustling behind me, knowing it was Hillary or mom, I ignored it. I then felt two hands shove me with full force. I went hurdling down the jagged rocks as I caught a glimpse of the culprit. Hillary. Smirking. Pure betrayal was what ran through my veins, the devil lived in her eyes in that instant. I screamed to the top of my lungs, as it all went black. 

*End of flashback*

I have hated her for that ever since, and it has been over a decade. She had never quite got blamed for it, either. Mom would just never believe that her perfect little angel would shove me down that cliff. That is why I was in no way letting her remove the now permanent scar on the left side of my face, on the bone of my cheek. It is a reminder to me that no matter what everyone says, Hillary never was or will be perfect in any way. I don't take anybody's shit anymore. I'm tougher, stronger, and well more aware. It has become very hard to trust anyone. So I just don't talk to many people. I've pretty much icolated myself from anyone out of my league. 

I hoisted myself up off the floor and began my normal morning routine. I looked into the little mirror on my wall and began brushing my long blond hair. I have dyed my hair a couple times, because I've always hated it. It's frizzy and hard to work with, so I may as well like the color. It was originally a light brown, which I couldn't stand. Dying my hair was also just yet another way I tried to rebel against my mom. Although I'd like to think it works, she doesn't even notice anymore. She's too busy worrying about Hillary's future. 

I'm not what you would call 'popular' I mostly just keep to myself and talk to the occasional person here and there. I just don't really care enough to try and get into that crowd. I sigh and start to put on my minimal amount of makeup. Concealer, powder, blush, mascara and a clear lip gloss. I had never used that much makeup, because I hate those girls who cake it on and always look so fake. The eye makeup just makes my big blue eyes stand out. I don't even know why I bother sometimes, though. Who do I have to look decent for?