My Life As A Cheater.

Chapter Two. -Brenna

Copyright @ Shelbsters15

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by all means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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Soooo.... How's the story so far?

I know it's early, but I hope you like it. :)

Make sure you vote and comment. <3

Thanks.

-Shelby.

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Cheater: One who cheats; a swindler.

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Brenna ♡♡♡

"Watch where you're going."

The boy looks at me startled, and I step around him quickly, not even giving him a chance to talk to me.

I don't have time to 'make friends', like my Mom wants me to. There's so much schoolwork, and studying that I have to do... Especially if I at least want to make it into a decent college after I graduate at the end of this year.

My locker is right at the end of the hallway, and I unlock it, and place my bag in it, which has all my extra clothes, lunch, books, and little things, like my phone and womanly things.. You know.. Just in case.

Art Class is first. Which is my absolutely favorite.

I take out my schedule to see which room I'm going to be in.

Room...

"Hi-ya." An energetic, squeaky voice says. "You must be new here."

I glance up to see a tall girl, with hair so light blond that it almost looks white, pulling things out of the locker next to me.

"Um, yeah." I mumble, glancing back at the paper.

Art is in room four. Now I just have to find room four.

"Do you need help?" She asks, closing her locker, and turning towards me, smiling. "What class are you in?"

"Uh.." I slowly fold my schedule up, and stuff it in my back pocket. "Art. Room four?"

"Ha!" She smirks. "Yeah, I know where that is. That's my brothers first class also. I'm Kayla, by the way."

I smile a small smile, and tuck a piece of my hair behind my ear. "Brenna. My name's Brenna."

She grabs my hand and starts pulling me down the hallway to the left. "We better get going if we both want to make it to class on time. Are you a Sophomore too?"

Sophomore? She's a Sophomore?

I honestly thought she was a Senior like me. She's much taller than I am (even though most people are taller than I am anyway), and to tell you the truth, she looks like she'd be one of those stuck up popular/cheerleader chicks, with her hair, and the clothes she's wearing.

"No. I'm a Senior. We just moved here a few weeks ago."

Her smile widens. "Well, cool. I've got to introduce you to some of my friends. You're pretty cool."

Okay, I see how she's two years younger than I am now. I want to tell her that I'll just hang out by myself, but I just nod my head and keep quiet. Hopefully I won't see her after Art.

It's not too long before I see the room, and I pull my hand out of her grasp.

"Well.. thanks.. Um?"

"Kayla."

I smile a tight smile, and nod my head at her. "Yeah, Kayla. Sorry."

Kayla laughs, and waves it off. "No biggie. I bet you're meeting a lot of people today, so of course it's hard for you to remember names."

"Yeah.." Lie. "I better get inside. Bye."

I turn around, and grip the doorknob quickly, just barely hearing Kayla say bye before I enter the room.

There is no way that I'm going to hang out with her. No way. For many reasons.

As soon as I walk inside, the rush of nervousness rushes over me. There's a bunch of kids talking, and hollering. Laughing, and smiling.

Of course I don't recognize any, but my eyes do skim over that guy who bumped into me while I was walking to my locker earlier.

Didn't Kayla say that her Brother has Art first period too? I look over everyone, and I don't see anyone who looks like her.

Good. If he's anything like Kayla, I'd die in this class.

"Good morning, Miss.." The Teacher, Mr. Lance looks down at my sheet. "Miss. Peterson." He smiles at me, and I smile shyly back at him. "You can have a seat at any easel you want to. Okay?" He tells me, gesturing to the middle of the room.

I nod, and sit down in the farthest seat in the back, ignoring the wondering eyes.

"Goood morning, class!" Mr. Lance says, a little quieter than a shout. Everyone starts whooping and screaming, except for me.

"This morning, we're going to draw what we feel. It can be anything you what. But, the catch is it has to be in red."

One of the girls in the front row raises her hand.

"Yes, Tiffany?"

"Why red?" Tiffany asks with her eyebrows raised.

He smirks, and looks down at his shirt, which is red, and then looks back at her. "Because red is my favorite color."

Some of the other students laugh, and others complain about hating the color red. I just stay quiet, and pick through the different types of paintbrushes that I have set out in front of me.

You may think that a paintbrush, is a paintbrush, but it's not. Each paintbrush is different, and they do different things. They paint different ways, and move different ways.

I pick out the flat brush, and dip it into the red paint, already feeling the excitement growing inside of me.

Right before I strike the paintbrush across the board in front of me, I feel someones eyes watching me, and I look up to see brown eyes staring at me from the row in front of me.

For a few seconds, I stare right back at the guy who ran into me, but then I blink, and I move my concentration back to my painting.

It has to be perfect. Everything in my life has to be perfect.

I close my eyes and feel the flow as I move my hand up and down the easel.

My Dad was into painting when he was alive. I remember him teaching me when I was six. "Painting is just not Art." He would tell me. "And it is not something that you just simply do. We live Art. We live in it, and we are Art."

He was one of the best artists in Seattle, which is where we lived before we moved here. I was going to start working with him before he... Before he...

My phone vibrates in my pocket, which jerks me back to reality. I know it's a text message, since it only vibrated once.

I look at my painting, and see that I've painted half of one of my Dads famous paintings. Tears sting in my eyes, and I push them back as I reach into my pocket.

Mr. Lance isn't looking, so I sneak a glance at my phone.

My breathe catches as I read what it says, and I can't help it.. A tear makes its way down my cheek.

'I H8 u. U worthless skank.'

That only means one thing...

Mom's drunk again.