Ripe

Ripe.

©2014, Crystal Carter.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the explicit written permission of Crystal Carter, the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

Dedicated to everyone who knows what it feels like to hate yourself. You're the absolute best, never doubt it, and I'd be happy to boost your confidence. ♥

Synopsis:

Willow is an outcast. At school, she's kept at a distance by almost everyone and everything, including her very own guidance counselor, all for three extremely pathetic reasons;

One: She has angel bites, the two twin piercings above your lip. Some people find these horrific.

Two: She doesn't talk unless she has to. Not exactly mute, but when she does decide to speak every now and then, people get overwhelmed.

Three: She always writes the word "ripe" on her wrist every day in Sharpie.

Willow doesn't mind being an introvert... too much. However, when Andrew, a guy that everyone also labels as an outcast, starts to bicker with her, Willow can't help but to respond to it.

Who knows? Maybe Willow isn't ripe after all... and maybe Andrew isn't, either.

~~~

♪Chapter Song♪

"Just A Game" by Birdy

(I don't own it)

***

Prologue

I STARE OUT of the window of my fourth period anatomy and physiology class and see that the dense, white snow is pounding the ground. It's honestly ridiculously cold and wet and icy outside, and yet the the school district still makes us go to school.

Not even a two hour delay.

Sometimes I wonder why I even come. If I really wanted to, I could get my GED and start my life right away. I mean, Dad and Erin, my amazing parents, wouldn't be very happy, but they would live. What other choice would they have?

From the view the window supplies me with, I can see the nearly packed parking lot and the slushy, dirty snow that has built up around the cars. Ew. And the ice patches are dangerously close to the school entry driveway. As I'm observing the unpleasant scenery, a considerably nice car roles up into an open parking spot near the front entrance of the school, near my car. It's a black Altima. I've seen this car many times, as I sort-of know the person who drives it.

His first name is Andrew, although his last name always tends to slip my mind. Andrew lives across the street and three houses down from mine, with his aunt and uncle, Erin told me once. His aunt often comes to our house to converse with Erin. I don't know much else about him, except that he has been living near me for years and that he, like me, has never been one to have many friends. We haven't ever even spoken a word to each other.

Then again, I hardly talk to anyone anyway. Too many ties and a whole lot of anger. I don't want to be treated like a lap dog, nor do I want to be used or played like a chess piece in a chess match.