Shattered Innocence

Chapter One

A/N: I'm not entirely happy with the title Shattered Innocence, so I'm proposing a title naming contest. Whoever messages me the best title will have the entire book dedicated to them. 

P.S. The beautiful cover was made by the very talented, insolatte.

The final bell rang, jarring me out of my daydreams. I quickly glanced around to make sure I wasn't hearing things -- nope, everyone else was packing up. With a sigh, I gathered up my books and folders before joining the crowd flowing from the commons to the lockers. Thank God I have study hall as the last period of the day. How do brains operate this late in the school day?

My best friend, Willow, was waiting for me, leaning against the locker next to mine. "So Miss Madeline," she obnoxiously popped a bubble from the ever-present piece of gum in her mouth, "what are we doing tonight?"

Finishing shoving my books into my bag, I zipped it up and shrugged it on my shoulder. "I don't know about you, but I told my dad I'd spend the evening with him. Thanks to you, I haven't been home much recently, and I'm starting to think it’s taking its toll on him. He's real insecure; if I'm gone too much he thinks he's a bad parent."

"He tries too hard."

"I'd rather have a parent who tries too hard than a parent who doesn’t try at all. Take for example," I pretended to think, "your mom. She lets you stay out till three o'clock in the morning on a school night, lets boys stay the night, and hasn't made a home-cooked meal since the seventh grade."

After I shut my locker door and spun the combination wheel a few times, we started down the hallway. Willow shrugged, "I'm cool with that. I don't miss her cooking at all; I've had enough gluten, lactose, and flavor-free mush to last me a lifetime. It's best for all those involved if we stick to take-out and TV dinners. "

"You don't miss home-cooked meals at all?"

"Sure I do! Just not her's. If I ever get the hankering for something that didn't come out of a styrofoam container or cardboard box, I come to your house. How could your dad ever turn me away?" She batted her eyelashes, and her bright baby blue eyes sparkled.

I chuckled and shoved her good-naturedly. She exaggerated her reaction, dramatically stumbling a few steps sideways. Rolling my eyes, I kept up my pace and waited for her to catch up. "Are you sure your last name isn't Shatner?"

Willow made a disgruntled noise, "Excuse me? I was reacting properly." She rubbed her shoulder, 'I'm sure it'll bruise. You're not the one who will have to explain it to my mom."

By this time, we had reached the student parking lot and were navigating through the mess of still and moving cars until we reached Willow's old junker. I affectionately called her 'Sheila'. "Oh please," I waited for her to unlock it before sliding onto the velvet covered seat, "your mom wouldn't notice if you dyed your hair bright pink and danced the hula in the kitchen."

Willow twirled a piece of her mousy brown hair around her finger. "Do you think I should go pink?"

"I think you should do whatever you want with your hair. If you do though, let me help. I'll live vicariously through you."

Now it was her turn to roll her eyes. I just chuckled again and buckled up. Willow nudged her way into the stream of cars vacating the parking lot. It wasn't long before we were cruising down main street and pulling into the local gas station, the Gas 'n Gulp. It was packed as it usually was right after school got out. We navigated our way into a decent parking spot, even though it was two feet into a handicapped spot. I pointed it out, but she dismissed it with a wave of her hand. "We'll be five minutes tops. Besides, there's no one in our town who uses it except old Mr. Jenkins, and he doesn't even come out of his house anymore. They just have it for legal reasons."