Elle Jones

Chapter 1: Introduction

It was a Saturday afternoon in Brooklyn, New York as time went by like a speeding bullet; cars burned rubber tires against roads, small ants zipped across streets to get their destinations, and the smell of cooked hot dogs formed clouds above 78th Haven Street, a place where people turn a blind eye to drug dealing, corrupt cops, and illegal activity in alleys.

In the midst of the chaotic street, was an apartment complex: approximately seven stories tall building, with forty-nine silver windows, twenty fire escape ladders, and a rough brick texture that makes it stand out from the rest.

Inside these forty-nine windows were forty-nine civilians; all who looks normal in the human eye, but beyond the glass surface, is a reflection of me: a sixteen-year-old girl named Jacqueline Antoinette Cassidy, or 'Jack' for short.

Strands of hazelnut brown curls make up my medium length hair, but if you stare at it bit closer, you can tediously see the dark blue highlights dripping down my lustrous mane.

Last summer, I have decided to do something different with my hair, because I liked expressing myself. I liked seeing a drop of paint appearing on a blank canvas, enjoy watching girls getting pixie haircuts in barbershops, and crave profanity words spray-painted on shitty billboards.

To me, putting highlights on my hair is badass, but since my dad didn't approve of my choice of expression, I dyed strips of my hair dark indigo, so my dad couldn't see the color.

And as for the rest of my appearance, I look like the type of person you would see strolling across the street: my cat pupils are in a brownish-black color, soft crimson blossomed on my slightly plump cheeks, and my lips matched the color of my golden brown skin.

And also, since today is a weekend, my clothes consisted of a large, white t-shirt with a black Mickey Mouse logo on it, jeans that went down to my knobby kneecaps, and fuzzy, blue socks.

Although the outfit I am wearing was my older brother's hand-me-downs, I preferred wearing them over girly clothes, makeup, and heels.

To be honest, I wasn't into those things anyway. I hated the attention of boys wanting me for my body. To them, they think girls are pretty on the outside.

Ranking how hot girls are, who made it to first base, most boys are assholes.

And while most girls find comfort in sharing their private secrets online, I spend my days hanging out with my best friend, Austin Hale.

Although he has achieved puberty in the sixth grade, Austin has the height of a twelve-year-old kid; his brown hair is curly, his dark eyes sparkled, and his skin is the color of olives. Being the socially awkward elephant in the room, Austin Hale is quiet, intelligent, and the only guy in school who has two gay moms.

Today, he wears a white t-shirt, jeans, and gray socks. His black sneakers are on the blue carpet floor, right next to my brown sandals.

Not only do we share our distaste for cliché romance novels, Austin and I bonded over directors, filmmakers, and Marvel characters, but the one that I had eyes for, is the Asgard warrior, Thor.

To me, Thor isn't like any other guy in the world: luscious blond hair, glittery blue eyes, and a sexy accent, the moment I saw Thor in theatres, I wanted to be his wife.

"You're obsessed with Thor," Austin sighed, glancing up at the ceiling of my bedroom.

As he studied the patterns on the walls, I examined the floor.

Unlike most kids my age, I have all of my things spread across on the blue carpet floor: cameras magazines, old scripts, and childhood drawings of me and Austin when we were kids.