Day 1
Tomorrow is the first day of high school, and today I woke up thinking about the next four years of my life. My thoughts consisted of fun things like listening to stupid teachers giving lectures and watching couples sucking face in the hallways. Soon, this pure torture will finally end and I will finally be free. But, for now, I'm stuck in high school with people who think that being a slut and having a boyfriend will get them far in life.
I used to look forward to going to school and coming home to people who truly loved me. But then, three years ago, it happened. My parents told my brother Jack and I that they needed a vacation, and so they left. Jack and I waited and waited for their return. And about three weeks after their departure, I found myself sitting in a black lace dress next to two coffins covered in pink roses. And suddenly, I realized that there was no more waiting- my parents were gone. And the sheer reality of that fact hit me like a bullet and left me heartbroken.
My parents funeral was celebrated at our house- or, rather, our old house. Jack and I were forced to leave our home and were put into foster care. After the showing of the crowd the remains, the caskets were put away. But before they were buried deep into the black abyss, I took a peek into the caskets to final goodbye- and they were empty. Ever since that day, I've been keeping a small hope in my heart that has yearned for the impossible- that prays that my parents are still alive.
Day 2
Well, in case you've forgotten, today is my first day of high school. And honestly, I'm scared to death. Where I live, the girls walk around with Chanel o5 perfume and Prada purses and the guys come to school in suits with their names engraved on the tags. But just because I live in Vegas, where people are born with huge fortunes and go to bed Arturo Vitali pajamas, doesn't mean that I'm rich. I live in downtown Las Vegas in a shack apartment that basically consists of one bedroom and 4 kids. My life is not perfect. I have two pairs of jeans, a couple of shirts, and a JanSport backpack that I've had for as long as I can remember. And don't even get me started on my foster mother, Janice. In reality -and forgive me if I'm stepping out of line- she's more of a whore than a mother. A mother is the last thing I would call Janice. She roams the streets in skanky dresses, going from man to man, bed to bed, in the hope that someone will put a ring on her finger. So far, her big wish hasn't come true.
Day 3
Yesterday was... unusual. The moment I had entered the long, red-bricked building, I examined the crowd, identifying the various categories of students: the popular chicks, whose parents basically owned stores like Prada and Louis Vuitton, the jocks, with all brawn and no brain, the nerds, with all brain and no brawn. And then there's people like me: those people dressed in simple clothes who are normal, completely ordinary, who trudge throughout the halls while going unnoticed. But this time I noticed something different. The hairs on the back of my neck tingled, and I knew that someone was staring at me. I turn and my eyes find a pair of bright, vibrant blue eyes. They belonged to one of the jocks, which was the unusual thing. I was a Normal, as we were called itn this school, and no one cared about a Normal- especially not a jock. But there he was, staring at me with those bright blue eyes of his, and I suddenly aware that he's walking over to me.
"What?" I snap, adjusting the strap of my backpack while averting my eyes from him.
He simply chuckles at my harsh greeting. "I'm Damian."
I don't reply.
"You know, this is usually the part where you tell me your name."
I sigh. "Valerie. Valerie Martin."
"Oh, so you're the girl whose parents died in a plane crash." He chuckles like its all some kind of a joke to him.
And then I realize, I wouldn't just be Valerie Martin, the unimportant girl who roamed the halls. I'd be the girl with the sob story, the one whose parents died in the famous crash.
"Yeah, that's me. They died about a year ago, and I had to be separated from my brother who I loved more than anyone, and now I live in a shitty one bedroom apartment with five people, but, of course, why would you care anyway?" I mutter in a bitter tone as I recollected the painful memories of my past. He didn't know the half of it.
"No, I do care. I get what you're going through. About three years ago, my mom was diagnosed with cancer. Sadly she died about four weeks after the diagnoses. I haven't seen my dad since."
I swallow hard, realizing that I had just accused this random guy of not understanding pain, when in actuality he, too, was suffering a fate similar to mine. "So, were you put into foster care?"
"Yeah, I was. I know I have family members around, but they haven't come forward. Most of them seem to think I'm a drug attic who drove his father away from home."
"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry," I manage, but my voice is drowned out by the loud ring of the bell, signaling everyone to go to their first period class.
He chuckles his deep chuckle again. "I'd like to see you again. How about some fro-yo, after school? Maybe 3:30?"
"Yeah, that's perfect." Unsure of what else to do, I give him a little wave. "See you then."
He half-smiles and rejoins his group, leaving me to wonder what on earth I had managed to do to get his attention.
