Love, Drugs and Kit.

Chapter 1: The Girl with the Pink Hair

Pulling up to the school on a Monday of August, I didn't know what to expect. My brother Daniel drove me. It's raining; the air is so cold.

As I enter the building, I catch a glimpse of the teenagers of New York. Each one has their own specific style.

There are punks. Black hair with streaks of all the colors of the rainbow and studs and spikes.

Then there's the preppy girls. Plain colors. Pale skin. Pink cheeks. Blonde hair. I've always been jealous of them.

I catch the eye of a specific guy walking down the hallway solo. He carries himself with such confidence it's overwhelming. His chestnut hair is swept across his face and his eyes were a darker shade of green. He raises his eyebrows at me and I avert my gaze. No need to cause any attention I don't need.

"Hi!"
I jump and turn around. A girl with pastel pink hair runs up and greets me. "I'm Spencer! You can call me Spence if you'd like, though. And your name?"

Her bubbly, outgoing personality took me aback a bit, but I half smiled and told her my name. "I'm Kate."

"Well, Kate, you're going to love it here. I'll walk you to the office."

I'm hoping she's right. She leads me to a corridor on the right and takes me to the desk.
"Hi Miss Fredrick, this is Kate, she's new."

The woman sitting behind the desk has dark skin, her face littered with birthmarks and her eyebrows scraggly and unshapely. Her glasses are framed with pink and on a green chain. She lowers them to look at me.

"Hello Kate. Welcome to Trolly Hills high school. I'm Glinda Fredrick, but you can call me whatever you please. I'm the principal here."

Miss Fredrick had a deep, raspy voice. When she talked her eyebrows raised and accentuated her exaggerated forehead wrinkles. Her lips were downturned in a permanent scowl. Even will all of her flaws, somehow she managed to look somewhat beautiful.

She hands me my schedule. I mutter a 'thanks' and start to turn away, but Spencer grabs my arm. She pulls my schedule from my hands. "Let me see!"

As she reads the paper, I examine her. Her hands are small and her nails are short and painted black. They look uneven and frail. On a few of her fingers the skin even looks bloody. She looks up at me and sees me looking at her hands. She hands me back my schedule and pockets her hands, her icy blue eyes wide.

"You saw my nails, huh?" she questions, her eyes flying wildly from me to the floor.

I nod. She shakes her head.
"It's an impulse." she says, and looks back up at me. "I have an anxiety disorder and mild OCD." she played with her fingers, her eyes flooded with panic.

"Not like the cleaning OCD...the real OCD. My other impulses are scratching my thighs and tapping my foot. To be honest, I don't know why I'm telling you this because I haven't even told any of my other friends."

I smile. "It's cool. I can keep a secret."

I was closer with Spencer, whom I met less than 15 minutes ago, than I was with everyone I had met at all of my old schools.

Maybe this will be a good year after all.

After our talk, Spencer walks me to class. I notice how she grips her binder tightly in her hands at all times, her thumbs caressing the clear sheet that holds a bunch of drawings.

"Did you draw those?" I ask her, pointing to the binder cover.
She looks down at her binder. "Uh, yeah." she says, smiling slightly. "Art is kind of my thing."