Lola-Leigh (Tracy Beaker Returns Liam o'Donovan love story)

Chapter 1

'MAKE ME WANNA DIEEEE ILL NEVER BE GOOD ENOUUGHHHHH YOU MAKE ME WAN_'

'LOLA FOR GOODNESS SAKES!' Suzanne, my always in-a-panic social worker screams,slamming her head against the head rest of her ancient car.

'SorRY!' I reply, throwing my legs up on the glove box, and turning my attention out the window. It had been a short drive from Burneywood, yet the difference in the quality of buildings and the types of people walking down the street had changed dramatically. The council flats and smell of weed seemed to have disappeared, and instead been replaced by slow-moving old people, families and the smell of Suzanne's cheap parfume.

'We were supposed to be there TWENTY minutes ago. I get you up three hours early and WHAT do you do two minutes before we have to leave? Hm, Lola? What do you do?' She shouts at me like I'm a four year old. I stay smug. 'Oh, that's right! YOU START PULLING TYLERS HAIR OUT.'

'It was in self defence!' I shoot back, and pull my legs back off the crappy plastic board, 'I don't understand why I have to move care homes up here again anyway.'

'Well Lola, allow me to remind you.' I roll my eyes. Here comes the huge list of things wrong with Lola which make me such an awful fucking human being. 'First I started you off in Summerhill Acadamy, near your dads in Blackpool. You lasted two days, and then decided to run back home and assault the police officer who dragged you back to me. Don't you remember?'

'How many times, it was NOT an assault!'

'YOUR BROKE HIS NOSE, LOLA!' I roll my eyes. It was a bloody good punch. 'Oh he deserved it.' I spit back, crossing my arms and leaning back into the chair.

'Well then you deserved the three months youth detention sentence. THEN I transferred you to Brookers Avenue,'

'That was rough as hell,' I reply.

'Well it was when you arrived. You locked three kids in their bedroom for two days, set the kitchen on fire and used your care workers spare clothes to flood the entire upstairs.' I open the window and spit my chewing gum out. 'Well that wasn't my fault!' She continues her list of thirty-three carehomes I've been in, nine arrests and six youth detention sentences I've served, along with her personal favrioute guilt trip- the fines she's paid off for me.

'All I'm trying to say is Lola, it's time to grow up. Your nearly sixteen, and the way your going you'll end up in prison.' I sigh, fiddling with a stray string attached to my Pretty Reckless Hoodie. Its not my fault people keep stopping me doing what I want, especially adults in the care system. Everything has to be on the straight and narrow. So if a kid does cross me, it's best to batter the shit out of them. If I think their getting a bit too close, I'll use them. Its the rules of surviving in care, and I don't intend on changing them.

'Well I've got another year till the council give me a flat, so you never know Suzanne, I might like Elm Tree!'  She glares at me, and continues at her twenty miles per hour snail driving. The radio flicks through her middle aged classic anthems, and I begin to feel myself drifting off to sleep. But of course, I'm interrupted.

'WE'RE HEEREEE!' Suzanne cheers excitedly, as I slowly sit up and rub my eyes. Infront of me is a wide, red painted house, with multiple windows and a gravel laiden drive. Beside it is a swing and a set of beanbags. It reminds me of a carehome I lived in back home, full of little children and wannabe-a-parent workers.

'It looks alright I suppose.' I grunt, grabbing my bag from the backseat and slamming the car door shut. I begin to crunch my way up to the door, Suzanne scrambling for her paper work still behind me. 'Lola, wait for m-' I ring the door bell.

I probably should feel nervous, but I've done this that many times that I know nervous means scared, and I ain't scared of no mother fucker. Suzanne scrambles beside me and leans in my ear, 'Now remember Lola, nice fresh start!'