Dustbin Jade.

Chapter One.

I wonder if you've ever had to act out a special scene involving you and your family for a school project. Probably not, but generally, it's fun to do - write the script, practicing. For most others, it's generally a simple, easy, no big deal, thing to do, no matter how complex a script you have, but not for me.

Let's begin with a happy ending. Sure, to everyone at school, even my adoptive parent, everyone thinks I hate being happy. No, that's wrong. I'd love to be happy, but I never really have been, so it's easier to act as if I hate happiness than to not have any relationship with it at all. Anyway, happy ending. I sit here in the warm, waiting. I can't eat anything, my mouth is too goddamn dry. I try sipping water, clinking the glass against my teeth. I give up and put the glass down, and hold it tight instead,, my fingers going completely white, aside from my black fingernails. I squeeze tighter so my nails dig into my flesh, I need to feel it. I need to know this is real. I think people are straing at me, so I turn and stare back, hard taht some of the younger ones may or may not have peed themselves, just how it's been for the majority of my miserable life, but no way in hell do I feel sorry for myself, I don't need any sympathy- especially my own. Please stop staring you fools, I won't be sitting here alone for much longer. Please come now. Please. I look out the window, seeing my own pale reflection. And then there's a shadow. Someone stares back at me. And then she smiles. I smile too, though there are tears welling in my eyes. Fuck. Why do I have to start crying? I never cry. Only once have I cried in the past 3 years, in front of only Tori. I grab a napkin and rub at my eyes. I look back at the window, but it is empty again. 'Jadelyn?' I jump at the sound of my full name. I look up, my eyebrows creasing. 'Jadelyn is it really you?' I nod and get up fast. We look at each other, she extends her arms, nodding at me assuringly, and for the first time in over 10 years, I allow someone, other than Beck, and Tori once - to hug me without me pulling a pair of scissors on them. We stay close, even though we are practically strangers. "Happy Birthday" I smile, not a smirk, but a smile. 'This is the best birthday, ever.' I mutter. It's nearly over, but it's just beginning. 

That's quite the imagination I've got, right? A girl - even the fierce Jade West - can dream. I always hate my birthdays. Everyone knows that. Cat, Tori, Robbie, André, Beck, Trina, Sikowitz, everyone. But they think I only hate them because I hate everything, but really, it's because I don't know anything about myself or where I came from, and brithdays only drench that up.  If they all knew, they'd see that really, I'm broken inside. Real broken. I try so hard to be tough and unique, whilst still fitting in enough to be queen bee of Hollywood Arts, so that noone finds out abut me. Sometimes I think I go to far, it's OK if I insult them, say sarcastic things and threaten them with my scissors- but when I throw scissors at them, or I make boys pee down their legs when they try talk to me- I feel awful, but I don't let it show. "You're so mean, Jade, they're just being nice! Why'd you have to make them pee?!" I am told so often by Tori Vega- another of my targets, who I'd consider one of my friends, but there's no way I'm telling her that. In her mind, I am a person she wants to befriend but never will get above acquaintence level. It's gonna stay that way, honestly, they're the first, only, best, friends I've ever had, but if I change to nice Jadelyn with the original blonde hair and blue eyes and cute smile, they'll know, and plus, I like being Jade- she keeps me strong, and everyone thinks I'm normal, give or take a few slightly different things. That's how I like it, and how it needs to stay. I'm never going to tell them the truth about myself. I'd die if they knew. I've gotten so good at faking, that i hardly know I'm doing it. I'm an actress, and it's what I want to do, it's what I'm good at. Everyone knows I'm a talented playwright and actor, but they don't know I'm acting 24/7. I've had to play lots and lots of parts. Sometimes I'm not sure if there's any real me left. No. The real me is this me - Jade West, funny, witty, rude, talented actress, beautiful black haired, pierced eyebrow and nose girl, with the star tattoo on her inner wrist, the girl with the hottest boyfriend. The girl head over heels in love., 17 years old. Today. I don't know how I'm going to handle it. It's the one day that it's hard to pretend. Steve (My adoptive father I tell everyone is my real dad that I hate) even asked me if I wanted to do anything special. I just shook my head and said I'll spend it with Beck and the rest. Cat had a sleepover for her 17th birthday - it's hard to believe she's 3 months older than me - and said all she wanted for her birthday is for me to pierce her ears, which I did. We watched her cartoons and silly movies the whole night, and had candyfloss and icecream and sweets for dinner. I acted like I hated the whole thing, but really, it was nice. Tori, for her 17th, had a disco-karaoke party at Nozu (Which made me sad for certain reasons.) but I sang songs and ate sushi all night with the gang. For his 17th, André took us all to his favourite broadway musical and we had italian afterward. Beck just celebrated the day before his brithday with the gang, then He and I went for 2 days to Cancoon to stay with his Aunt, who hates me. Robbie isn't 17 until October, and Trina is like 18 now, but nobody likes her anyway, she's just Tori's creepy talentless loser of a sister. I loved all of their birthdays, but acted like I hated them. It's just my birthday that's the problem. Steve even asked if I wanted a party. I yelled a no in response, later on feeling guilty, but I can just imagine the party he'd organize. He'd get me a pink frilled dress, make me take out my piercings, and it would be held at a church. Not my scene. Especially when I'm Jade West. Maybe that's not fair. I don't care. I'm sick and tired of him. That's awful, since he's put a roof over my head and all. Too bad, he's tried to change me too much and I hate it. "Perhaps you and I could go out for a meal?" He'd asked later on. "No, honestly, I don't want to do anything much." I'd replied blandly. "What about presents?" He'd asked. "Money, money is best. Or scissors" I'd informed him. Steve wakes me up at 9 am and stands back, in case I have my scissors in my hand. I do. I lay them down on my beside table and sit up. He hands me a cup of black coffee, and a card. I open the card, slurping my coffee. The card is shaped like a pair of scissors, and I smirk at it. "Cool card." I compliment, and a whole heap of money falls out from the crease in the card. I organize and count it. $150. "Perfect amount. Thanks, Steve." I smile and put it by my scissors on my table, sipping my hot coffee. Steve turns around and passes me a clear box. NO WAY. I take it from him gently and open it so if not to damage them. I reveal them, black and beatiful, my new scissors. "THANK YOU." I smile, opening and closing them, listening to the noise they make, it calms me. "They're uh, a peace offering.." says Steve. Oh no. "What for?" I sneer suddenly mad. "I want you to remove your facial jewellery, and to be nicer to me, and everyone else - Jadelyn, you also need to stop dying your hair black- it's naturally blonde, it's been brown, brown with streaks, black, black with streaks- it's not good, you look better blonde. Prettier." He tells me, looking down. I grab my coffee and fling it onto his business suit. "No! Fuck you Steve! This is me, and it's staying this way!" I shove him out of my room and lock my door. That's it. I grab my black leather backpack. I put in a change of clothes, the $150, the new scissors, my first ever pair of scissors, my saved up money ($50) into the bag. I wish I could get out of the house without having to confront him. I  don't know why he always has to try and change me. I am who I am. I change into my black sheer tights, knee high black combats, black skirt, and a freepeople green shirt, pick up my bag and thrust open my side window. I put my legs through and step onto the wooden panel just beneath my window, clamber out fully, then sort of abseil my way down the full 2 storeys until my feet hit the pavement. I smirk and turn toward the front door before shouting "Asshole! You can't control me, you should know that by now! I don't want to be like you, I want to be like me!" to Steve, then walk down the street in a rush of anger and excitement. I don't want to think about Steve anymore, it'll only make me feel bad- and I, Jade West did not build myself to this fierce girl, to be broken by one, chubby, prick of a adoptive father. I think about me. I don't know how to be when I'm by myself. I don't know who I am. I go to the paper shop on the corner. "Uh um, Jade... what can I get you?"  stutters Raj as I entered the shop. I grab a pack of salt and vinegar chips, a block of chocolate and a newspaper. I toss coins at him and he reaches for them as they scatter across the counter. "Happy birthday jade" he says bravely. "Thanks. Bye" I say and leave. As soon as I get outside a open the news paper and scan the birthday and personal message section for ANYTHING, from her, or from him, even. No messages. I sigh and try not to let the tears come as the late July sun heats me up. No happy brithday. Again. I crumple the paper into a ball and toss it over my shoulder, and it rustles into the gutter behind me. I keep walking on. Does she, or he, ever think of me on this stupid day, July 27th? I raise my eyebrows, getting into Jade persona. I don't even know my mom, but, I have an imagination. I can imagine. I'm good at that. Whenever we have to act out scenes from the past in Sikowitz' class we do research so we can really imagine and feel what it was like back then. I always get it right, and get good marks from Sikowitz. It's good at this school, Hollywood Arts. Everything's fine - I've got friends, everyone is afraid of me, I have a boyfriend I love, and, I've caught up with grades and everything. It's not like my other schools, where everyone thought I was either thick, simple or crazy, and they all knew about me and my life, and the teachers were all raised eyebrows and hushed remarks and sympathy, and the kids teased me and called me names. Oh God, I sound as if I should be playing my tiny violin, soooo sorry for poor little me. I'm not poor, or little, in fact I often crack jokes about my chest size. Beck likes how I'm bustier than everyone else. I like it too. I'm Jade, curvy, raven haired, scissor obsessed, mega bitch with a few talents. They call me Wicked Witch of the West. Oh well, it's a better nickname than the others I've had- especially 'Dustbin Baby.' That's the real me - I was in all the newspapers, I suppose it was my first claim to fame. Not many people make the front page of the newspaper the day they were born. But not many people get chucked in the rubbish. One look and it's "No way, don't want this baby, let's chuck her in the dustbin." Funny kind of cradle. A sushi box for a pillow, newspaper as a blanket, scrunched up tissues as my mattress. What kind of mother dumps her own baby in the rubbish? No. I'm not being fair.  I don't think it was just because she couldn't stand the sight of me, she was probably scared. Maybe no one else knew about the baby, and she couldn't bring herself to tell anyone about it? about me? Imagine. Why doesn't she want me? She's on her own, she can't look after me. Maybe she's 17, like I am now, so young. That's why she can't keep me. So the pains start and she doesn't know what to do. Maybe she's at school, She clutches her stomach, ands she gasps,the girl next to her asks if she is okay. She can't say 'I'm 9 months pregnant' so she just shakes her head and says she has a stomach ache. Maybe she makes out that it's her period. Maybe that's what she really thinks is going on. Does she know she's having a baby?! No, she does, deep down, but it's so scary  she pushes the thought aside, like I do. She hasn't made any plans at all because she hasn't thought about it. Even now, when she can feel me inside her, ready to be born she doesn't feel like I exist. It's unreal, abnormal. It doesn't seem normal at all, sitting in her lesson at school...I wonder what her favourite subject was- is it drama, or music like me?Is she clever? Witty? Mean? Popular? Unpopular? Maybe not, maybe she's a big girl, and no-ones looked closely enough to notice her weight gain, she wears large, loose sweaters and skipped P.E somehow. What about her home life, what about her mom? Maybe her parents don't care? That's how it happened, she isn't the kind of girl to just sleep around, she's quiet and shy and doesn't hang around much with boys, but 9 months ago, she got drunk at a party, and this cute, intelligent boy compliments her and acts like he wants to know her. They can barely hear each other over the blaring music so they go into his bedroom so he can get 'closer' to her. The boy makes her feel good, holding her hand now. He asks her if she believes in love at first sight. He kisses her, moving his hands down but she doesn't want it, not now, she's too young, not ready. He does it anyway and she can't do anything, she lies there as he uses her, no form of birth control even considered. It's all over and he leaves her, buttoning up his pants and leaving her all alone. Months go by and she finds out what occurred that drunken night- I need to stop imagining, it's all too vivid now. I can't. I keep imagining. She rushes out of class and runs and keeps running until she is behind the nearby sushi restauraunt in the back alley. She crouches there, sobbing. She's sick in the gutter as she groans, sitting now, crying. She pulls off her underclothes and pushing, pushing, pushing then I am born in a hot slippery mess. Maybe she cries more than me, before rummaging through her backpack for a penknife and rubber bands, clamping and detaching us forever. She picks me up kisses my fleshy forehead and lays me in the dustbin beside her. The lid goes on and it goes dark. I've lost her, forever.