Chapter 1-
As I closed my eyes that night, I hoped I'd never open them again. Every night, the same thing. Wishing, somehow, I could leave this bleak, non meaningful life. Leave to somewhere where I made a difference, had a voice, had a reason. When I closed my eyes that night, I actually wanted something, something good, I actually knew what I needed, but now, now I'm not so sure.
Sitting in the dim lit room, I thought about life. I thought about why life ended, why it started. As I wondered about love, and death, and hope, and dreams, and sadness I tried to gain back a part of me I'd lost a long time ago. I couldnt. Frustration, anger filled me and I crumpled up the paper and flung it at the wall. Another failure, just added on one huge heap of mistakes. I pushed my book off my bed, and it made a loud thump. As I buried my head in my pillow, I inhaled the smell of tears, which I cried every night. Once I was done crying my tears, my frustration, my pain I sat up, and glanced over at my bedside table. A picture frame, sat perched on the far edge. With three smiling people inside. Trapped. I gently picked it up, running my white, long fingers over the glass and the crack that glided across it. Anger. All anger has consequences. I remembered the day with clear, and painful clarity. My anger with the people fostering me in, how they tried to replace the hole my parents left behind. Telling me that I was wanted, when I knew I wasnt.
When I was five, my parents dumped me on the side of the street. Giving me one glance, then heading off to the hell whole they came from. I'm sixteen now, and in my short life I've been tossed around so much I cant even count. I've lived by the hope that some day, I'll mean something. Your only hear for a moment, then your gone, you have to make that moment something special, remarkable. Thats my life. An attempt at it, atleast. "Honey!" I faintly heard Martha, my "foster mom" shout. "You'll be late to school!" I glared at my closed door and walked as slowly as I could over to the waste basket, and the crumpled papers overflowing it, and delicatley picked up the top one, unfolding it, and smoothing it out. The scribbled words on it annoyed me, they were so real it hurt, but they were for a stupid school assignment.
I read them over and over again. "Life's life, and it'll go it's own way. Theres so many ways to tell you what life is. Life is your only hope, but your only hope is so painfully short. You have to face it. Life is pain. Pain's life, which ever way you roll the dice, it'll end on the same answer. No beating the bush, no coming out unharmed. Life makes you you. I'd like to tell you, that theres a happily ever after for you, but in order to live your life right, you have to know happiness isnt real. Happiness is only something that is a little better than pain, no more, no less."
I frowned, because I know I'd get an F from my "optimist" English teacher, but I took joy in confining in others disagreement. "Harlequin!" I heard her scream, and the horn blared. I shuddered at my hideous name. When the feds found me on the side of the street at just five years old I didnt know anything about me, except for that repulsive name, that I adored at the time. I didnt know a thing about my real parents, nothing about where I'd come from, about the reason why they'd ditched me in the middle of a deserted high way, just so they wouldnt have to waste their money on me, so they could go buy booze. I hated that stuff, booze, alchohol. Whatever you called it, I hated it with a passion. It was why they didnt want me, because they wanted it more. Addiction. The word swirled through my mind, as I stuffed the paper in my bag and slung it over my shoulder. Quickly glancing in the mirror at my straight long brown hair, and my grey eyes. Then my dark clothes. "Emo girl!" People hissed my way at school, every day. But it didnt bother me, how I looks the only thing I control in my life, and control is grounded, even though groundeds not me. I closed the door behind me, and walked down the hallway, looking at the floral prints, the smiling people hanging in picture frames on the walls. Graduation pictures, weddings, birthday parties. You name it, Martha'll have it framed. Except for me of course. I'm temporary, and soon I'll be in another house somewhere, but she doesnt seem to think that. She just cant drag me to the stupid picture place, like she did with her real kids, the ones who moved out long ago. That's why I'm here. To fill her and her husbands "empty voids." As Martha said to my agent in our first interview.
"Without the sound of pitter pattering down the hallway. I just feel so empty!" She had cried to Agent Orton. I had rolled my eyes, but he said she sounded nice enough, to give her a try. I'd expected to be out of this place by now, but it'd been a whole year, and Martha hadnt dumped me by now. No one at school noticed me, even after a year there I was still the weird new girl. With only one friend who didnt care what people thought. The rebellious other "weird" girl. That accepted me as is. And that girl, Parker, was my best friend. As I climbed into the car, Martha, with her tight blonde curls, and too dark makeup, with her short, stalky stature held her mouth stiff and angry looking. I didnt show I noticed, instead I turned the knob on the radio to 100, and loud screaming music filled our ear drums, I sunk back into the seat, looking out the window with a blank expression. She puckered her lips at me, and pressed the off button, pulling out of the driveway, and heading towards the school. I snorted, shrugging, then pulled out my ipod, and put my earplugs in, blasting the music loud in my ears. She pulled the ipod out of my hands, and stuffed it back in my bag. "Harlequin Nicole York." She said evenly, trying to keep up with her whole "good girl, housewife" additude. I rolled my eyes, still looking out of the car window, as we pulled into the school parking lot, looking at my bored expression her face turned red. "We will discuss this when you get home!" She spat, but by that time, I was already out the car door, slamming it in her face, and walking away with a smug expression on my face.
Walking up to my high school, you saw your average cliques. Scattered around the school grounds, kids tossing balls to each other, girls fixing their makeup and giggling about boys, nerds reading their algebra books. I looked around the school, seeing a kid being raised on the flag pole by his underwear and a bunch of football players beneath him laughing and pointing. I frowned, as people began pulling out cell phones and cameras. Then, looking to my left, a girl with short, cropped black hair and black clothes on, came wheeling around the corner on her skateboard, with a teacher chasing not to far behind, with a coffee stain on his tie, and an empty cup in his hand, as he stopped, out of breathe, doubled over, Parker turned her head and shouted. "Sorry Mr. P! I owe you big time!" And 360'd over the stair railing. She landed in front of me, nearly slamming into me, and smiled. "Harley!" She laughed, stuffing her board into her bag. I managed a smile as she enfolded me in one of her infamous Parker squeeze hugs. "Dude where were you yesterday?!" She exclaimed, as she dragged me over to a table. I shrugged, trying to look bored. "Mental health day." I murmered, and laughed. Parker laughed with me, pulling out a cereal box. "Cereal, really Parker?" I asked, but grabbed a handful, slowly eating it.
"Hey," she explained. "It's Fruit Loops!" I ate some more, as I stared at a group of popular girls marching across the grassy area over to a girl with frazzled hair and taped glasses. I tapped Parkers leg and pointed to the girl, eating some more cereal. "Easy target." I murmered, with a mouth full of fruit loops. She nodded, eagerly watching the scene unfold. The popular girls walked up to her, asking her something, to which she shook her head. Then the head one (whose name was Rina or Rita, or something) pushed her to the ground, laughing as her books fell everywhere. "Shame." Parker muttered, as she stuffed the cereal box back into her bag. Ringgg. The first bell rang off. I groaned, popping the rest of the cereal in my mouth and throwing my bag over my shoulder. Parker raised her eyebrow at me. "You wanna skip?" She said, staring at a boy in black clothes getting out of a black mercadies. I shook my head, but she didnt notice, her eyes were glued on the boy. "New kid!" She whispered in my ear, and I followed her bulging eyes to a boy with cropped long black hair and black skinny jeans, with chains on the waist. And a black tee with a skull on the front. I smiled, watching him akwardly walk up the stair steps. "He looks like us." I said smoothly, still watching him. Parker whistled loudly. "He's HOT!" She said, and I laughed, punching her arm softly. Riiinnnggg.
"Oh shit, second bell. I really gotta go, Parker." She nodded, but then grabbed my shoulder. "Skip second hour. You need some relaxing time. I'll meet you by the school gate." I nodded, then jogged up the stairs and into the school. The smell of school supplies filled my nostrils, as I walked over to the water fountain, making sure it wasnt teezed to make you look like you wet your pants, finding it wasnt I bent down and gulped a mouthfull of water. Then trudged over to my locker, opening it easily and looking inside to see my screamo bands, and how the year before I'd spray painted the whole inside black. The principal had been in the least, happy. But he didnt make me paint over it, back to the too bright blue all the lockers were. I grabbed my English book, and made sure my paper was still in my bag. As I turned around I nearly ran into the new boy. He looked up from the map he was focused on, his eyes looking huge. He had really pretty blue eyes, I noticed. "Oh gosh, I'm sorry." He said, in a deep voice. I nodded, laughing.
"Me too." I said, looking up at him. "Welcome to the gates of hell." He laughed, raising an eyebrow at me. "Didnt expect someone like you to say something like that." He said questioningly. I frowned, knitting my eyebrows together.
"Someone like me?" I asked, my voice distant, expecting him to call me a loser, or worse, an emo freak. "Someone so pretty." He replied, smiling. I frowned, frowned at someone, being nice, to me? I couldnt help it, I felt my cheeks flaming, and hoped it wasnt showing. I stepped back, then studdered. "Oh, uh, thanks." And laughed nervouslly, putting a hand on my hoodie sleeve, almost feeling the scars puckering off of my skin, from years of depression and cutting. He wouldnt think I was so pretty when he saw those. I pulled the sleeve down over my hand protectivly. He smiled, introducing himself as Nick.
Right then, right there, I felt something. Odd, something I'd never felt before, and it made me want to gag. I pushed it back down and straightened my back. "My names Harley." I said absently, picking some lint off my black tight fitted pants. Nick looked back down at the map he was holding, and pulled out another paper from his pocket. "Hmm, First hour is-" He trailed off, running his blue eyes over the paper, I tugged it out of his hands, reading the small computer print. I bit my cheek, looking through all his classes.
"First hour's Realism, with Professor Grant." I murmered, seeing how his schedule resembled Parker and mines almost precisely, except for sixth hour. My face faltered for a second, thinking about that feeling I'd gotten moments before, but I shook it off and smiled. "And with me, get your stuff, new boy. Off to realism we go." After a short detour through the crowded hallways.
