Chapter One-1

Chapter One “Hey, Ivory, can you pass the orange juice?” Mom asks me, her hand outstretched. “Here,” I say, passing her the container of orange juice. I continue to eat my cereal, but steal a glance at her. I can never get over how she looks almost exactly like me—except a little older and a few more gray streaks in her hair. Her face has some paint splattered on it, and the apron she wears all the time has the fresh smell of paint. My mom’s an artist. She spends ninety percent of the day in her studio—working on new masterpieces to help pay off the bills. Of course, I have a job too. I won’t let Mom do all the work. Especially not after my Dad passed away a couple years ago. Since then, all the bills have been weighed on her shoulders. But since I’m seventeen now, I can help her with a part-time job of my own. I’m proud of my Mom. She was strong even when my father passed away. She smiles at me and finishes her toast. After breakfast, she’ll probably go back to her studio. She only comes out for meals, or if I was home and needed her for something. I’m cool with it though. Mom loves what she does. Her green eyes—the same ones I inherited— twinkle whenever she is in her studio. If my Mom is happy, I am too. “So, isn’t today the first day of senior year?” she asks me, taking a sip of her orange juice. A golden curl of her hair falls out from her bun. She pushes it behind her ear. “Are you nervous?” “Yes, and yes,” I respond. I take a spoonful of my cereal and stare at it. My stomach really isn’t helping. It’s all jittery. It happens every time I get nervous. “Do you think I’ll be okay?” “Honey, you’ve survived the last three years—you can do it again.” “But this is my last year and I’m really nervous,” I tell her. Also because of all the drama last year, I secretly add. She reaches over the table and pats my hand. “You’ll do fine.” Mom looks at her watch. “Look at the time! You’re going to be late!” I grab all my belongings—my backpack, sweater, and phone. I run from the kitchen to the living room of our small two-story home and slip on my sneakers. There is a small mirror next to the door that Mom had put so we could see if we look okay before we head out. It’s mostly because Mom forgets she has been working in her studio and has paint all over her. Since it is the first day, I am wearing a new top and a fresh pair of jeans that I bought on my mini-shopping spree when I had saved enough money over the summer. My frizzy, uncontrollable dirty blonde—almost brown—hair is straightened completely. But, no matter how much I try, my sea green eyes pop out compared to my pale—tan much needed—skin. “Bye, Mom!” I yell as I open the front door. “Don’t loose track of time and forget to each lunch!” Sometimes, I would come home and find Mom dazed in her work—just as I’d left her in the morning. “I won’t!” she yells back. “Have fun at school!” I close the door. Like having fun at school is even possible, I think as I lock the door. The air is chilly and the wind is blowing leaves off the trees in the front yard. I escape to the safety of my Honda Civic. Autumn is already starting. Radio pop songs boom from the speakers of my car as I drive to Brownwood High. People already have crowded the parking lot. I find a place to park. Brownwood, New York is a small town where everyone knows everyone since birth. One scandal here and you get judged for life. “Ivory! How was your summer?” someone says as I get out of my car. I would know that chirpy voice anywhere. “Hey, Candy!” I say as I slam my car door shut. Candace—or Candy is the only person that knows what happened last year and still continues to be my friend. “My summer was great! Brent went to college so I finally have the house to myself on the weekends.” Brent is my nineteen-year-old brother. He can be nice when he wants and he can be nasty when he wants. Unfortunately, I’ve seen both sides. He went to some college in Florida—wonders how he even got in with his grades. He’d have loud, stupid parties every weekend when Mom went to galleries in other states. But now I’m finally free. “You mean your cute brother?” Candy pouts. “I’m going to miss him.” She holds some big, thick textbooks close to her chest. Candy is one of the smartest people I know—despite her deceiving name. “Ew.” I scrunch up my face is disgust. She also has always had a crush on Brent—if that’s humanely possible. “What do you see in my brother?” I swing my backpack strap over my shoulder and walk side by side with her. “He’s everything I dream of,” she sighs. I put my hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. Let’s not get too overrated. I don’t want to throw up my breakfast.” The bell suddenly rings. I grab Candy. “Hurry! We can’t be late on the first day!” We run to homeroom, take our seats, and start gossiping about the latest couples that hooked up in the summer. “Well, well,” a sly voice says. “Look who we have here.” I don’t need to see who it is to recognize that voice. It’s the voice of my ex-best friend. Karen. I scold myself to not look up—to ignore her. To stay uninvolved with her like the guidance counselor told me to. But I look up anyway. There, she stands, all perfect and pretty in her bright floral sundress. It hugs her every curve. I take notice that she has cut her blonde hair. It’s now up to her chin. Most people can’t pull off the short hair look—but she’s not most people. Her haircut makes her face look even more round and innocent looking. But I know it’s all just a mask. “Hi, Karen,” I greet her, offering a small smile. Another thing my guidance counselor said to do. Offer an occasional smile or to say “hi.” “Hello, Ivory.” She smiles—acting like the two-faced person she is. But I know better than to trust her looks. “How was your summer?” I’m just about to answer when she cuts me off. “Mine was great. Peter—you know Peter, the good-looking guy that I’m dating? —Well, we went on the most romantic dates!” I grip the edge of my seat. She knows I know who Peter is. Heck, Peter and I basically have known each other our whole lives. She also knows that he’s my weak spot. I had liked Peter. And apparently, she had too. “Oh, Peter?” I say. “I don’t know any Peter.” I watch as the smirk fades from her face. I can’t believe this is the person that I was best friends with for seven years. I used to tell Karen everything—from secrets to crushes. Everything. Like last year, when I told her I liked Peter. I also told her I’d been crushing on him for three years. But obviously, she didn’t care if she went behind my back and hooked up with Peter anyways. The betrayal was unexpected. It was random even. Out of nowhere, she stole the guy I liked, spread rumors about me, started hanging out with the “popular” kids—the same people we made fun of for acting like they were so cool—and she even picked on me in front of others.