Chapter Three

There wasn't much to the flight from Los Angeles to Savannah, Georgia. Mom and Dan had been sleeping in the next row, snoring on one another's shoulders. It took my earphones, two pillows, and blasting my music up to drown them out. I felt bad for the poor suckers in front of them.

While the flight wasn't too bad, considering the circumstances, the drive certainly was. Being stuck with two embarrassing lovebird parents for a whole hour in a cramped, rented car was not my idea of fun. They decided to break out Dan's guitar and sing in horrible harmony the entire way there while I drove. I wholeheartedly attribute my lack of musical skill to my mom's tone-deafness.

Dan, being the only musical one in the family, doesn't mind.

He loves us all the same.

When we finally got to Beaufort, South Carolina, the movers had already started unloading our stuff and shoving it in the old house. It took us hours to get all of our crap in there. Mom lucked out of most of it, using the excuse that she had to drop off the rental car and pick up our old ford truck. Dan and I got stuck with being the brute force   and Dan can't even lift, what with his bad back and all. So I was left with dragging almost all of the heavy furniture in with some poor guy named Randall from the moving services.

It's okay, though. I guilt tripped them into unpacking my things as a form of payback the next day. Plus, Randall got a nice tip afterward.

"Wow, I can't believe it's been so long," Mom said, peering into the cardboard box on my floor. "Isn't it strange being back here?"

It certainly was weird moving back into my childhood home. Everything had changed, except the tree house in the backyard still stood strong and firm as always. Maybe the previous owners had kids of their own, or something.

I had already started on another box full of my clothing. Tearing the clear tape away from the brown cardboard, I let the flaps spring open.

"Did you let your friends know you're back in town?" Dan asked, fiddling with the bed against the wall. "I bet they'll be surprised."

I swallowed my laughter down and avoided his question. "You mind if I go to the beach tomorrow?" I chewed the inside of my lip. "I'm kind of sick of being inside."

My stepdad fumbled with the bedpost before stubbing his toe on the corner. He let out a few curse words that made my cheeks turn red, and Mom shot him a disapproving look. Even after two and a half years of marriage, he was still getting used to being a father figure. I had to give him credit though. He was doing a lot better than my biological dad. Dan-1. Dad-0.

"Sure sweetie," Mom cooed, smoothing over my wrinkled sweatshirts and putting them in my drawers. "Just remember to put on sunscreen."

"Yeah, I know," I yawned, scratching my nose.

"Meredith," Dan said, his eyebrow twitching in irritation as he held the poles in confusion. "Would you   ?"

She let out a chuckle and pushed her light brown hair out of her eyes.

"Dan, what did you do?" Mom snorted, brushing her jeans as she stood to help him.

I tried to keep myself from grinning. When I got a bike my freshman year, Dan was the one to fix it up for me. He helped me pedal to the top of the hill at the end of our road, turned me around and let me go. It wasn't until I was bleeding on the ground that I realized the brakes hadn't worked properly. It took five days of ice packs and Dan's apologies to get me better and back on the bike. Mom took it into a shop before I rode it again.

As I took a sip of my water, I eyed the bed with apprehension. Mom stood with her back against the wall, wrench in mouth and manual crumpled in her fingers while she scratched her head trying to decipher what Dan had done wrong. I made a mental note to sleep on the floor that night. I had a green sleeping bag packed away in one of those boxes. I just had to find it.

The ring of the newly installed doorbell met my ears.

"Tori, get that please," she said distractedly, waving a hand my way as she fiddled with a bar. "Money is on the table downstairs."

I rolled my eyes and pushed my feet out from under me. "Cool."

Barefooted and tired, I made my way out of my room. I hopped over some sprawled out clothing and books as I dashed through the doorway. I was just desperate to take a break from unpacking. And after spending all day with Dan and Mom, I was ready for a new face. Any new face would do. Hell, even an ugly pizza delivery guy would be fine.

Plopping my butt on the railing, I slid down the stairwell quickly. Right when I was about to collide with the wall, I hopped off as gracefully as I could, tripping over my own socks and bumping my head into the front door. I rubbed my temple, feeling the burning sensation of a bruise starting to form.

"Great," I muttered as I swung open the front door, my right hand covering my eyes as I massaged my head. "Just f*****g great."

"Uh, pizza delivery?" a low male voice asked awkwardly, taken aback from my cursing.

"Sorry   didn't mean to curse at you," I said with a wince, "I hit my head." I lowered my hand for a moment to reach for the money on the partially assembled table set. "How much is it?"

"Twenty-five bucks," the guy said. "Sorry about your head."

Counting out all the cash my mom had laid out, I threw in a five-dollar tip.

"Here," I said, turning around and shoving the money I had into his awaiting hand, "Thirty bucks."

"Thanks," he said, shuffling the pizzas out of their holder.

"Did you remember my salad?" I asked, looking from the greasy pizza up to the teenager.

His breath came out in puffs from the cold. As he handed me the pizzas, I almost let them fall. The bump on my head was nothing compared to the sudden urge I had to vomit all over the guy in front of me.

It was Omar Aurelio. He was my first love's best friend and, according to the Beaufort high website, current co-captain of the lacrosse team. Mortified? I most certainly was.

"I-I-uh," I intelligently grunted.

"Yeah," Omar said, holding up a separate bag and looking at me like I was a freak. "I got your salad."

"Th-Thanks," I stammered.

Nodding once at me, his curly, black bangs covered his eyebrows. Whipping his head to the side, he swept them out of his face. Omar Aurelio nodded at me. I thought I was going to faint.

"W-Wait," I said, reaching out my hand to stop him as he turned away.

"Yeah?" he asked casually, shoving the money I had given him into his blue jeans' pocket.

"D-Don't you know who I am?" I blurted.

I don't know what I was expecting. A look of realization or a loud laugh and a cruel remark to welcome me back home. Or maybe even an apology.

"Nope," he said coolly. "Am I supposed to?" He searched my eyes for any trace of familiarity. "Who are you?" His gaze fell on the boxes behind me in the foyer. "You new here?"

Who are you?

It could have been the pressure of an immediate response or the fact that this guy was actually talking to me like a human being for once, but something inside of me snapped. Suddenly I wasn't the girl who left South Carolina fat and returned several years later from Malibu in shape. I was someone completely different. Someone I didn't even know myself.

"Tori," I managed to get out, "Tori Allen."

"Omar Aurelio," the pizza delivery guy said with a cocky grin. His eyes looked up and down my body. "Nice to meet you, Tori."

"Yeah," I said, half to myself, "Nice to meet you too." I put down the pizzas on the table and held out my hands for the salad. "You go to Beaufort high?"

"Yeah," he said, dropping the container in my hands. "Not the best high school but…" He smiled at me, one corner of his mouth higher than the other. "You'll fit right in."

You'll fit right in.

Holy s**t. I, Victoria Nicole Allen would "fit right in," according to Omar Aurelio, Mr. Popular himself.

"You coming on Monday?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

"Yup," I managed to say. "First day of school for the new girl."

"Chill," he replied.

There was a pause, and I could hear the South Carolina crickets. Those things are loud. Louder than the ones back in Malibu, for sure. It's like they want to take the night and make it their own. And at that moment, they couldn't be any more obnoxious if they tried. And trust me, they were trying.

"I-I'm gonna go," Omar finally said, thrusting a thumb over his shoulder, "Lots of pizzas to deliver."

"'kay," I said with a wave.

He stopped for a moment. "If you, uh, need any help settling in tomorrow…" He took the pen in his hand and drew out a scrap piece of paper. "…Feel free to call." Omar coughed, and awkwardly ruffled the back of his head. "I mean…if you want to."

I stared at him. I had been hit on by guys before. Trust me, this girl knows what it's like to be whistled at on the road. And I never failed getting a date when I needed one.

But this was Omar Aurelio. Omar Aurelio, giving me his number as if he was interested in me. Omar Aurelio, acting nervous in front of me. Omar Aurelio, tongue tied and twisted because of me.

He finished scribbling and handed me the slip. I took it numbly and flashed him a sexy smile. My sexy smile is something that I practiced in the mirror for hours my ninth grade year after I had been told repeatedly by Charity that I needed to flaunt myself if I wanted a date for the spring dance.

I know what you're thinking, but this smile is not to be taken lightly. When I mastered it, I released it on the unsuspecting male population of Malibu high, resulting in tons of numbers given (some from women), several dates, and quite a few sex friends. Oh, and plenty of offers to be my escort to the spring dance.

So I straightened my back, flipped my hair, swung my hips to one side, and tilted forward so Omar would have a good peek at the girls. I flashed my pearly whites at him and cocked my head to the right.

His eyes lowered along with his jaw.

"Thanks," I said seductively, setting my sultry gaze on him. "I just might."

Even though I knew the result would be swooning on his part, I was still slightly surprised to see the blush on his cheeks. He looked so wistful as I pushed the front door closed.

Back against the wall, I took a deep breath.

Omar didn't remember me at all.

Hurrying to the kitchen to grab an icepack from the freezer, I set the salad container by the pizzas. My feet pattered against the wood floors to the speed of my racing thoughts.

What if I got to school the next day and no one remembered me? Could I actually start over? I yanked the freezer open with a tug of the handle, and grabbed the ice pack. Did I have to worry about bullying anymore? Were they actually going to remember the embarrassing fat a*s, Vicky Hodge?

I pressed the icepack to my temple. Hissing, the chilly sensation numbed the bump. I walked back into the living room, coming to a halt in front of the decorative mirror propped up on the covered couch. Looking at myself from head to toe, I couldn't find any trace of the old Vicky Hodge in there.

What used to be a fat, brown haired, and blue eyed-glass wearing dork was now a tan, blonde haired, green contact wearing fitness goddess. The cellulite that had haunted me for so long was just a distant memory. No more rippled thighs as the result of emotional eating. My new comfort was the sweet sensation of a calorie burner.

I frowned.

I did look different, but had I changed so much that no one would recognize me? I wasn't a sixth grade fatty anymore, and I had taken my stepfather's last name when he and my mom married.

I tugged at my blue shirt, tightening it around my muscled, yet scarred stomach. Streaks of white stretch marks pulled across my skin. I bit my lower lip and let the edge of my shirt fall back to meet my jeans.

I had worked hard for five years to change inside and out. I wanted to erase every bit of Vicky Hodge I could…was it possible that I had gotten rid of her entirely?

Author's Note

Please let me know what you think of it!