Chapter One

A Chapter by Elizabeth

Paige wakes up as Sierra and must go to school and adapt to this life.

I just woke up one day.

Faint sunlight gleamed into my bedroom. I slowly opened my eyes, yawning and stretching with my head still against the cool pillow. It took a moment for me to prosper that I was alive, that I exceeded more than cotton-like clouds. Once I realized this, though, I shot up and eyed everything suspiciously.

To my left sat a mohoghany desk, carrying a beautiful grey laptop with yes, a built in camera. I checked it to make sure it wasn't too good to be true! Long white drapes shielded the window that overlooked San Diego. Directly in front of the bed lay about five feet of empty floor and then another window, which revealed another angle of the city. Now sitting at the edge of my bed, I uttered a loud scream.

I soon regretted that because I heard rushing footsteps approach my door and open it. Snapping my head, I grew fearful of the woman standing in the doorway. She had bright, frizzy red hair and puffy cheeks and carried an expression that didn't exactly ease the tension.

“Sierra!” the woman barked, her bouncy carms crossed over her chest. At this point, I felt like ripping out my eyeballs. It didn't make any sense, none of it. The woman prodded over to me with her arms swaying, and I had to hold back my giggles. Bending over, she nearly gagged me as she stuck her whole hippotomus a*s in my face. She scooped up a pair of pink laced underwear that must have magically appeared. “You didn't even START cleaning this pigsty!”

“I-” I tried to speak, but that's all that left my mouth.

She waved her fat finger in my face, going all Lil-Kim on me. “You're LAZY, you know that? All that I do for you...a mother can only do so much...” She rambled visciously after that, but I couldn't move past that word. Mother? Mine? But

I didn't have a mother anymore...

And it certainly wasn't this three hundred pound doofus.

Wincing at her expected response, I asked anyway, “Who am I?” I watched her laugh, the rolls of chin fat falling back with her head. She motioned towards the room. “I'm serious. Clean this.” I tried to object, on account of the fact that Sierra's not even my name, but she just added sharply, “Now.” She glared at me from the corner of her beady eye before leaving. Reluctantly and not without complaining, I threw myself up to please this goddamn stranger.

I stole a glimpse of myself in the mirror; it hung on the outstretched closet. Physically, I looked like Paige Warrens, the girl who smiled every given chance and snapped a photo to remember each moment. All in all, I looked like me, so why did that freak call me Sierra? And why was I in a ten foot by eleven bedroom with wonderful furniture that my uncle could never afford?

I shouldn't even be alive.

Several minutes laters, my supposed mother returned, her shoulder length hair tied in a sloppy ponytail, parts hanging out of the blue band. She slung her arms over one another again and craned her neck. She made sure no articles of clothing were smuggled under the bed. Then, she slid open the hazel closet and fell victim to a falling barricade of junk. “Son of a-”

“I'm SORRY!” I replied defensively, racing to her aid. Without dropping anything, I shuffled and dodged it onto the bed. She sighed angrily, gave me a disapproving look, and headed out the door once she saw me hustling to get organized.

Black striped bag slung on my shoulder, I entered the school I knew so well.

Familiar faces rushed past, none of which stopped to say hello. Even though I lived by a new name and in a new home, I hope my friends would recognize me. Resurrecting this hope made me sigh and stare hopelessly at the floor.

Because I was supposed to be dead.

Retrieving the eleventh grade schedule, I skimmed through my upcoming classes. A tear filled my eye as I remembered sitting in Mrs. Denzio's office, babbling like a bird in comfortable song. We loved engaging in conversation, the two of us, and tried to as much as possible.

“You need to pick your classes now, Paige,” she warned but still chuckled. I laughed, smiling from ear to ear, and nodded. Of the twenty minutes given, we had already wasted eighteen. “What's your first pick?”

“Creative writing.” She knew this already, though. With a timid grin, she scribbled my response onto a sheet piece of paper. Mrs. Denzio scampered behind her seemingly frightening desk. Her mindless clutter, she often teased. Despite her messiness, students better wish they had her for a guidance counselor.

Nodding as encouragement, she allowed me to add the less important classes: geometry and chemistry and economics.

“They're equally as important, you know,” she lectured, reading my disgusted expression. I huffed aside her remark. I was too distracted by thoughts of sleeping in. Days when I could just lounge in a t-shirt and basketball shorts and eat all the junk in the world. Just chill. And when I wasn't doing that, I'd be flying in Ryder's car with the windows down, suffocated by the summer air.

Mrs. Denzio caught onto my wandering attention and peered up from her pile of papers, most likely my files. “Have a great summer, Paige,” she said with another bright grin. I always envied her teeth; they blazed like stars, as weird as it sounded. She motioned towards the clock, and with that, I stood and prepared to return to fourth period. Hopefully Mr. Beyers and all his demonstrations and stuff didn't miss me too much! Ha. I waved goodbye to her after promising three things: steering from trouble, enjoying myself, and continuing to write. The only guaranteed was the last.

Caught in this memory, I shuddered when I realized that I was standing in the middle of the hallway. Students, some familiar, rushed past, and I realized it was a current of students late to class. Not the panicking type, I knew there was only one thing to do. One place to go.

There she sat, the computer keys clicking away. So engaged in her duties, she didn't even hear me enter. She now wore her sandy hair some eight inches shorter. I didn't really like it. Shutting the door softly helped gain her attention, and apologetically, she scrambled from the computer. “I'm sorry...” Because she was one of my absolute favorite people, I hoped that she recognized me, unlike everyone else.

When I didn't say anything, Mrs. Denzio gave me a look that sent a shiver down my spine. That's when I knew; the cold fact was as clear as her expression. “What can I do for you today?” She sounded so professional, so rehearsed, and just distant. Across from her, I stole a seat, the same chair as those behind classroom desks.

“I am Paige Warrens” was all that came to mind.

Taken aback, she cleared her throat as if she pushed down a wave of vomit. Mrs. Denzio shook her head, and she sent daggers through her emerald colored eyes. Her eyes were another thing I envied. “That's not REMOTELY funny,” she

hissed. “In fact, you should be ASHAMED of yourself.” Sorrow overcame the excitement of proving my true identity. She reeled behind her and drew the rigged, brown blinds.

This is when I sensed the hurt and grief in her face. I started, “Did you know her?” She had her face turned the other way. If I couldn't get her to believe me, I had to find another way to benefit. I'd never witnesssed such furious behavior from her. It took a lot of courage not to cry.

“Oh, did I know her...” She stood from her spinning black chair. “She was by far one of the best students, best PEOPLE-” My heart grew warm at those words; while she spoke, her eyes glowed. She paused and soon added, “I'm sorry you never got to meet her. She truly was...” Mrs. Denzio explored her word choices. “Remarkable.”

Tears flooded my cheeks.

She looked at me puzzled, so I knew it was time to leave. It was when I shut the door that I tasted bitter reality. As far as I knew, Paige Warrens existed no more, nor did her world. The last day of her life marked the end of everything she'd come to know. No one, not even herself, would understand how or why she regained mortality. But it also became clear that Paige Warrens fell short to a new, lonelier life.

Sierra Gravstone's.