Intro/Prologue

It's just a description of her life and stuff like that.

I walked through the doors of my high school, immediately becoming invisible. It's been like that since I moved here last year, my freshman year, from Texas. Last year, I'd been the new girl, but who cared? That's right, no one. I was just another addition to their school, and still am.

But the thing is, I like it that way. I like being invisible; unnoticed. I have everything I need: my family, my rock music, a life. And I highly doubt anyone would want to talk to an emo person.

Yeah, I'm emo. Not depressed, though. I think that's just a stereotype. I'm actually really happy. I just love rock music, and have jet-black hair. I love black, but wouldn't wear it everyday.

I act a little bit like my dad. We're both goofy. Me, my mom, my dad, and my brother are all playful and sarcastic. We all have big eyes and dimples. I look exactly like my mom though. We have the same light brown skin, while my brother and my dad's are darker. My brother acts more like my dad, but acts like my mom sometimes. I get most of my genes from her. But I'm more carefree and reckless and happy-go-lucky. I hate being serious. She loves to read, I love to read. She's a writer, I'm gonna be one.

She's not a famous one though, and she doesn't really like that. But she's halfway through the novel she's currently working on. She's hoping it'll be great. I hope so too. It's awesome so far. It's kind of a collab - we're working on it together. It's about a rich girl. She likes some of the advantages of being rich, but there're also disadvantages. She doesn't know who her real friends are, and she's sick of it. A new boy, not really rich, but not poor; more like in-between; comes along. She wants that. Normalcy. She finds herself drawn to him, and he shows her what it's like on the other side of the rainbow.

I walked to my locker. They let us decorate it ourselves when we first come to the school; I guess they were tired of the dull gray lockers too. Mine has a black background, and a photo of me and my friends from Maryland standing in a circle. The camera was aimed at our feet; our different color Converses, my favorite shoe. Mine were purple, and they all had colorful laces.

I grabbed my English textbook and notebook, along with my personal notebook. It's not a diary or anything; it's where I keep my story ideas and funny things I hear people say.

I walked to room 215, my English class. I walked in. Only a few people turned to the door. I walked to my seat in the back. There's an empty seat on my left side, and Kira sits on my right.

She never has her real hair out. All she has in her head is tracks. Nappy tracks. I can see her real hair sticking out. Her hair is brown, but she has black tracks in today. I peer at her head, and laugh silently. She probably has lice; she and her friends share combs all the time. The chick is ghetto. I mean I can be ghetto when I wanna be, but a couple of weeks ago I saw her gluing her tracks back in in the middle of class. All she knows how to do is look like a s**t. High-waisted skirts, skinny jeans, tight shirts. . . It's disgusting. She's always copying off someone, and when she gets caught she laughs. The girl laughs at anything, even when she gets in trouble. I don't know how people tolerate her. I wouldn't chill with her for a million dollars.

The teacher, Ms. Lynn, came into the classroom then, demanding everyone's attention. She's a pretty teacher, and she's young too, probably 25-28. She can be nice, just don't get on her nerves. Ms. Lynn also has style. Today she wore an Alexia Admor Cutaway Shoulder Embellished Satin Dress and beige Christian Louboutin Platform Peep-Toe Sandals. The dress was extremely cute. It was a two-piece dress, the skirt was black; the upper part was ivory. Stones that looked like pearls, and jewels adorned the neckline, and it had an Empire waist. It has a side-zip, slant pockets, and I could see from here that it was polyester with silk trim, and could only be dry-cleaned. Most satin or silk is too delicate to be washed the usual way. I loved the shoes, too. They were a softly hued Italian leather; I could tell. It was modernish, but elegant. They had an ankle strap, red leather sole, and canvas-covered heel, to keep it from scuffing, I guess. My mom always says I should be a fashion designer, and jokes that I can describe a shoe from a mile away just by glancing at it.

Yeah, I like fashion. I like designer clothing, so I know a lot of the brands.

"So for homework, you guys will tell me a little bit about yourselves in an essay. Your likes, dislikes, interests, hobbies, stuff like that," Ms. Lynn was saying.

Sounds easy, I thought.

"Dismissed," she stated.