|Play Me a Song
Author: MorbidCupcake PM
When Hunter has her first run in with F4 and they do something that messes with her emotions, she goes off, earning her the dreaded red notice. But, she's used to being beaten down and called names; it's a reoccurring thing in her own home. What happens when the F4 find out and Jasper, the leader, moves her into his estate? Chaos is a start. - England Version - Summery Inside -Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Humor - Words: 2,679 - Reviews: 5 - Favs: 5 - Follows: 6 - Published: 07-30-12 - id: 8376668
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
"Stratford Academy, a school for the rich, powerful… and heartless."
Hunter Storm, a poor girl with a fast temper, is the only known student at Stratford Academy with a scholarship promise. With an abusive secret, she desperately tries to fade in the background, which means being someone she's not.
But the universe honestly hates her.
When a run-in with the F4, a group of the four most popular and powerful guys at Stratford Academy, strikes a chord in Hunter's emotions and brings out her temper, she's forced to pay the consequences with a dreaded red notice.
Even with the harassment and constant remarks, she continues going to school because, unknown to the rest of the school, Hunter's used to being beaten and made fun of – it happens every day in her own home.
But when an attempt to scare Hunter turns bad and a couple of F4's minions report back to Jasper Sterling, the leader and heir to one of England's largest businesses, he and the rest of the F4 go to investigate Hunter's house in secret.
What they find has the F4 completely lost for words.
Hunter is pulled out of her abusive home and shoved into Jasper's grand estate as his personal "music slave".
Now, she's really in for it.
Things Aren't Always What They Seem
The classroom is filled with normal things a classroom would have. The brick walls are painted a pearly white, matching the spotless tile floor perfectly. The students sit in rows of desks that are polished and disinfected every night after everyone's gone, and piled in those seats during the day were seemingly normal students of all shapes and sizes. At the front of the room, or where all of the students are facing at least, is a whiteboard with "The Golden Rule: Do to others what you want done to yourself" scrolled on it in messy half-cursive handwriting using a brand new bright green marker.
But that's where the "normal" stops.
"Did you see Taylor's knew lips?" A girl next to me whispers to a group of people around her, "It only cost her $500,000!"
"No way she got it that cheap!" The girl across from her gasps.
"That's what happens when your family owns most of the cosmetic companies in Stratford." Another continues, "Something like that would've cost my dad twice as much!"
Cheap! The hell are they talking about! $500,000 is worth more than my house, food, and life!
"Wow." Another girl breathes, "I don't know why Taylor would want new lips; she was gorgeous before!"
Yeah, because bitch with a dash of conceit is gorgeous. I mentally roll my eyes.
With long, wavy blonde hair and perfectly sculpted cheekbones, Taylor is the most wanted girl in school: almost every guy wanted her and almost every girl wanted to be her. Ever since her "debut" in modeling, everyone's been fawning over her.
It was one magazine for God's sake! Her father probably had to bribe the photographer and magazine company to do it.
"You know, if you just stare like that, people are going to start thinking you're a creeper." A feminine voice says next to me.
I blink and look at the girl, surprised to be addressed.
She's pretty, I notice, with long light brown hair that falls just past her shoulders in subtle waves. It shapes her face perfectly and brings out her big greyish blue eyes. She's wearing little make-up – a light line of black eyeliner, a quick brush of blush, and a thin layer of skin-colored lip gloss – and I can see why: She doesn't need anything else to show her beauty.
Her blazer matches mine – black with white stitching along the shoulders', cuffs', and buttons – only hers is opened to show her skin-tight white-tee, whereas mine is closed and button to the middle of my chest. Her black and white plaid skirt is rolled up more than mine, but, thankfully, not enough to actually be noticeable, with brown pantyhose trailing down to her black Chanel platform pumps.
"My name's Michelle, but you can call me Mitchie." She smiles, revealing straight white teeth and pronounced dimples that make her look like a doll, "You must be Hunter."
I nod slightly, wondering how she knew my name.
"You're pretty famous around here." She chirps matter-of-factly, reading my mind, "The Great Hunter Storm, only commoner with a scholarship, who barely speaks to anyone." She tries unsuccessfully to impression some reporter, holding her fist up to me as if it's a mike, "So you wanna tell me why you're always here by yourself?"
My face falls slightly and I sigh.
And here I thought no one even knew I existed.
"Still quiet." She mutters unhappily, hopping up to sit on my desk, "You know, you're actually really pretty." She mumbles unconsciously, studying my face, "And those contacts are amazing."
Except, they aren't contacts. My eyes, for as long as I could remember, have had a metallic look to them. As if that isn't enough, my right eye is blue and the other is green. Originally, both of my eyes were green, but then that happened and the color pigments in my right eye were lost, turning it blue.
Mitchie clears her throat and I see her looking at me expectantly.
Right. She gave me a compliment so I'm supposed to thank her.
"Thank you." I say softly, being sure to keep the surprise and discomfort out of my voice.
She lets out a whistle, "Are you sure you're commoner? You act more proper than Queen Bee over there." She throws a lazy thumb in the direction of Taylor, "And that's not a good thing."
I chuckle a little.
"Ha!" She says successfully, jumping off of my desk top with a fist in the air, "I got the great Hunter to laugh! How awesome am I?"
I smile and shake my head. This girl is weird, that's for sure.
She grins, "Man, you're even prettier when you smile, Hunter. I don't see why you don't smile more often."
The smile stays in place at yet another compliment, even if it is far from the truth, "Not really." I mumble quietly.
Unlike the rest of the class, who love their light-colored hair, my hair falls to my lower back in dark chocolate layers. My bangs, today, are coving my metallic blue eye in a scene-type style, only showing the green one. Usually, I'd part my hair to the right and show the blue one, but the black eye had developed over night and I didn't want to arise any more attention than necessary.
Like the rest of the students, I'm wearing a black blazer that has white stitching along the sleeves, cuffs, and off-white buttons, the required, barely-long-enough, white and black plaid skirt, a pair of black leggings, and worn out, black high-top converses.
"Modest too." She says with a nod, "I knew you'd be better than the rest of these jerkoffs."
I tilt my head at her insult, trying not to laugh.
Jerkoffs? More like brain-dead spoiled brats.
"You're always quiet and spend time by yourself. You don't even try to get to know anyone, so I figured you must be different." She explains.
What? My looks and hand-me-down clothes couldn't tell you that, but my attitude could? I refrain myself from snorting.
"Look!" A familiar, high-pitched smug voice calls out, causing everyone else to fall silent, "Dylan Black came back for his stuff today."
Instantly, I recognize the voice as Taylor, the schools "queen bee".
Today, she has a thin layer of light pink lip gloss smeared across her newly announced Angelina Jolie lips, making her straight nose look smaller than usual. Her hair is pulled back into a high ponytail, falling to her neck in natural spiral curls and showing her big hazel eyes that have a light line of black eyeliner outlining them.
Unlike my blazer, whose sleeves cover my entire arm and barely leave me enough room to breathe, Taylor's sleeves are rolled up to her elbows, showing hairless tan skin, and the blazer is left open, showing the front of her baby purple low-cut tank top and more cleavage than should be legal. Her uniform skirt isn't any better, the already-short length pulled up to show more of her bare thighs.
Behind her, a pale skinny boy walks in with a solemn look on his face, a brown box in his hands.
"I heard he quit school on his own." The whispers fill the room, "The F4 didn't even have to make him!"
"That means he's only here for his stuff." Another continues, "What a disgrace."
"Agreed." Another one shoots off, "I mean how could he say such things to Master Jasper!"
"What's going on here!" Mr. Robertson demands, joining us in his classroom.
The sudden loud voice causes poor Dylan to jump, loosing book-filled box all over the floor, scattering it's contents.
I stand up and head over to him, but Mitchie grabs my wrist, "Woah there, Silent Sally. What d'ya think the F4'll do if they find out you helped out that guy?" She whispers.
I stop in my tracks and look from her to him.
"Just sit tight." She says easily, letting go of my wrist to lean against my desk top again, "I wouldn't want my new friend becoming an outcast." She winks.
I bite my lip, watching the poor guy as he gathers his books, everyone else forming a barrier around him.
You can't draw attention to yourself…
Reluctantly, I stay put next to Mitchie.
"Dylan's transferring." Taylor smirks, not bothering to show her happiness at this fact, "He's here to get his stuff."
"Why?" Mr. Robertson demands, his darks eyes demanding she tell him before he places her in detention.
"Don't you remember?" She asks with fake innocence, "He talked back to Master Jasper and the F4 last week."
Fear strikes Mr. Robertson's eyes and he tries (unsuccessfully) to show some sort of authority as he places a hand on Dylan's shoulder, "Don't worry, Dylan." He says, his voice quivering, "I'm sure… I'm sure you'll fit in better at your new school. You didn't fit in at this school anyway."
Is that all he can say! What about the bullshit spilled on the board! Is that golden rule a bunch of crap!
My fists clench and I bite down harder on my bottom lip, desperate to keep from speaking my mind.
"Alright!" Mr. Robertson bellows out, stepping away from Dylan and behind the podium, "Back to your seats! Now!"
Before I take a seat, my hand shoots in the air and I try (very hard, I might add) to keep the glare from my face.
"Yes, Ms. Storm?"
"May I be excused?" I ask politely, my soft tone losing any of the undying hatred in my head.
"Of course." Mr. Robertson speaks after a few seconds, trying his best to overcome the shock (or lack of, in my opinion) of yet another F4 punishment, "But hurry back." He says, his voice hardening, "We have an important lesson today."
I nod curtly, being sure to keep my eyes down, and head out of the room and into the long porcelain hallway, my thoughts on fire.
Terrorizing everyone like they're the best people in the friggin' world… Stupid F4!
The F4, or Flower Four, are Stratford Academy's four most popular and powerful guys in school. Their familiars are all filthy rich and own over two-thirds of England's businesses and companies. However, their most investment goes to here, Stratford Academy, to pay for things like field trips, food, and remodeling, so, naturally, that gave them free reign over students and teachers alike.
Tch. I scoff mentally. Flower Four? Try Foolish Four. Pig Headed Four. Asshole Four. The Four Bastards. The insults bubble unconsciously as I shove my hands into the pocket of my blazer, enjoying the mental image of beating all of them to hell.
I sigh, stopping mid-step, and lean against the pearly white lockers with my arms crossed.
To tell the truth, out of all of them, I hate myself the most. The me that doesn't have the courage to say what's on her mind, the me that wears a fake smile with pretend words of kindness, that isn't me. That's some cheap imitation that my father has come up with.
It's pathetic, really. And sad. Very, very sad.
With another sigh, I straighten myself up and continue down the hall, taking a sharp left. The first door on the left is the one I want.
Slyly, I glance around, making sure no one's around, and push open the double doors.
All of the lights are off in the auditorium, only three spotlights highlighting the platform hundreds of rows of seats down. The stage is mainly used for announcements of upcoming fieldtrips (or the rare occasion the school actually decides to put their foot down for something), but other than that, it's left vacant, nothing but the stage lights and a large black Grand Piano.
I smile to myself and start heading down the mountain of stairs.
The school had given me this room as the sole room for me to practice in. In order to keep my scholarship, I had to perform at least once a year for the top four families in England.
You've guessed it: The F4's parents.
Not that any member of the F4 knew – it was purposely kept from them, despite my father's wishes. If they found that my skills were still, indeed, as good as they were before I showed up here, my scholarship was still in place. If not, however, the scholarship would be demolished and I would be an ordinary student.
The scholarship isn't the only reason I'm putting up with this hellhole, though. In the agreement that I signed, the entire expense it would cost to go to a good university would be paid in full – and then some. If I decide I want to go to Harvard University in America, the cost for the plane ticket (first class), a five-star hotel, books, and spending money will be given to me – as long as I reimburse their school and encourage others to go to it.
By that time the F4 will be gone and I won't have to worry about sending people to their deaths, so it'll be okay to reimburse them then.
The sleek black leather seat is clean as always, not a speck of dust on it, and I take a seat, letting my fingers glide across the keys.
To everyone that's read my other stories (and probably hates me for lack of updates), you may kill me for this new fan fiction . Honestly, I can't help it! I'm trying not to be all "new story" but my mind doesn't like me very much…
Anywhoo, I hope you enjoy my remake of Hana Yori Dango. It's a mixture of all of the dramas/animes/mangas/ect. with my own addition and changes in there.
And in case you didn't notice, the italics are actually Hunter thinking to herself, not some split personality thing. It was my way of showing you how much she's pretending(:
(Oh and FYI, picture all of the characters as REAL, British people [not anime])
Hope you liked the first chapter! Be sure to review :DD