Hey all my loyal fans! I know you're probably like: What the hell?
I'm rewriting the story. Yep. I've been in a slump because there were things that I didn't like about the story and I was going to try to change them. I knew I would change a few any way.
The stuff I posted before was my first draft. I've heard some authors go through ten drafts before the consider their story good enough to be sent off to a publisher and I know I'm going to need just as many or more.
Several things about the story are going to change so hold on for the ride.
"Hey, babe," Brett called from his red convertible.
God, how I hate that name. Babe. It sounds condescending coming from his lips.
I was sitting on a cement bench in the shade of an old pine in front of the school parking lot with Victoria beside me and Amelia stretched out on her stomach reading. Lily and Jenny were painting there toenails and Jordan was laying back with her eyes shut, sunbathing.
Everyone of them but me looked up at Brett's voice and the low hum of the car as he pulled up beside us. I focused my eyes on my lap.
"Afternoon, ladies," he said smoothly to my friends and their faces brightened just a bit. All except for Victoria's. Faithful to the end, Vic glowered at him, as if daring him to hit on her. Which he'll probably do, regardless.
I suppose Brett is my boyfriend. In the loosest sense of the word. He's quite good-looking and definitely not stupid. Driven, determined, cunning; Brett in a nutshell.
He isn't an athlete, though, which Jordan has declared a fault in his seemed perfection. Nope. He's just another rich kid whose parents prefer he stay at Camion Boys Academy than at home.
At least we have something in common. Well, my parents don't want me at Berkley All-girls Boarding School. But they don't have much say in the matter because they died when I was eleven. My aunt prefers I stay here. I don't really blame her though.
After my parents' untimely death I was a little lost. Ah, hell, let's be honest… I got into fights, I snuck out of the house, I got involved with much older guys (I was only eleven, remember) I drank, I smoked, I cursed like a sailor around everyone and anyone, my grades slipped I dropped tennis and dance, I refused to eat around anybody who cared about me. I never went the whole nine yards and tried drugs, but I bet if I would have stayed in California I would have eventually shot something up my arm. I also never cut myself if that's what you're assuming. I am way to chicken to do anything like that. Also I saw no point in ruining my wrists for the situation. My parents were gone and they weren't coming back. Getting my aunt to lock my in an insane asylum wasn't going to change that.
My aunt eventually gave up and sent me as far away from her as possible. To Maryland. Don't have a clue what was going through her mind when that stunner of an idea raced through her head, but now I'm here. Sitting on a bench, looking at my 'boyfriend' deciding if I like him or not.
Ah, well, he's better than most of the guys I meet and he's got a great car. I like cars. Especially BMW convertibles.
"Hey, Brett," I said in a low, slow voice with a coy smile curling my lips. Have I ever mentioned I'm quite the little liar? I can put many actresses out of business for sure.
"You wanna go somewhere tonight?" he asked, resting his arm on the back of the passenger seat.
I stood up and really smiled. Going places at night during the week was not allowed at our boarding schools.
I should know. I've been caught a couple times. I do have to say this though for my pride's sake. I'm eighteen years old—well, I will be in a week anyway—and I've been going to this school since I was twelve. I've snuck out more than a 'couple' of times in those six full years.
You read right.
Full. This is an all-year-round boarding school. Yep, you guessed it, this is where people send the kids they really don't want to see. But the school day does end at 1:00 p.m. and it's not like I'm missing anybody back in California.
My mom and dad and I were pretty close. I still hadn't gotten to the stage where I wanted nothing to do with them. I was still very dependent, which I assume is normal for most kids. Our family isolated each other really. We didn't need anybody else so we didn't really want anybody else. Dad used to call us the three musketeers and I demanded to watch that movie almost every weekend.
This isolation movement was a really bad move on my parents' half. When the only two people I had ever really known were ripped away from me by a drunk driver, it left me utterly and completely alone. Oh, but I forgot! They left me a fortune! Yippy. My parent's were dead but now I could buy whatever I want.
If they would have let me, I would have marched into the bank and set fire to all the lovely hundred dollar bills my family had ever possessed.
But they didn't. And guess what? My mom and dad, Katie and Michael, are still dead.
I am living proof that to desert an eleven year old is a very bad idea. I like to think that a deserted eleven year old can go either of two ways. Internal or external, as I like to call them.
I tried external. You know, the wild child. The Hellcat, Spitfire.
That wasn't really accomplishing anything.
So I decided to enjoy life as much as I possibly could now that I was shipped off to Maryland. So now I try my best to be Aurora Elizabeth Stanton. Heiress to the Stanton wine fortune and future face of the company.