A/N: Alright, y'all - this is my first trip into the realm of the Superstar/OC universe. I'm really nervous about this, so if you have any constructive criticism (too cliche, too unrealistic, too anything) let me know. Let me take the time and say constructive criticism…I'm not one to keep my mouth shut when I'm angry so be warned. Other than that, I'm a VERY nice person. Anyway If I'm crossing the line and doing the same old thing that everyone else has already done, tell me and I'll scrap the whole idea and start something new. You will not see the same old story… there will be no Superstar/OC pregnancies so if that's what you want sorry. That being said - I don't own any of the names you recognize in this story.
Sweet Ruptured Life
It was the first day back from winter vacation. The weather was cold- the high being about thirty five, the weatherwoman predicted, and there might be a slight chance of snow. Jeff hoped it would snow all day and night, having school called off for the next day. The prospect was unlikely, but even after a two week break; the idea of another day off was welcomed.
He entered the front hall, still sipping the rest of his coffee and looking around at the other kids. Many were noticeably tired, but still pretty loud, comparing shoes that had be Christmas presents, and talking about the basketball games and the big party the week before. Jeff had known most of these kids since junior high and he felt comfortable in the crowd.
She was strong. She was angry. And she wasn't afraid to fight. Dahlia strode down the Raleigh streets, collar of her jacket turned up and iPod blaring in her ears. Anger was the only thing that kept her warm. Anger at her parents for bringing her to this cold city. Anger at the city for being gray and uncaring. But mostly, she was angry at herself for being cold and scared in this place. If someone, anyone had spoken to her at that point, she probably would have ripped their head off. Literally.
But the North Carolina streets were empty as she strode down the sidewalk. She figured everyone with sense had taken a car or a bus. But the bus that she was supposed to take never arrived. So after almost forty minutes of waiting, she decided to walk. From what she heard from her parents, the school wasn't that far away. So by using her anger as her own jacket; she began walking to find a school that she had never seen, in a city that she had never visited, to enroll for classes in the eleventh grade.
Dahlia had just moved from Green Point, New York. She decided right then that she officially hated Raleigh, North Carolina with a passion. The sky was a dreary gray and dirty snow covered the probably dirty sidewalk. Ok, New York wasn't the most glorious, but come on! I just wanna throw some paint out my window and color this place up! How do these people expect me to live here? I can already tell, I don't fit in here. New York had been so different, practically a 180 from what's here!
Looking up and down the streets and imagining the differences of this place and New York only made her anger return. There were no brightly colored stores, there were no Hispanic flavor here. Practically everyone in Green Point spoke both Spanish and English fluently. She had felt so at home there. The music from the radio, the passing conversations, even the food had there own Spanish feel to it. Might as well have "No Habla Espanol!" written here on every nasty brown building here!
Dahlia could see the school about a block ahead. It was just as expected-tall, brown and ugly. Schools in New York weren't exactly sprawled around, but they all looked different. They had brick, stone and different walkways for each. Lunch was always outside and there was just a sense of freedom in the air. How will I ever find my way in this giant jail? She wondered bitterly, wiggling her toes inside her boots to try and get some feeling back and made her way inside.
The school was dark and depressing. The halls were dark and depressing. It even smelled dark and depressing. Kids were in small groups, talking way too loudly. Girls were giggling about shoes and other odd things, guys were either staring at her passing or laughing way too loudly at some dumb, immature joke. No one spoke or noticed Dahlia as she made her way through the crowd. She entered the office, looking around for someone who could help.
"Could I help you dear?" a woman asked, leaning against a nearby desk. Dahlia bristled inwardly. She hated the term dear.
"Umm, yeah. I'm new here and I came to enroll. Here are my transcripts from New York." She replied, handing her papers to the woman.
The woman, cracking her gum really loudly, drew up a schedule for her and passed it to her, "Dear, this year we're trying something new. It says here that you took dance classes in school for a pretty long time so I'm putting you in Modern and Hip Hop. It's a new thing to try and get kids to get out of their little cliques and talk to one another. Your locker is number 425.Oh and I'm Ms. Callaway by the way" Dahlia thanked her and grabbed her schedule, turning on her heel to leave, but she was stopped by the woman again.
"I know you're probably not happy with moving here, but give us a chance. We don't bite. Or at least, most of us don't" added the woman with a wry smile.
The Latina reluctantly returned the smile and walked out of the office. She sighed and headed for the fourth floor to her locker before she went to her first class. The halls were mostly empty by now, only crumpled papers and food wrappers littering the floor. Walking down the hall, she listened to Ms. Callaway's overly cheery voice fill the halls with reminders of SAT preparation, late passes and the football team tryouts. None of these things held any weight to her as she continued toward her locker.
Walking along the fourth floor, she checked all the lockers but couldn't find number 425. She saw 419, 420 then the numbers jumped to 453. Why do schools do this to kids? She thought in frustration. She finally regained ground as she spotted 421- almost down the hall. She began walking, counting the numbers absently as she moved past them 421… 422… 423… 424… Dahlia hit something fairly solid, stumbling against the wall of lockers, almost losing her balance.
"Sorry 'bout that. Was really looking where I was going.", she half mumbled as she began moving toward her locker again.
"Don't worry 'bout it" assured the voice as they extended their hand, "The name's Jeff, Jeff Hardy."
"Dahlia Cortez" the Latina replied. Jeff nodded his head and turned back to the locker. She looked up slightly, looking at the number. 425.
Jeff busied himself with the locker, looking at Dahlia out the corner of his eye. He hadn't seen her before so he assumed that she was new. And wasn't she cute. He shook his head slightly. Cute was an understatement. She was beautiful. Jeff slightly shook his head and returned to opening his locker. She probably had a boyfriend. But before he could really open the locker, he was stopped dead in his tracks by a warm hand on his shoulder and a soft voice.
"You're kinda at my locker."
He turned to the new girl again- Dahlia, sweeping a few locks of hair from his eyes, "Excuse me?"
"I said, you're at my locker" she said again, her voice a little louder this time; a hint of Spanish in her speech, "It says so on this paper" she finished, thrusting the paper at him.
Jeff's eyes swept over the paper. She wasn't lying. But his paper said 425 as well. He chuckled, drawing a small scowl from her.
"They didn't tell you?" he chuckled.
"Tell me what?" she replied, her frown deepening. She hated when everyone knew something that she was supposed to know. It made her feel dumb.
"This year, everyone is sharing a locker with someone. I guess Callaway forgot to tell you." His chuckle slowly faded as he watched her glance over her shoulder a few times, "What are you looking for?"
"I'm looking for hidden cameras, because you can't be serious. Is that allowed? Co-ed locker sharing?"
"I didn't really think it mattered, but if you want, you can go all the way back downstairs to Callaway and she can give you a new number." Jeff said, smirking a little. Dahlia leaned against the lockers and stared at him from in silence for a few seconds. He didn't look like the type to go through her things, it was just something about him that said the opposite, he'd respect her privacy. Nodding her head, she pushed off and gave him a small smile.
"I guess you're okay. Just open the locker, will you?" Dahlia admitted, watching him nod and open the locker. Hanging his locker neatly on the hook, he turned to her again.
"Just dump your stuff here, I'm going to class… I guess I'll see you around?"
"Yeah, I guess" she replied quietly, "See ya around"
Jeff smiled at her and began walking to class. He could feel her eyes on him as he walked away, but he knew that her eyes weren't hate filled. He strolled to his class and casually knocked on the door. He was late and he knew it, so the door was locked. Leaning on the doorframe, he glanced in Dahlia's direction in time to see her remove her coat and smooth down the front of her shirt. Letting her hair loose, she slightly shook it out of the ponytail it was in, running her fingers through the almost waist long length. He was so in awe, he didn't notice the classroom door open or the teacher calling his name. He shook himself out of his reverie and walked into the class, shutting the door softly behind him.
The math teacher, a short skinny man with a really cheap hairpiece that shifted on his head when he moved, looked at Dahlia and smiled, "Welcome Dahlia. You can take that seat right next to Mickie there. Now tell me Dahlia, are you a good math student or will you fit in with my students over there who think math was invented by big, stinky, purple monsters?" he asked, pointing with his hand at various students.
Dahlia grinned. "You mean it wasn't?" she asked in mock surprise.
The teacher, Mr. Heyman, rolled his eyes good naturedly and smiled again, "Yup you're going to fit in just fine. Here's a textbook. We're on page 142."
Most of the students ignored Dahlia. A few guys looked over at her with interest, but nobody moved past a smile. Everyone seemed to pay more attention to the now falling snow than trinomials. The large snow flakes, covered the ground, shielding the dirt and grayness from view. Dahlia watched with the rest of them, wishing that the snow could also cover up her loneliness as well.
Forget milk, Dance does the body good!
The bell rang for the end of sixth period. The halls, which were empty a few seconds before, became filled with students rushing to make it to their next class. Most could make it in three, but the other two were used to go to your locker, to use the restroom or as everyone else used it; to gossip about the events that had just taken place. Dahlia walked through the crowd, hearing bits and pieces of the conversations. She knew they were about her. She smiled to herself as she neared her locker remembering everything that had happened…
Dahlia moved of the lunch line, nearly losing her breakfast over the sight of the lunch that was being served. Note to self: pack own lunch thought the Latina as she inched her way off the line, grabbing a bottle of water