Part 1: Chapter 1

"Mom!" I yelled from upstairs, rummaging through boxes labeled "clothes". First day at yet another school, and I couldn't find my damn shoes.

"What?" she hollered back.

"Where are my sneaks?" I tossed shirts and jeans onto my bed in frustration.

"In the box marked clothing. And hurry up, or you'll miss your bus," she answered.

Really...? I rolled my eyes but finally found them buried at the bottom, tucked under my favorite shirt. God, I hate moving. If we could just stay put somewhere—anywhere—I wouldn't have to dig through boxes or fake-smile at new people.

Every school's the same routine. The teacher's pets swarm me with their fake "hi's" and forced friendliness, trying to score good-human points with faculty. Can't stand those types. I tell them to back off, but they keep trailing after me like I'm some charity case they need to befriend. Eventually, they give up after I tell them where to go—not politely—and then they spread the word about what a complete bitch I am. Whatever. In six months or less, I'll be gone anyway, thanks to my stepdad Bert and his endless job transfers. Fifteen schools across ten states since kindergarten. My real dad died when I was two—drunk driver.

I'm sure this school will be different, right? Yeah, no chance. It's like there's a competition to collect the new girl. I laced up my sneakers and headed downstairs, immediately hearing Mom and Bert going at it again. They were arguing about moving—specifically how it's "hurting me," which it isn't. It's just annoying having to unpack and repack my life every few months. What actually hurts is watching my mom let Bert steamroll her. I hate him, he hates me, and we only tolerate each other because of her. One big happy family? As if.

"Come on Bert, think about your daughter and how it's affecting her," Mom pleaded.

I'm not his daughter, I thought, hovering outside the kitchen door.

"She's always having to move, change different schools, she has no friends," Mom continued.

Ah, who needs friends when you've got good ol' Bert to chat with? I thought bitterly.

"Erika, I am thinking of her," Bert insisted. Sure you are. "That's why we move, so I can keep my job and support this family."

"But this isn't right—" Mom cut herself off when she spotted me entering the kitchen. Classic move—heaven forbid I hear them fighting about me.

Yes, I heard nothing about how Bert's an ass who just pretends to like me when Mom's around, I thought bitterly. I never understood how my mother ended up with him. Mom was a beauty, though Bert had worn her down over the years. Golden blonde hair, pale blue eyes, model's figure—she was the sweetest person you'd ever meet, would do anything for anyone. Used to be a registered nurse when she was with my dad. Old photos showed they were actually happy together. She was always smiling back then. Now she's dulled down—still beautiful, but that radiant smile and sparkle in her eyes? Long gone. Meanwhile, Bert's just a balding guy with a gut who could definitely use some exercise. Those beady black eyes of his always scrunch up the more you talk to him. Mom could've done a hundred times better.

Me? I'm nothing like my mother. I take after my dad, except for the height—didn't get that from either of them. Stupid recessive genes. I'm only five-four with jet black hair like my father's, tips dyed midnight blue, cut to my shoulders. Got these pale violet eyes everyone thinks are fake contacts, but they're not. I'm thin like Mom, barely a hundred pounds, with a much paler complexion while she's basically a golden goddess.

"Hi honey," said Mom, pretending they hadn't just been fighting.

"Hi, bye," I replied, heading for the door when she stopped me.

"Wait a sec," she called.

"What?" I turned back.

"Are you nervous—"

"Mom, I don't have time for this, or I'll miss the bus," I cut her off, grabbing my backpack.

"Erika, she's right, let her go to school," Bert butted in.

Why? So you can manipulate her even more? I thought, glaring at him. He shouldn't stick his nose where it's not wanted.

"Okay," Mom gave in, like always. "Well, have a nice day at school, and try to make some friends."

"What for? We'll just be leaving in about four to six weeks anyway." Direct hit. Bert's face reddened. Score one for me! Made Bert mad.

"At least try to be polite," he growled. "I don't want any phone calls from parents saying you've been mean to their daughters when all they were trying to do was be nice."

"They should've left me alone," I shot back before bolting outside. The bus was already coming down the road. Perfect timing—no more Bert lectures. I heard him shouting as I climbed aboard, but couldn't make out the words. Home free until tonight, and Bert doesn't get back until seven anyway. By then, I'll either be exploring the neighborhood or locked in my room, writing with my radio blasting. I slid into a seat near the back.

Junior year in high school. For once I'm actually starting on the first day instead of a week late. Lucky me. I can spot all the nervous freshmen up front, but I'm not nervous. When you've done this fifteen times, you get used to it.

"Hey, freshmen sit up front," came a voice from behind me. I turned to see a muscular guy with wavy blonde hair and blue eyes. Not bad looking objectively, but blondes aren't my thing—especially ones rocking the whole surfer-jock vibe. His Hawaiian blue shirt and tan cargo shorts completed the stereotype perfectly.

"I'm not a freshman," I shot back.

"Ah, a newbie then," he said with a smirk. "What grade?"

"None of your business, blondie," I replied, already establishing my don't-mess-with-me boundaries.

"Ooh, feisty. Hey Daniel, check her out." He nodded toward a guy sitting across the aisle.

Daniel was something else—well-built with shoulder-length black hair that fell in loose curls. His blue-gray eyes caught mine as he looked over, and the way his black t-shirt fit against his jeans was just... damn. So much for my plan to avoid talking to people, let alone finding them attractive. I briefly considered telling him my name before remembering my no-friends policy at new schools. The blonde started laughing, and I realized I'd been staring. Great.

"What's so funny?" I snapped, feeling heat rise to my cheeks before anger conveniently replaced it.

"You think my friend Daniel here is hot, don't you?" Blondie's smirk widened.

"No!" I lied, badly.

"What do you think, Daniel?" he asked.

Daniel's eyes locked with mine. "It's possible," he said with a smile that made something flip in my stomach.

"Well, it's not, because I don't find him attractive," I said firmly, more pissed at myself than them for being so transparent.

"I didn't say attractive. I said hot," the blonde countered with a mischievous grin.

"They're the same thing!" I half-shouted before whipping around in my seat, their laughter hitting my back. Never again. This is exactly why I don't make friends.

By then we'd reached the school, and I bolted off the bus. Sunnywalk's High loomed ahead—a fortress-like brick building with wooden roof shingles and cement steps leading to the front doors. An old school, built sometime in the 1800s. I put some distance between myself and the bus when I heard footsteps behind me.