How You Changed.

What happens when best friends turn to mortal enemies?
Lucy-Rose is 14. She lives in her small council house on Ivory Road with her three little brothers and misunderstanding parents, amid her piles of schoolwork and GCSE revision.
She is, as every story seems to suggest, an average English teenager.
Or, she was.

Lucy gets discovered by a modelling agency, but on the same day she is involved in a terrible accident that turns her whole life upside down. Soon, a street gang is searching for her and monitoring her every move.
Nobody seems to know why or who leads the gang, but all of a sudden the walls seem to be closing in, as everyone turns against her.

There is nowhere to run when your own friends want you dead...

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6. "I don't know this girl."

*Flashback* 

The hazy summer heat is unusual for England. I'm walking along a familiar street, fanning myself, head back to the sky to appreciate the sunshine. I'm 11 years old.

I know, because I remember this day, that it's right in the middle of August, the summer holidays before Year 7. I've come back from South France, and now I'm finding what I missed the whole time I was there.

I could probably walk this route with my eyes closed - every bend, every pavement, was etched into my memory. I wonder, whether I should have called Erin before just turning up, but no.. I've done this loads of times before. And it's not like there's many places she'd go without me..

As I round that corner and her little council house stands before me, a lump rises in my throat. Fears develop around me, of Erin not being there, not wanting me. But why wouldn't she? We're best friends. That's how it's always been, how it always will be. 

The sweat is pouring off me now, and my white vest top is quickly becoming translucent. Beginning to wish I'd worn a different colour, I ring the bell on the door I know so well. 

And it's opened alright.

Blonde, roughly straightened hair frames her face. Her eyes, cold and hard, encircled by eyelashes turned into spiders legs by lashings of mascara. Foundation caked on, lips the glossiest I've ever seen. Her figure is one of a girl at least 3 years older, and I know exactly who she is. And she hates me. 

"What do you want?"

My skin prickles at the sound of her voice. Affected, nasal, vain. She stares down her perfectly formed nose at me, narrowing her  eyes, shooting arrows of pure hate at me. Georgia Stone.

"I've come to see Erin." I try and say defiantly, but it comes out all wrong, all wobbly and shaky. Georgia smirks at my shyness. She's always been the confident and loud one, and inconveniently always wanted to be Erin's best friend - which is probably why she has an irrational hate for me. She's popular, with everyone else, and sucks up to Erin so much it makes me squirm... but Erin's always disliked her too. So why is she here?.

"Erin's busy." She says. My mind buzzes with anger, but I try and compose myself. 

"Oh, really?" 

"Yeah. With me. So buzz off."

"No."

My defiant tone catches her by surprise, and it's only as she's eyeing me, drawn-on eyebrows raised, that I hear Erin's voice float down the stairs. 

"Georgia, is someone there?"

Before she can get her word in, I yell into the house that it's me, and quickly I hear Erin's soft footsteps padding around the landing, and slowly coming to the door. I feel the excitement of seeing my friend again bubble up inside me, but nothing could have prepared me for what I see next.

I don't know this girl. My best friend has curly, strawberry blonde hair, freckles, pale white skin and sparkling green eyes. This person, this creation that appears is brunette, with heat-damaged tresses that fall down around a face I hardly recognise. Her freckles are gone - covered up with powder and concealer, and her skin looks a darker shade thanks to the foundation; but I know it's her. Because those same sparkling green eyes can never be changed.

"...Erin..." I breathe, feeling the tears spring to my eyes, "What happened to you?"

In return I get a confused, almost hurt, half-smile.

"Georgia and me have been having this three-day sleepover thing, and she's helped me look... pretty. We've been doing makeovers and stuff. Maybe we could do you as well?"

I back away slowly, shaking my head, squeezing my eyes shut. This isn't happening. This can't be happening. 

"No..." 

"Luce, what's wrong with you?! Can't you just be happy for me?! I won't be teased for my hair anymore, see!"

I continue to shake my head, stumbling over the curb.

"You were pretty before," My hoarse whisper escapes from dry lips, "And now you're just another her."

As I turn and run, I can hear Georgia's drawling voice, slowly slipping away.

"What a freak!" 

 

 

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