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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5. "Is your name Lucy-Rose?.."

I was always the last one on the bus. The one no-one wanted to sit next to, talk to, have anything to do with. I had to find the last seat, next to a weirdo, or someone that wouldn't move their bag for me. Everyone had heard that story, so everyone thought I was going to murder them or something. 

Except him. 

I walked, slowly, up the aisle of the bus. Why did I feel so wobbly? My knees were weak and threatened to give way underneath me, but I shook my head. Must keep walking. Ed was there, a few seats back from the front, with his mate Max. I turned my head away as I passed. 

It was almost hopeless, getting a seat. One girl just laughed. 

"Ha, you can jog on if you think you're sitting next to me!" 

She didn't even know me. 

I carried on, stumbling over outstretched feet, slipping on the wet ground. I passed faces full of hatred. The first time I had got on the bus, after the accident,  I had cried. Now, I was used to it. On the outside. I carried on walking, scanning faces, until there was a spare seat next to him. I didn't recognize his floppy dark hair or tired eyes. Which meant he didn't recognize me. 

"Hey, can I-" I started, my voice barely audible. He looked up, and gave a half smile. Moved his bag onto the floor. 

"Sure." 

I sidled in, grateful - there were remarks made around me but I ignored them. I put my bag beside me, and got out my phone, but I could only look at him. I was probably staring for too long as is acceptable, but he was so intriguing. His eyes - they were a beautiful deep brown, but underneath them were deep hollows where his skin clung to his cheekbones. He had cute, floppy hair but he seemed to be using it simply to disguise something, there on his forehead. I couldn't make out what it was. My eyes moved to his lips. A white scar line went through them, prominent against the deep red. 

Who was this guy? 

He smirked. I'd been looking for far too long. I retreated, blushing. Shit. He noticed. 

A cute, low laugh emerged from him. 

"Take a picture, it lasts longer!" 

His voice was so husky and warm. I blushed harder. 

"Oh, I... I'm sorry. It's just-" 

Then, he grinned. My knees buckled, and my stomach turned. Oh my god. He wasn't even that good looking. Geez Lucy, grow up.

"It's okay, I'm new. S'probably why you don't recognize me." He paused, waiting for a reaction. I just stared. He continued. "I used to go to Chester's Boys School."

Oh, great. He's a private school kid.

"Ah. Okay. Why did you move to state school?" I frowned, my voice quiet and soft. He shrugged. 

"Meh, it's complicated. My Dad stopped sending money. And these other guys, they..." Trailing off, his face creased up in a sort of pain. Subconsciously, his finger traced over the white scar line on his lips. "Well, yeah. I didn't really get on with them."

He didn't have a posh voice at all. It had a slight Irish lilt to it, but nothing strong. I wanted him to keep talking, but he stared at me from under his fringe, looking for a reply. 

"Oh.. right." I murmured. There was a long pause. 

He suddenly lent in closer. I held my breath. 

"Is your name Lucy-Rose Parker?" Suddenly, an urgent voice. He was whispering, so no-one but me could hear. 

"Yes." My heart started thumping, "What is it?" 

He put a finger to his lips to notion that I should be silent, and he pointed through the gap in the seats to where two girls were looking at a mobile. I expected the worst, but the page that was up was the exact same page I looked at every morning, the picture of me with a cross through it at the top. The title 'We Hate Lucy-Rose Parker'. I looked to him. 

"Oh, it's okay. I know about it." 

His eyes widened, but he said nothing. 

My hand moved to grab my bag. We were almost at school. 

"Hey, where'd you get those scars from?" Came the gentle lilt. 

I blushed vigorously, pulling down my blazer sleeves, mumbling incoherently. 

"Oh, they're nothing... nothing..." 

And I legged it off the bus.

 

 

 

 

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