The New Girl

Abby Miller is just getting over the death of her mom when she is shipped to live with her aunt Rebecca, an overprotective worrywart with a son not much older than Abby.

Abby is unsure of the new unfamiliar town and it's strange people. But, the people are just as unsure about Abby's strange style and personality. As she becomes accepted into their world, Abby is very cautious not to dive in headfirst.

She has been hurt enough times in her life to realize that all good things must come to an end. Will she let herself be immersed by the lives of those here? As Abby comes to meet some truly amazing people, she realizes that hurt isn't something that just one person has to deal with, it's something that is prominent in everyone's life.


9. Scarlett's Point of View

I woke up the next morning, completely hungover. My head pounded and my throat was dry and scratchy. I looked into the mirror. My hair was fanned around my flushed cheeks, and my eyeliner dripped down into my dark eye sockets. Lipstick was smeared all over my chin and lips and my breath smelled like booze and limes. Last night, I had called my best friend Jack when I realized that Louise had left, probably because of Owen. He drove me home and carried me into my room.

I went downstairs, knotting my hair into a tight ponytail. I tried to wipe most of my makeup off but I knew it still remained by the way my grandmother stared at me severely.

Before my parents died, they were blissfully in love. My dad would steal kisses from my mom, sweep her off her feet, and come home with presents for her. He would wait on her hand and foot and sing to her about how beautiful she was. And he was right about that.

She was exotic and flawless, but somehow icy and mysterious. All the pictures we had of her showed a woman with a warm fresh smile and shiny black hair, straight as a pin, forest green eyes, and olive skin. I had somehow inherited my father’s wild curls, ice blue eyes, and pale creamy skin.  I had her hair color though: black as night.

But to me, she was Luca. When I was little, I hated the letter “m.” So, one day, I started calling her “LOO- CAH.” I would shout it at her from all corners of the house and she would tip back her head and laugh her clear beautiful laugh. From then on, I would call her that.

When I was eleven, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. The doctors performed chemo after chemo treatment, but after a while, her hair lost its glamorous shine, and started to fall out; strand by strand, piece by piece. Her cheeks caved in, revealing her severely high cheekbones. Her lips looked too prominent as they stretched across her waxy skin. Seven months after she was diagnosed, she passed away. The doctors said they would make sure she wasn’t in pain. But I saw the way she clenched the sheets as they jabbed her with needles and tubes, tears streaming down her face.

I knew she was in pain.

Shortly after, my dad couldn’t take the pain of not being with her, and I came home from school one day to find him passed out on the bathroom floor, a bottle of pills in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other. But I realized after a moment that he wasn’t passed out. He was dead. I was the one who had to call the police, screaming for someone to help me.

So grandmother Victoria moved in. She is my mother’s prim and elegant mother. She wears her gray brown hair swept into a soft twist, she speaks fluent French, is rail thin, and believes all ladies need class and manners to get far in life. I watched her purse her lips obviously, glancing me up and down and I knew that she disapproved. She sipped her tea and I watched her diamond tennis bracelet glide down her bony wrist.

“Scarlett. Oh dear Scarlett. Go get cleaned up and dressed. We are going to brunch with Laurel and Jeremy.” She said and took another sip.

My head pounded in my ears. I squeezed my eyes shut tight. “No grandma, I don’t think I will. I don’t feel good. But thanks for the invite.” I went to walk upstairs but she cleared her throat and I spun around.

“I wasn’t a question dear. Now go. Or there will be consequences.” She said sweetly but sternly.

I sighed and marched upstairs obediently. I spun the shower knobs until the room became steamy and let fog dance across the mirror, obscuring my vision.



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