Author: Snowhite PM
It started off really innocent then somehow spiraled out of control. He was the catalyst.[COMPLETE!]Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Humor - Chapters: 23 - Words: 52,071 - Reviews: 310 - Favs: 123 - Follows: 37 - Updated: 02-19-07 - Published: 01-18-06 - Status: Complete - id: 2093053
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Chapter 1: Mood Rings
Mood rings. They weirdest piece of jewelry I have ever seen, seriously. I mean, who could have invented something that actually shows someone's mood. Usually you can find them in those crappy twenty-five cent vending machines that usually break if you jam the quarter in wrong. Or you can find them in Brass Plum, selling for three dollars a piece. Either way, I never really believed that mood rings actually worked. I still don't, for that matter.
But I do know how they would work (if they did, I mean). The different colors would represent different moods. Blue is happy. I mean, I don't see why blue would be happy. Why not red? Or green? Well, blue is happy. Red is anger. I know this emotions often. (It's not my fault I'm short tempered…) And…green is jealousy. I understand why this would be that color. I mean, doesn't green practically symbolize jealousy? Well, I suppose it makes sense. And then there's black. Depression. Sadness. Regret. I completely understand this emotion. Not saying that I'm depressed or a cutter or anything, but you know, I get sad once in awhile.
But the most important one is purple. I bet YOU don't know what purple means. Aha! See, I told you! I know what it means though. I feel like I should be doing this happy dance. Hmm…no, I'll save that for later, yea? Oh yes, back to purple. Well, purple means love. (Hah! I told you that you wouldn't get it!) My mood ring has never been purple. I know, sad, isn't it? I mean, you're reading this thinking, okay, why is she going on and on about mood rings? Mood rings, even if I don't believe in them, mean a lot to me.
My father had cancer. Now, don't get all, "Aw! Let's give the fatherless little girl some sympathy because she has no father." …let's pretend that made sense. Okay, to tell you the truth, I hardly knew my father. He went on business every weekend, to China, actually. And he stayed at the office until five, where I was either doing my home work (psh…) or hanging out with my friends. I never really knew my father. But he did give me a mood ring. He said he bought it when he was a kid to give to my mom. Apparently it won her heart and it turned purple. It's been their romantic symbol ever since. And he just happened it give it to me before he died.
Ugh, as I said before, no sympathy. I mean, I hardly have any sympathy for myself. Then again, you probably don't even feel any sympathy anyway, right?
Moving on. I didn't know a mood ring could change my life. Seriously, I hardly thought something so miniscule could alter my life so drastically. But it could. That little ring that hung around my neck on a silver chain had the power to change my life. Woo, big job, yes?
Well, let's forget about that for awhile. Now, juicy details! Hah, juicy. My name is Delilah. I know, what a retarded name. I think it suits me though. I like that name. Maybe it's because I'm so accustomed to it. …Moving on from my name. My appearance? Okay, I'm kind of tall. I guess. 5'6", I think that's tall. With brown hair. People say it's, "A deep, forest brown." I mean, what the heck is "a deep forest brown"? Apparently my hair color. And I have blue-grey eyes. I wish I could tell you I had, "stunning electric blue eyes" but I can't. They're a dull, grey blue. Nothing special, seriously. So…that's me. And another thing. I'm not a girly girl. I wear jeans and a t shirt. I'm not one of the girls in the stories that wear baggy clothes and sweats, and suddenly when I change and get a make over I'm gorgeous. And no, I'm not one of those slut girls that wear ridiculously short skirts that hike up their butts. No, I'm one of those normal, average, boring, band t-shirt wearing, ripped jeans kind of girl.
Now that you've got the gist of me, how about my school? Well, it's Will Rogers High. I'm a junior. Not a freshman (that year is a whole other story entirely). And it's your average school. Kind of big. Lot's of kids. (Is it just me, or did that rhyme?) We've got your jocks. You know, they aren't that brainless as people make them out to be. They can hold a steady C average. But the girls. I must say, the preppy, bitchy, disgustingly pink girls are what they say. The slut outfits, the bitchy attitudes, and you know, the brainlessness to go along with it. Then they're the Asians. I know I'm being stereotypical here, but all of the Asians here are super smart. I mean, of course they're nice. But man are they smart. There's my group of friends. The normal people (to me, at least). We wear band t-shirts (hah, it's great), ripped jeans (just the girls, guys in general wear baggy clothes) and listen to alternative music. Not emo, punk, or gothic. Oh no, those are a whole other category. The Goths. (Seriously, swoon here). James Montgomery. The hottest guy, ever. Straight black hair, blue eyes, tall and totally gothic. I love it. And I don't talk to him, I could though. But anyways. The gothic kids. Nice to anyone who talks to them, unless they are together. Which they form this huge mean group of people that mock you to death. Not a pleasant experience.
Well, my best friend is Hana. A small Asian girl around 5'4". She's pretty, though. And is one exception to the whole, "Asians are smart" rule. But, she's an amazing person. She is hilarious, you should hear her talk. Oh, right. I should begin my story.
I heard a faint buzzing coming from next to my head. I groaned and rolled over. It was six o'clock, and time to get up for school. I slammed the snooze button down and rolled over again to stare at my white ceiling. Another day at school. I was jumping for joy. (Note the sarcasm.) I peeled the covers off of me, revealing my white and blue pajamas. Frowning, I shut off the alarm and headed toward my…um, floor. Not closet. I picked up a pair of ripped jeans (I'm telling you, they're my life. Those and my pirate pants.. I'll explain later.) and a Plain White T's shirt. Nodding to myself, I threw them on, shivering from the cold morning.
Sighing, I made my way downstairs. I'd have to do my English during Spanish, my math during History and I think I'm done with my science. Woo, okay. I grabbed a muffin and frowned. My mom was still not up.
"Why me?" I sighed to myself, picked up my backpack from the floor and the keys from the rack.
I got to school and saw Hana talking to our friend Andrew. I smiled to myself, Andrew was just my awesome friend. He was tall, probably six feet something, with shaggy blonde hair and blue eyes. He could be popular, if he wasn't such a sweetheart. He smiled and gave me a thumbs up. (Who knows why?)
"Hey guys," I said, readjusting my backpack on my shoulders. Hana beamed at me, and Andrew nodded.
"Hey," Hana said, turning to me, "Want to come over tonight?" I shrugged. Why not.
"Sure," I looked over at Andrew, "You coming?" He mimicked my shrug with a small smile.
"Maybe." I nodded. I actually had a crush on Andrew, (we call him Drew), and the last fading feelings were still there. He's just one of those guys that even if you don't like him, and he asked you out, you'd go out with him in a heart beat.
I was about to make my way inside when I felt a hard shove from behind me, my open backpack spilling the contents of the inside.
"Shit," I cursed, bending down and trying to avoid being stepped on by the heards of people that were just going after the bell. I looked up, and blinked back at a pair of blue eyes. They were twinkling softly, but had guilt in them. I was very good at reading people, which is really weird, because I can never decipher what I'm feeling.
"I'm sorry," James said (remember!? The utterly hot guy that I secretly think is utterly hot!?), "That was my fault. My friend Scott pushed me and…" He trailed off, picking up my books from the floor.
"No problem," I told him softly, "My fault for leaving my backpack open." He just smiled at me, helping me up. I touched his hand. I! TOUCHED! HIS! HAND! Woo, okay, happy day.
"I'll see you later…" He trailed off, I think he didn't know my name.
"I'm Delilah." I told him, shrugging my backpack onto my shoulder. He beamed.
"I'll see you later Delilah." And with that, he turned off. I really didn't know that that promise was actually a promise, and that his presence would mean more the me then anything.