Author's Notes of Glitter and Spiffiness, Volume One: I despise being new to these types of things. I feel so out of the loop, and that drives me crazy. I'm not new to writing, no… that would be horrific for you poor nonexistent readers. Rather, just new to here. So be nice and don't bite.

Author's Notes on the Story: This story contains offensive topics, such as self abuse, anorexia, general depression, teenage angst, mild mental problems, English writing assignments, homosexual relationships, girls that watch porn, rain, bad grades, and other discussion points that may cause you to flame me. But don't. I probably hate you enough as it is.

Also, each chapter will have my current song muse at the beginning. If you don't like my music, I don't care. Begin!

"Honestly" by Cartel

Please don't mind what I'm trying to say
because I'm, I'm being honest
When I tell you that you
you're part of the reason I'm so set on the rest of my life
being a part of you
You tell me what you think about being open,
about being honest with yourself.
'Cause things will never be the same.
So I guess I'll see you, I'll see you around
I'm spinning while I'm falling down
Now you know why I'm begging you to stay.

I've always hated my name. I realize a majority of people say this, but I think I have a better reason than ninety-nine percent of them. My name in general is okay, it's just when people discover my initials that everything goes wrong.

Keegan Oliver Oakley-Kearn is my full name. Yes, it does spell "kook". Luckily, most people don't bother enough to figure out my full name. To most authority figures, it's "Keegan Kearn", to my classmates it's "Keegan", and to everyone else in the town of Reedsburg (which might as well be the world, since I'll never get out of this place), it's "out of the way, kid".

I'm not sure what my story is going to be about, but then again, I don't think anyone really knows. I'm just going to write it as it goes, no editing, no backspacing. My guidance counselor gave me the idea. She told our class once that writing down your thoughts and feelings was a good way to release stress. I figure it could also help me understand myself a little bit better. Maybe it's worth a shot.

"Wake up!" my mother's voice screeched from the room across the hall. Blearily, I opened my eyes, a strange, obnoxious noise filtering into my ears. Over, and over, and over it rang. It took me a few shakes of my head to come to my senses and realize my alarm clock had been going off for the past five minutes. I quickly turned it off, pausing and holding my breath. I was lucky though. My mother had fallen back asleep and I wouldn't be screamed at before my first day at a new school.

I've lived in Reedsburg my entire life, but I've never attended their school. Until recently, I went to a boarding school up north so that my parents didn't have to deal with me. I was only everhome for summer holidays and even then I didn't spend time with any of the neighborhood kids. In fact, mostly I was by myself. My parents were always working or at fantastic parties with cocktail dresses and bowties. Last year, however, my dad got into a plane crash and my mother moved us into a different, smaller house. She quit her job and took me out of the boarding school. We've been around each other a lot since it happened, but we don't ever say anything. When we do, it's probably because I did something wrong and she's telling me off for it. I think she hates me.

I know what you're saying. Why would my mother hate me? I think it's because I didn't cry at my father's funeral. And don't get me wrong, I feel bad about it… but how do you cry over someone you never knew?

I pull off my pajamas and search through the drawers of my dresser for something to wear on the first day. I'm not sure what to put on, I've never been to public school before. Even worse was the fact that I was in those awkward high school years, tenth grade to be exact. I had never had any friends, not even at my boarding school. No, I'm pretty much a loner all around, but I hoped maybe a new school and a fresh start would change all that. I'd like some friends… despite everything, I think I really would.

I pulled out a plain, white button-down. I figured it was okay. Not too different, and that was good, right? A lot of kids don't like different. I put my arms through the sleeves, and was ready to button it up, but instead I turned to the mirror next to me. I dropped my arms to my sides and scrunched my nose. I was so disgusting.

I'm kind of short, only about 5'5" and I'm very pale. On some people, pale works I guess. But not on me. I just look sickly. My hair is scraggly and boring, it's black and lays flat on my head, in front of my eyes. I'm too lazy to get it cut. Speaking of my eyes, they couldn't be more dull. They're a light brown color, very plain with nothing special about them. People are supposed to have special eyes because they're the windows to your soul or something along those lines. I don't. I just have ugly, brown dots of color in my head.

I pulled at the skin that came off my stomach. I needed to lose weight. I was really gross looking. I didn't expect anyone to see me anytime soon without my shirt on, but that didn't mean I couldn't afford to shave off that extra poundage. I sighed. One-hundred and twenty pounds.

Finally, I had managed to get dressed, finishing my little clean-cut look off with a pair of khaki shorts and some sneakers. I rushed out of the house, afraid of being late as I slung my book bag over my shoulder and practically ran towards the school building. My mother had moved us only a few blocks away.

I approached the building and slowed down, breathing out puffs of air, my face flushed. As I saw all the unfamiliar kids standing around in groups, I dropped my head to stare at my shoes. For some reason, it felt like all their eyes were on me, staring and making assumptions. Even though I knew it was hardly true because I'm not one to stand out, I felt like I was being scrutinized by hundreds of disdainful eyes that were so much more special than my own.

As if this wasn't enough, I suddenly felt myself smack into something. At first, I believed it might've been a wall. But then, I knew it couldn't be. It was far too squishy and warm to be a wall.

"Whoa!" it said, backing up from my intruding form. I stared up at whatever I had so rudely slammed into. I was looking into the face of another boy. As soon as I realized the opposite force was another person, the flush on my face was filled with a scarlet blush and my eyes fell once more to my feet.

"I…I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to run into you, it's just I wasn't paying attention because I was looking at my shoes because I'm new and I don't know anyone, so I figured it wouldn't be polite to look at them, because what if they don't like strange kids looking at them? I didn't want to be rude to anyone, but then I ran into you because I was trying not to be rude, so really I was rude anyway, and I--" I rambled out what I hoped to be a good apology, but my distress at running into this public schoolboy was obvious. He cut me off with a wave of his hand and a hearty laugh. I liked his laugh. It came from his stomach.

"It's okay, kid!" he said, ruffling my hair. This annoyed me a little bit. Kid? He looked like he was just as old as I was. Granted, he was taller, better looking, and probably had a million friends… but still. Kid? I didn't voice this aloud, though. I merely nodded at the ground. "So what's your name?" he said, the joy that was present in his laugh tracing the lines of his voice. I was getting a good look at him without actually looking at him. You could just tell things about this guy by hearing his voice. It was deep, but it had a happiness to it. It was almost bouncy, if I dared venture there.

"Keegan," I murmured, my own voice paling in comparison to this boy's. My voice was just as dull as everything else about me. "It's Keegan."

"Well, pleasure to meet you Keegan! I'm Nehemiah," he said in that voice of his. He stuck a tanned hand into my vision and I gently grasped it in my own, shaking it lightly. He had calluses on his fingers. How gross. As I shook his hand, I worked up the nerve to look up at him. I hid my shock pretty well, but I'm sure he caught something on my face, as he smiled at me.

His hair was green. Green. They would've never allowed him to step foot into my old school. It hung down to his ears, brushed out in layers. He wore thin rimmed glasses over his light blue eyes and, like I mentioned earlier, he had a natural tan that graced his features. He wore a form-fitting black t-shirt, surrounded by a tan jacket that was covered in various pockets and buttons of all shapes and colors. He had on dark jeans, black Converses, and what I believed to be golfer gloves. He had little blue stars painted on his fingernails.

"I like your fingernails," I said, my eyes traveling back to his grinning face.

"Thanks," he said cheerfully. "I'm pretty fond of them myself. So you're new here, right? Come with me." He grabbed my arm and tugged me towards the entrance of the school. Nehemiah seemed like he was just as much a character as his appearance suggested. I went about this cautiously. I wasn't used to people, especially not people like Nehemiah. He made me nervous and uneasy.

But, when I thought about it, maybe it was a good thing. After all, I didn't want to go about this new school alone, and maybe, just maybe, Nehemiah would want another friend.