Hey guys! So I decided to start a story, written from the point of view of two different characters. Make sure you keep track of which point of view the story is in. Also, don't worry about the length of this chapter, the ones to come will by much longer. Enjoy!



"Mom, where did you put my box of books?" I shouted.

"They're in the truck already, Chase! Calm down!" my mother replied exasperatedly. God, I hate moving. This is what, the seventh time in three years? I don't know why we can't just stay put. But then again, I suppose that's not really my decision, seeing as I'm only seventeen. Not quite an adult just yet, sadly.

Anyway, I suppose I should explain the rest of my situation. My name is Chase Pearson. Clearly, I'm moving. Again. Cue sigh. We've moved quite a few times in the past few years (as previously explained), but my mom will never tell me why. This time, we're moving to New York City: The Big Apple. Whoop dee freakin' doo- not. We had just moved to this cute little town in Kansas a few months ago, and I had really liked it here. There were wide open fields, a nice warm climate, and we lived in a house that wasn't part of a ten-story building, and had a backyard, or even a yard in general. I didn't want to leave all that for some smelly, polluted city with a population of over eight million delusional freaks who actually enjoyed living in such a place. The only upside- well, not necessarily a downside- of this situation was that I wasn't leaving any friends. I never made friends after learning how often we would be moving around. But I digress.

"Hurry up Chase!" Mom huffed.

"I'm coming, I'm coming. Just give me one second." I muttered, not necessarily caring if she heard me or not.

I looked around at the house we were leaving, staring at the now dismal-looking white walls. I had really liked this one, with its large, open rooms and minimal furniture. Mom had even let me decorate my room the way I wanted to. I liked wide open spaces, and especially those I had free reign over. There had been a balcony jutting out of my room, which was great for late nights when I couldn't sleep and just wanted to look out over the huge backyard, and gaze at the stars. I would miss this place.

With that final thought, I turned around, stepped through the doorway and down the front stairs, and walked the path to the moving truck waiting at the end of the driveway.

As the truck drove away, I thought glumly of what was to await me in New York City. A new school, a new house (or in this case, apartment), a new life. Joy.


Wake up, get dressed, eat breakfast, go to school. The same routine every day. And every day, I thought about the rut I had somehow gotten myself stuck in, yet every day, I dug that rut a little deeper. Deep metaphor, I know. God, when I turn eighteen, the first thing I do will be to get out of godforsaken New York City. The streets are too crowded, the air is too polluted, the people are too stupid. It's all too much.

However, my mood for today was much better: it was the last day of school. No more schoolwork, no more getting up early, no more dealing with stupid classmates and teachers for the next two months. In other words, utter bliss.

It is for this very reason that I, Hazel Adams, have finally decided that today will be the day. Starting today, I will not do the same thing every damn day, from sunup to sundown. I will be a new person.

Yeah, probably not, but a girl can dream, right?

It was those pessimistic thoughts that led me to doing the same thing I'd been doing for the past eight or so months- getting dressed in the school's ugly-ass uniform, brushing my chestnut brown hair, quickly inhaling a strawberry poptart, grabbing my (for once, light) backpack, and hopping on the bus with a tiny bit more enthusiasm than I usually displayed, which doesn't really say much. My only consolation was the minimal support my friends, Scarlett and Whitney, provided.

"Hey Haze. You excited that it's almost summer?" Whitney prompted, ever the cheerful one. Sometimes it got a bit sickening, but she was a great friend nonetheless. Whitney was one of my closest friends; we'd known each other since we were seven. She had been on one of the swings at the local park, and all the rest had been taken. I'd really wanted one of the swings, so I pushed her off. After discovering that the seemingly devilish blonde-haired blue-eyed girl wasn't really a threat to my swing rights, we became fast friends.

"More than usual," I replied. Scarlett, beside me, snorted.

"That doesn't say much," she scoffed, putting her long black hair up into a bun that rested on the top of her head. Scarlett, even more so than me, was skeptical of anything and everything, and a natural pessimist. I had known her since seventh grade, when we were forced to be lab partners in science class. After being the first two to realize how much of a wackjob the teacher was, we decided that our original plans of ignoring each other and remaining as indifferent as possible were going to be pretty unsuccessful. We were very similar in perspective, not as much in looks. She had straight ebony hair and dark brown eyes while I had wavy (yet just as lengthy) light brown hair and hazel eyes.

On the way to school, as usual, we talked, make stupid jokes, and poked fun at people doing stupid shit in the rows in front of us. When we got to school, we basically sat around and watched movies in every class. We were finished with finals, but the dumbasses who ran the district decided we hadn't been in this hellhole long enough, henceforth deciding to tack an extra day onto the end of the year. I mean really, our school already ends later than most on the East Coast. We really didn't need this. But I suppose there's nothing I can do about it, so I'll just live through it and move on.

Anyway, I lived through the final day of school, nothing special happened. The only thing I did do differently was cheer along with the crowd of rowdy kids that threw their papers into the hallways and sprinted out the school's front doors. Scarlett and Whitney did this with me, albeit Scarlett did it a bit less enthusiastically than Whitney and I.

After parting with my friends, I began my two-mile walk back to my apartment complex. On the way, I (literally) bumped into a kid who was about my age, causing him to drop the various boxes he had in his hands. He had ebony hair the same shade as Scarlett's, and had bright blue eyes that put the summer sky to shame. Around the edge of his irises was a ring of darker blue. His eyes were captivating. On the whole, I couldn't help but notice how attractive he was, despite knowing I'd most likely never see him again. What can I say, I'm a girl; I notice these things. I also noticed how unhappy he looked, almost as if he didn't want to be there.

"Sorry," I said with an apologetic smile, helping him pick up the assortment of boxes that were now littered upon the ground nearest to us.

"No, that was my fault," he replied. After hoisting all of the boxes back up in the air, he continued walking, only to find that I had turned down the same corner. I glanced at him, he glanced at me. We kept walking along, yet neither of us said anything about the strange predicament.

Now, this is where I decided to actually live up to the unrealistic goal I had set for myself today. Every day, when I walk home, I pass the dumpster that is located on this street. Today, I made a split-second decision walking by it- I shed my backpack from my shoulders, and tossed it up and into the dumpster, grinning. It was the last day of school, may as well celebrate it by getting rid of the last thing tying me to that stupid place.

It probably shouldn't have given me such a feeling of triumph, but I was just glad to have done something I wouldn't normally do.

Dare I say it, I felt… rebellious.

Wow, I'm stupid.

The attractive guy I was walking alongside of looked over at me with an amused expression on his face.

"Heh, um, sorry," I said. "I don't usually do things like that. Is that weird?"

"I don't think so," he replied, chuckling. I'm Chase," he said, sticking out a hand. I struggled to reciprocate his handshake, as we were still moving.

"Hazel," I murmured.

He gave me another entertained look. "You're an interesting one," he commented, after seeing my struggle to shake his hand.

I wasn't sure if that was a good thing, but I went with my gut feeling, something I found myself doing more and more of today. "Thank you," I mumbled with a shy smile.