Yay, I'm back to writing again! Hooray for being productive! . . . not. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this so far.

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- Prologue -

Shimmering blonde hair, beautiful blue eyes, straight 'A' student, some might say brilliant, and a cheerleader too; she even had a car. This girl had it all except for one thing: friends. Not just those fair-weather kinds that you come across in everyday life, but the real friends that you can hang with no matter what's going down in your hood. The only real friends she had were the Harry Potter books she read and re-read when she was all alone and no one was watching.

She was a sophomore, going to an average school, in an average city, in an even more average state. That school was North East High School, a run-down, ramshackle facility with even more run-down staff. This wasn't to say that it was a terrible institution, but it was practically falling apart at the seams. Some of the roofing was caving in, in fact.

So, you're probably wondering, why does this otherwise stunning girl have any friends? It could be that she just isn't cut out to be with the in crowd, as most cheerleaders and jocks tend to be, or it could be that she's just antisocial. One or the other, the simple fact is that highschool is hard on everyone, regardless of how long you've been wearing those grassy-green braces of yours.

This is the story of a would-be princess in an unforgiving world. Whether you choose to take any meaning from it or not is your choice. Her name is Katie, and she is beautiful, even in her flaws, if only someone would notice.

- Chapter One -

It was a sunny day, Friday, the same day that North East was having it's home-coming and peprallies, one for the highschool and another for the elementary. It was sixth period already, only thirty minutes or so before the cheerleaders, band, and football players would have to get their equipment and head to the 'game' gym, which was a considerable distance from most of the normal classrooms and hallways. In fact, the only ones near it were the band hall, which was conveniently connected to the gym, and Coach Truman's Technology Discovery, on the adjacent hallway, along with the ISS room, on the same hall.

Katie, being a cheerleader, and one of the ones with any work ethic at all, was charged with setting up the home-coming arch, flowers and whatnot. Of course, this meant that she had to go all the way to the cheerleading coach, Mrs. Clarke's room a good twenty minutes before everyone else did to pick up all the goodies and cart them off to the gym. It was a big job to do, but it still had to be done. Katie, followed by Alana and Sam, briskly walked through the cramped, gum encrusted breezeway that led to Mrs. Clarke's hallway, took a right, opened the door, and slipped in. Her room was the first door on the right, so getting to it and getting inside was no problem.

When the trio stepped into the classroom and glanced around for a moment, searching for Mrs. Clarke's head of messy brown hair and the crow-like nose they'd grown so used to being faced with, Alana and Sam realized that she wasn't present. Katie, oblivious to the fact that the other two were already going for their cheerleading gear, could feel eyes on her. Scanning the rather small room as she walked further into it, she managed to stub her toe on the desk of a freshman and practically fell onto the desk. The class roared with laughter before being screamed at by the desk's occupant, who threatened to have them all written up by the teacher, who just happened to be unaccounted for.

The students quietened themselves, but nevertheless still snickered; Katie didn't dare move, she was mortified, as the previously mentioned desk's occupant, a girl, asked, "You okay?"

Katie looked up, still splayed across the desk, not expecting that response to come from this particular girl. It was the same kid that Mrs. Clarke always talked about at cheerleading practice, the one that never payed attention to anything, was to smart for her own good, never studied, never cared about anything, was always getting into trouble, always had something to say, and was generally just a troublemaker and a bad influence on everyone, and an extraordinarily rebelious one at that. Her mouth hung slightly open. She couldn't remember the girl's name, but felt like she'd once been a friend of hers somewhere along the line. She furrowed her brow, trying to remember. This was exceptionally hard to do, given the fact that her head was six inches from being buried in a girl's chest.

Watching the girl in thought, the spike-haired teen quirked an eyebrow, opening her mouth, then shutting it again, deciding to wait on her response, all the while conscious of the eyes darting back and forth from her and Katie, the girl with the worst luck in the world.

She'd known of Katie's existence since sixth grade or so, when the girl had made Student Council President at the middle school; she'd made it twice in a row, in fact. Because of this, the teen had always thought ill of her, mainly because her only opponent in both elections was a slightly chubby girl, Ashley Sweringen. Of course, thanks to her brilliant speech, followed by a series of roars and name chanting from the crowd, Katie won by a landslide both of the years she was eligible, much to the detriment of the other poor girl, whom the boyish teen had voted for out of pity because her speech was so pathetic.

She'd always thought of Katie as an insane, pencil pushing whackjob that sucked up to get whatever she wanted, despite the fact that she was pretty and all. Through the years though, that stereotype that she'd developed of Katie started to wear away, bit by bit, as the things she heard and the things she saw for herself were slowly sorting themselves out in her head.

By the time Katie was just getting deep into thought, Mrs. Clarke had burst into the room, screeching, "Andrea, stop torturing my cheerleaders! What did you do to her?! Juvenile delinquent! That's it, go to ISS!" Before her tirade continued further, she was interrupted, fortunately.

"But I didn't do anything!" The spike-haired girl, Andrea protested.

Mrs. Clarke stopped reaching for a dicipline form and planted a hand on the hip of her bluejean skirt; she loved a good debate. "Oh really?" She huffed, "Well, care to let someone explain this?" She gestured to the people in the classroom.

Andrea shrugged and said, "Why not? They're all going to tell you the same exact thing."

"Okay then," the teacher said, pointing, "You, Alana, explain what this . . monstrosity is doing with one of YOU sprawled on its desk."

Alana, the shortest of the trio that had entered the room cleared her throat and brushed a strand of blonde hair from her face before speaking jerkily. Her answer was simple and inarticulate. "Um . . well, she kinda just fell over and . . yeah."

Mrs. Clarke glared at the girl, expecting her to elaborate. When she didn't, she moved on. "Well," she said, "If no one is going to tell the truth then I suppose I'm just going to have to write some people up then. I told you all, I'm not in the mood for games!"

"She's not joking," Sam said, shaking her head vigorously, her curly blonde ponytail slapping at her ears as she did so.

"Is this true class?" Mrs. Clarke asked, beginning to give in.

The class nodded out of fear, not wanting to anger the beast of an English teacher they were forced to have for their English I class.

"Very well then. Cheerleaders, get your things and head to the gym, and you, you go to your little band hall. I'm tired of putting up with you."

"Thank you!" Andrea said out of pure arrogance. She was eager to be out of that demon of a teacher's domain. She picked up her things that had been knocked on the floor and shoved them unceremoniously into her folder, shoving it into her black messenger bag and throwing it over her shoulder. She filed out after the cheerleaders, padding behind them softly in her polkadotted One Star hot-bottoms.

Katie lagged behind Alana and Sam, carrying a wreath and a few ribbons, as opposed to the heavy load that the other two had on their shoulders. The others carried halves of the home-coming arch, carrying it over their shoulder as if it were a sack of potatoes.

- TO BE CONTIUED

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I'm not finished with this yet. School, curfews, and homework are hell. I rarely have much time to write, or finish anything that I start, if you'll notice. This is why. Leave me your comments!