The Shots Rang Out

Sorry it took so long to get this out guys- I'm so sorry! Hope y'all enjoy it. I changed the title by the way.

Chapter 1

Poppy- The Prep

by: Darsha
All the make-up in the world couldn't cover up who I'm trying to hide. So I just smile, and try my best to be someone pretty. "Pretty", such bland word. Just the feel of it on your tongue gives off a vibe of falsity. I ignore it and continue with my day.

"Good morning Poppy," says a familiar voice. It's my brother. He's unbearably cheery in the morning. I groan. "Honestly, one would think you'd be ready by now."

Yeah, I probably should be. I throw on my skinny jeans, UG boots(they cost a fortune but I needed them, I really did. Everyone else was wearing them.), an areopostal shirt, and a pink scarf. The shirt hugs my waist. My brother frowns when he sees it, and tells me that I should "try a different look". Whatever. He's not my dad. He can't tell me what to do. I go about curling my hair. It needs to look pretty. Not for me, but for my boyfriend Maxwell. Once it's curled, I throw it up is a bun, with a few strands, gently curled, hanging down, and neatly framing my face. After a good half hour of applying make-up, just the basics since I don't have much time today- eye-liner, foundation, mascara, blush, eye shadow, and lip gloss.

"Morning mom," I say as I head down the stairs. She's drinking coffee, and reading over some papers. She's always busy on some sort of law suit, and is rarely ever home. It's just me and my brother most of the time.

"Morning Poppy," she yawns without looking up. I look a lot like her actually. Small form, thin, honey colored hair, and teal eyes. When I was little my dad invented the nickname "Mini Merri" since I am merely a smaller version of her. It caught on to close friends, but they all stopped calling me that the daty my dad left. I guess they don't want to bring up painful memories of him- but whatever, I don't

My brother, Owen, drives the car to school. I have my permit but he doesn't trust me in the snowy weather. My boyfriend, Maxwell is waiting for me in the lobby of the school. The walls are a sterile white. Honestly- it looks like a hospital here. You'd think someone would have had the idea of painting it already. You could mistake the school for an insane asylum or something.

The fist thing Maxwell does is call my name, and take my hand. What I really want is for him to kiss me. To remind me that I'm pretty, and worth something. Owen frowns- I really hate the way he disapproves of Maxwell. Owen puts his arm about my waist, and mutters something about PDA, and taking me to the library to get hot chocolate. I wink and bat my eyelashes at Maxwell. He reminds me about our date after school as we make our way to the library leaving Owen to fend for himself.

As we head down the hallway we hear a loud giggle, and a girl's voice cry "Adam", near the music room. I know who it is. Out of the instrument storage room emerge Indi, and Adam. They've been dating what- two? Three year now? In Indi's left hand hand is a Clarinet case (she must be learning another instrument, sometimes I wonder if she plays a zillion) and Adam is holding her right hand. They are smiling and giggling nauseatingly. I've always admired the way Indi is so friendly, and sarcastic. And she's pretty too, with her dark hair in ringlets , spilling out from her very French-style hat. Every day I wish I had her looks. Maybe then Maxwell would love me more.

The library is near the music room, which is where Maxwell and I are headed. There is hot chocolate there for a dollar every Tuesday. Personally, I like the way the books are over crowded and unkempt, piled up in messy stacks. They have a huge psychology section, which is an area of interest for me, but you wouldn't catch me there on a daily basis. I don't want to be thought of as a nerd.

I see Trixi, her nose in yet another book. In fact she's surrounded by books. I've known her since the seventh grade. Whenever I need to remind myself that I'm pretty or skinny, I think of how Trixi is not. I let her know too. Whenever I need a reminder of how amazing I am or should at least appear to be, I let her know.

"Hey Trixi," i sneer.

"Hey Poppy" she says in a shaky voice, hiding behind a book, her chubby hands fidgeting.

"have you made any friends yet," I smirk, i need to remember how popular i am, "'Oh wait, that's not your area of expertise, cosidering your status..."

I giggle. She places the book down an stares at me.

"What- you know people who chose the company of books to the company of people, like, per say.. are quite rude."

"Ummm," she says fidgeting and her eyes darting about the room, "A true friend is a rare find."

"Haha- good one, but girls like you.... one with a little more weight, and less social skills won't make it in the real world." i say as if offering advice, "Only i the wold of stories."

Her eyes are glassy- even they are chubby, her frizzy brown hair pulled sharply back contribute to her strong figure. The strong figure who looks like they are about to break down. If I'm strong enough to break her down- then i can do anything.

A large hand rests on my shoulders. It's not Maxwell. It's Owen. He looks disappointed in me- angry maybe. I can't imagine why.

"Poppy, i need to talk to you." he says and without my consent, leads me into a small alcove of books. "What are you doing?" he asks intently.

"Talking to Trixi- what does it look like?" I sas back.

"It didn't sound like a casual conversation to me."

"It's a mutual joke, Owen," I snap, "We laugh over it."

That's not a complete lie. When i used to taunt her about her name; calling out "No Trixi! rix is for kids!'' she'd laugh meekly along with me, as if she was trying to shake off social awkwardness. But that was all the way back in the seventh grade.

"Uh-huh" he nods. I'm tired of my brother playing grown-up on me. He's a senior, and I'm sixteen. I don't need this. I break away from his grasp, and storm away, glaring at Trixi before i go.

I head to psycology, the nly class I don't have with my friends. It's also the only class where I try. Where I can truely be myself, because no one can call me a nerd. It realy does interest me.

Then I friends and we gab about hair and clothes until the bell rings.

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