Only Fools Fall in Love

After years of reading fanfiction, I decided to finally write one. Spencer and Ashley may seem a bit out of character, but I guess that's what an AU is all about.

Disclaimer: I don't own South of Nowhere. I got over it, and so can you.

Chapter 1

I couldn't believe it. Summer vacation was at an end. I wasn't even returning to a familiar school. No, the place where I'd spent three long years achieving my boring reputation of "smart, quiet, rich girl" was far away. My senior year would be spent at the illustrious King High. It was in the bustling metropolis of Los Angeles. How the Hell am I going to fit in? Small-town Ohio isn't exactly similar to L.A.

I pulled up to the school in my consolation prize for moving. My parents felt sorry for me, so they bought me a brand new metallic red Corvette convertible; one of the perks of having parents with money. The brick walls looked like they had seen their share of years. There were spots where graffiti obviously used to adorn the walls with pride, but were avidly scrubbed off by a janitor. Gross.

Why am I here again? Oh yeah, that's right. My mom got a job as head ER surgeon at the newest hospital in Los Angeles. L.A. Coastal Hospital will be paying her God-knows-what a year to operate on whoever gets thrown her way. What do you get when you cross a surgeon and an incredibly successful self-help book author? You get one Spencer Carlin. That's me. You also get a Glen Carlin, but he doesn't really count. He's a year older than me, and he's at Ohio State. He's playing basketball and hoping to get into the NBA. He might be a total meathead and kind of a jerk, but he's certainly talented at sports, and I love him. He's still a navy blue in a box of crayons. Let's just say that I inherited 90 percent of the family brain cells. Clay is smart, too. Like… neon yellow smart. Smarter than I am, actually, but he's not blood-related. We adopted him when he was eight. He's following in Mom's footsteps and studying pre-med at Yale.

I look at my schedule. First period, AP Statistics. Second period, AP European History. Third period, AP Spanish 5. Then I had a much needed break for lunch, thank God. With this schedule I'd need more breaks than that. Fourth period, AP Biology. Fifth period, AP English Literature. Sixth period, AP Physics. Seventh period, Music. Wait, what? What the Hell is this all about? I'm supposed to have AP Calculus BC. I guess it's true when they say to be careful what you wish for. I wished for an extra break, and I got stuck in music class.

Are they going to make me play an instrument? I hope not. Last time I played an instrument was in middle school music class. I was 13, and the only thing I could play was the crash cymbals. The teacher used to stop the class and make them all turn around to watch me. Crash! I'd see nothing but my blonde hair blowing in my face and hear nothing but my classmates' laughter. I thought it meant they liked me, but now I realize that I probably just looked stupid.

A worse thought just entered my head. What if they make me sing? That's worse than the damn crash cymbals! Me singing sounds like a drunken moose-cat hybrid with laryngitis. I'm totally not kidding either. I can't even belt out the happy birthday song. It's terrible. When I was 10, I was singing happy birthday to Glen with the rest of my family. Psychograndma, my mom's mom, gave me one of her crazy looks and told me to mouth the words if I couldn't sing like a proper little lady. I proceeded to tell her to stop spending so much money on perfume if she still ended up smelling like she bathed herself in dirty toilet water. I was so grounded. Glen was delighted, of course. Happy birthday, big brother.

Once I reminisced on my lovely musical past, I found a parking spot far away from anyone else. No one needs to be denting up my new baby with their crappy old beater. As the top of my convertible was being put up, another car had the nerve to pull up right next to mine. It was some crappy Honda from the 1980s. Don't get me wrong, I like Honda cars. They're good and reliable and all that. But seriously, this car could have been considered vintage if it was better taken care of. Besides, it was black, and probably had no AC. Smart move right there. Oh, and good luck seeing through those tinted windows, genius.

"Ah, shit." I cursed under my breath, pointlessly glaring at the other driver through my Dolce & Gabanna sunglasses. Why yes, they are real.

My car door slammed shut the same time as the black Honda's. The Corvette's door closed with a smooth 'shwoop.' The other car sounded rickety as the door hit the frame. I locked my car the second the door closed.

"What? Does my piece of shit car worry you?" A girl smirked at me. She had beautiful, wavy brown hair with long side-swept bangs dyed red. She was about two inches shorter than me; I'd guess about 5'3". The girl had a nice tan, too. And those brown eyes… Damn, I was impressed. She kept her gaze on me as she manually locked her car.

"Uh, n-no," I managed to stutter out. "Anything within ten feet of this car worries me," I said, gesturing to my Corvette for emphasis. I had to get away before I said something stupid and snobby.

She chuckled, obviously not believing me. "Yeah, well, I can't say I blame you." She looked back at my car. "I'd be paranoid too if I had a ride like that."

"Uh… Yeah." I must sound so intelligent today. She laughed again. Seriously, is "uh yeah" the best response I could come up with? Yes, yes it is. I gave her a final deer-in-headlights glance before swiftly turning on my heels to walk towards first period.

Statistics. Finally something I feel smart at today. Granted, it's been less than an hour since I got to school, but I already feel like an ass. At least I'm a smartass instead of a dumbass now that I'm in math class. Wow, that rhymed pretty well. I'm a poet and I didn't even know it. God, now I'm just a loser.