Hello my fellow readers! Before you start reading, I have to tell you that this story has only nine chapters (nine old chapters to be precise). I will not be updating this story for a while; my focus is on my other story: Waiting for Amber Skyy. But don't fret! If you do read these chapters and want to see more, don't worry! I am in the process of rewriting this story more in the style/format of Twilight (but of course with my seasoning to it). Once I get the ball rolling on my other story, finish it, or get stuck on the worst writer's block ever, I'll start updating the chapters for this story!

My mind swirled around the concept of the strange letters mixing and combining with the numbers like a pot of soup; all of the ingredients were there, already combined, but you didn't know what the outcome would be. I blinked at the ingredients and scratched the base of my neck where my oddly shaped scar is. It trailed up and down two inches of my collar bone, and curved in towards my neck a bit with pointed ends. I was born with it, so it was more of a permanent birth mark in the shape of a scar.

I twirled my pencil in my hands and gripped the page of the complicated book a bit tighter, frustration boiling within me. I could feel the wiring in my mind working, twisting, attempting to find the right connection that would lead me to the answer... but instead my instincts took over. My book was across the room, homework erupting from the pages, and the deafening sound of it colliding against the wall rang throughout the one story house. The sound didn't affect me, but I knew who it would affect. I turned my head, pulling on my red hair, and slammed it against the wooden desk, over, and over again. I hated it. All of the utter yet vital nonsense that book contained was too much for me. Actually, the other books stacked on my desk were in that same category as well. "It's utter yet vital nonsense, that's all it is. I hate it. I wish it would go burn in a volcano," I muttered to myself as my aunt came sprinting in. Her strangely patterned bell bottom jeans hung and swayed around her ankles. A frayed white tank top hugged her waist, the brown and soft red lace emphasized its authenticity.

"Alaina, what's wrong sweetie? I heard you throw your book!" she glanced towards the spiteful Calculus book sprawled out on the floor next to the wall. I looked into her chocolate frosted eyes filled with worry. I stared down at my lap then turned around again, slamming my head against the table once more. I was starting to get a headache, but it looked like the table already had dents from my forehead. Hands gripped my shoulders and turned me to look at her again.

"Alaina! Stop! You're going to hurt yourself!" she glanced at the table and frowned. "...andthe table!" I couldn't help myself; I was so upset that none of it was making sense. Well... I would've been able to understand it if it all wasn't in Spanish. There was only one prestigious school in Mexico that I knew of; and it just happened to be filled with all Mexicans who were stuck-up know-it-alls who teased me on how poorly my Spanish was. I was the only white kid in school, and many people bullied me because of it.

"Alaina," her stern voice said. I didn't dare to look into her chocolate eyes; she always had that worrisome look that inclined me to confess everything to her. So I blurted out, "It's stupid, hard, confusing crap! I can't understand anything on what it freaking says about algebra and certain words don't make sense and the kids at school vandalize my books and tear out pages and push me and shove me and I just can't handle it anymore!" I slammed my head down on my desk and started to cry. I rarely cried, but something like this, something I've studied so hard to learn and told myself to fight, caused the waterfall to come. I buried my face in my arms, sniffing and sobbing while a reassuring hand rubbed up and down my spine.

"Alaina... Why didn't you tell me this earlier in the year? We could've solved it by then..."

"I-I d-didn't wa-want to w-worry y-you..." I muffled through my sobs. Her hand rubbed my upper back, rubbing all the sadness out of me. Slowly but surely, the tears faded to sniffles. I felt her smile and wrap her arms around me. She placed her chin on my shoulder and asked, "Do you want to leave school?"

"I want to leave the entire damn country," I harshly responded. She gave me a stern look for swearing, but I didn't care. In her eyes though, I could tell she sympathized me and that she was going to give in. Sighing, she removed her arms from the hug and placed her hands on her thighs, sitting in the air. I turned around in my chair and didn't anticipate her next statement:

"Do you want to move?"

I greedily nodded yes, feeling more hatred and sadness building up in me. She softly smiled at me and chuckled, "I've been thinking of that too. People at work have been quite rude lately as well... or I just noticed how rude Mexicans are."

I slightly giggled as well. "There's that smile of yours," she smiled brightly back at me. Whenever I was down, she always found some way to make me smile. She then stood up and placed her hands on her hips, "I'll call the school later tonight; I'll tell them a family member died or something so we can get out of here."

"I thought you told me it's rude to lie," I pointed out. She shook her index finger at me, "Not if the lie saves your butt for later." She was right. She was always right actually. No wonder why I looked up to her. She spun on her heel and walked to the door and placed her hand on the frame, "Better start packing, I'm going to arrange a flight to the United States." Once she left, I felt my body shaking. As much as I wanted to get out of this hell hole, I didn't want to fly my way out. I always feared flying... I don't know why though. I'm not a fan of heights, even though I always sit towards the middle of a plane. It may be because of my fear of us crashing. It made sense: how can a large, metal thing like an airplane stay aloft for that long? Technological advances always has its downs, and I'm always afraid that airplanes will end up like so.

I took deep breaths and turned to my school books. I was inclined to burn them to a crisp, but I knew the school would force me to pay for them, so I just pushed them off my desk and onto the floor. Flying... Evey knew I hated flying, but I couldn't blame her. Last time we attempted to drive into the states, there was a large shoot out and we had to hide under the seats. Nearly all the checkpoints were closed down, and Evey and I feared to go through them again.

"Oh Mexico, gotta love ya," I muttered as reached into my closet for my suitcase.