Chapter 1

Ginger Foutley sat at her kitchen table, stirring her oatmeal and staring out the window. It was a chill autumn day, with a brisk wind tossing the red and gold leaves through the air and clouds heavy with rain looming overhead. She liked everything about autumn, really. It always made her feel nostalgic, poetic. In fact, at the moment she was remembering her time in middle school. She was already a senior in high school, less than a year away from graduating. Some people say time flies, but Ginger felt she'd been waiting forever to get where she was.

High school didn't suck, per se, but she didn't really like it either. She'd become an "artsy" kid, well versed in literature and poetry, an amateur writer, photographer, and painter, and was still active with her band, A Good Excuse. But the type of person that she was didn't really mesh well with the social scene at Lucky High. Everyone was so cliquey, so catty, so dramatic; Ginger was the exact opposite. The way the popular kids acted irritated her so much. It wasn't because they didn't like her. She didn't care about that. It only irritated her because they weren't civil to anyone. A pacifist and peace lover, Ginger hated that there were always fights breaking out at her school, people bullying other kids who couldn't fight back, and the general intolerance of everyone. Some kids seemed to enjoy the drama, but Ginger was sick of it; she couldn't wait to get it behind her.

Sighing, Ginger began to eat her oatmeal slowly. It was bland. Dave, her stepfather, always made really good oatmeal, but he had work early and wasn't able to cook some for her that day. So she had made her own and tried to be content with it. Her mom, Lois, was working too, so it was just her and Carl at the house.

Carl was a freshman at Lucky High and was dealing with the same dilemma as Ginger; he didn't fit in, he didn't care, but he hated the cruelty of his peers. More than once that semester the two had stayed up until the early morning, ranting to each other about all the things they were sick of and wished they could change at school. Openly bisexual, Carl also got hate for his orientation, and Ginger sympathized deeply with him on that. Many of her friends weren't straight, and the treatment some of the kids gave them for it sickened her. Ginger tried to protect him, doing her best to be a good older sister, but he still got plenty of abuse. It was depressing. He had therapy twice a week, and Ginger wondered if it was helping him at all.

Rinsing her bowl out and putting it in the dishwasher, Ginger went upstairs to finish getting ready for school. They had a cleaning lady but Ginger didn't like burdening her too much, even if it was her job. She passed Carl in the hallway, noticing he was still in his pajamas. "Get dressed already, Carl. We have to leave in twenty minutes."

"Bossy, bossy. No worries, dear sister, it only takes me five minutes to get ready." He held up his hand, spreading his fingers and wiggling each one to emphasize his point.

Ginger rolled her eyes and went into the bathroom. She brushed her teeth, then straightened her short hair, parts of which she'd dyed black a few months ago. The waves were hard to smooth out fully, but she always managed to get her bangs swept to the side like she liked them. Though Ginger didn't really consider herself to be fussy about her appearance, she did tend to be particular with her hair. She envied Carl, in a way. He'd gotten into the grunge style a year or two ago, and didn't concern himself with looking very put together. She only wished she could be that incredibly low maintenance.

She flicked on a bit of eyeliner and then went to get her stuff. She was wearing a long, baggy black sweater that was ridiculously cozy, cutoff tribal print shorts, and black leggings. Grabbing a beanie, her car keys, and her messenger bag, Ginger flicked off the bedroom lights and went down the wooden stairs, one of which creaked loudly. They'd lived in the Gripling house for about a year before Lois and Dave had gotten into old-fashioned architecture and bought a Victorian style house downtown, the oldest area of Sheltered Shrubs. They all liked the house; it had personality. Even if personality meant squeaky steps.

Carl, true to his word, was ready to go, leaning casually against the wall with a smug grin on his face.

Ginger raised her eyebrows at him as she slid into her boots. "All ready?"

"Affirmative."

"Mmk. Let's go then." The two exited the house and walked to Ginger's car, parked in the short driveway. It was a 1950s Beetle in sky blue that had seen a lot over the years, but was still going strong (partially due to a new engine put in when Ginger got it.) Climbing in, she started it and the two set off to school.