BECAUSE I'D CRY FOR YOU
Chapter 1

"Hey, I heard that half of the school downtown got blown into pieces."

"Oh my gosh, really? How'd that happen?"

"I don't know. Something about fireworks . . ."

"Do they know who did it?"

"They didn't say. But I think they had a suspect. It was some blonde girl . . ."

"Hm, I hope nobody got hurt . . ."

"I think a teacher's leg got blown off!"

That's an example of the rumors that spread around the city after I blew up the Science room during third period. It was strange how people just loved to run their mouths off about a situation they weren't even at. It caused so much unnecessary problems for me. It didn't even happen like that! Half of the school did not get blown up into pieces, it had nothing to do with fireworks and a teacher's leg definitely did not get blown up. This whole thing, surprisingly for me, turned out to be a freak accident.

Why was it so hard to believe, you ask?

Well. Ever since I was young, I'd always been known as the 'trouble child'. I always loved pulling off pranks and putting myself into sticky situations. I was the one you could see in the back of the classroom trying to cut off a piece of a girl's ponytail. Or the one in the cafeteria starting food fights and dumping chocolate ice-cream atop other students' heads. Or the one sitting in the principal's office getting scolded for the latest practical joke pulled and most definitely the one that stayed after school to serve a detention.

I always lied about it when I managed to get caught, and almost always got away.

Most teachers knew me by know, especially the principal.

And this whole thing . . . I'd be surprised if they didn't try to pin this on me.

But I was telling the truth this time. It was an accident.

"Nagasaki Deidara," A voice called, "The principal will see you now."

Looking up from my personally reserved seat near the principal's door, I spotted one of the office secretaries (Whose name I didn't bother memorizing) standing there, looking at me with an unhappy look on her face. It was the kind of face that made it look like she ate something foul. But, that's how most teachers looked at me. I was pretty much used to it. Her eyes practically burned through my face as I stood up. I took note that she seemed to be kinda hissing at me when I walked by, or maybe she was making that 'tsk'-ing sound. I don't really know.

Entering the familiar principal's office, I looked around for the gray-haired guy. He was sitting in his black chair, as usual, but it was swiveled around so I couldn't see his face. As I took a seat in a chair across from his desk, he spoke in that deep, raspy voice that I'd been able to imitate because I saw him so often. He didn't even turn around, however, when he spoke to me.

"Deidara," Man, he sounded tired, "For all the times you've been sent to my office, this has got to be the worst."

For some reason, my heart dropped at this. Maybe it was because of the tone of utter disappointment in his voice, or maybe because this time, it really actually wasn't my fault and I felt bad for myself.

"To be honest, sir, I don't even know why I'm in here right now," I replied casually, tipping my chair back.

He swiveled around. He looked like he was the most exhausted person alive. My jaw was set straight, but my expression still held its casual, 'I-don't-really-care-I'm-a-smartass' look. I guess, in a way, I'd been like this with the principal. I felt kinda bad for causing his tiredness, if it even was my fault.

Which I have a hunch it is . . . because it always is.

"You blew up the Bio class with very dangerous compounds, Deidara. Please don't tell me you're trying to lie now."

"I'm not lying!" I nearly shouted, "I didn't mean to this time, honest."

"I'm not sure I can believe you . . ." The principal trailed off.

"Well you should, because I'm not lying. Look at me," I said seriously. I wasn't actually just going to sit here and receive a punishment that I don't deserve to have at all, "Do I look like I'm lying?" I was being completely honest, a new thing for me. I only recalled a few times in my life when I was actually completely honest with a person. Principal should take that into consideration or just be damn grateful that I'm actually putting up with everyone's accusing crap right now.

He stared at me for a moment, and then sighed. He looked at his desk and shook his head.

My eyes brightened.

"You are telling the truth . . . But . . ." I raised a brow at this. But what? "I'm afraid that you've got one strike too many."

"What're you saying?"

"Although I believe you might not be lying this time, Miss Nagasaki, I'm afraid the teachers just downright don't. Just recently… after the little accident in the Science lab, most of the teachers have just . . . had it," The principal avoided my eyes, ". . . With you." I gave a light shrug to myself. Honestly, I already knew most teachers gave up on me. They displayed it everyday in class when they didn't even bother to stop me when I spoke out loud or caused commotion. But since I already knew that, what was the principal getting at?

He continued, "This is hard for me to day, Deidara. But . . . I'm afraid I have to kick you out of the school."

I sputtered on my own air at the words.

"WHAT!?"

He looked at me, solemn, "I'm sorry. But I have to."

"Oh my god!" I laughed sardonically, throwing my head back, "I can't believe this! The one goddamn time that I choose to tell the truth to you people, you kick me out of the school?"

He was silent.

My anger turned to desperation. "Just . . . Let me stay here, please?" I nearly begged. And Nagasaki Deidara doesn't beg. But I did, right there, right then. "I can't afford to go to another school. And my parents . . . God, don't even get me started on them!" I shuddered at the thought of what they'd do to me. Let's just say they aren't the ideal parents. "Just let me stay here!" Honestly, I didn't want to stay because of friends or anything like that. I just wanted to stay at this school because . . . it was the only one that I could afford. All the other ones asked for money that I just didn't have on me.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, "But I can't let you stay here."

I opened my mouth to say something, but closed it with an exasperated breath.

He started again. "If it's money problems you have, Deidara," His voice was sincerely concerned, "I can sign you up in a program. It's still experimental and it's run by a good friend of mine. The program helps . . . kids who act out in school. She helps them become better students. In fact, she's the principal of another school on the other side of town. I'm sure if I speak to her, she'll give you a discount—"

"All the way on the other side of town?" I asked incredulously, "I'm up for this whole program thing if it pays for my school, but I live here, main downtown. I don't have time to walk all the way across town just to go to some other school because you kicked me out." I kind of added my own poison in the last part and silently took note that the principal fidgeted in his seat. But he probably ignored it, because he still seemed the same.

"I'll . . . I'll see what I can do," he said.

Letting out a sigh, I rubbed my temples.

So what happens now?

If there was one thing that I hated with every fiber of my being, it was being stared at.

That's exactly what happened to me after school, when I cleared out my locker of what little books I kept in there. It seemed like I was in the spotlight, the way everyone looked at me. They'd look at me – some would laugh, some would shake their heads and others nodded in approval. I guess that somehow, word had gotten around school that I was being kicked out. And the way the teachers looked at me when I walked by kind of made me think that they were the ones that told the students. God, what idiots.

I slammed my locker shut, glaring at anyone that managed to stay into my path.

Naturally, they pissed their pants and ran off.

Though I was partially known for my pranks, I was also known for my line of fights. I've gotten into more than one squabble and, although I'd prefer not to fight, I still do when the time called. And, as usual, kids liked to spread rumors. I remember one time when I punched this girl in the face because she'd made fun of me all year. "She snapped her neck in half!" Someone had said. "She threw her out the window!" I remember another shouted stupidly. And then when the girl came back to class and when I came back from my three-day suspension, she just had a broken nose, for Pete's sake!

"She's leaving," I heard one teacher say to my hard-ass of an English teacher.

"Good riddance. She doesn't have any potential here; she just dirties up our school grounds."

I rolled my eyes and snorted.

Please, this school was already dirty before I strolled up.

As I walked out of the school's main doors (With people still watching me; WTF), I stopped just one time to look back. I took in its appearance. God . . . Now that I really looked at it, it was kind of like a rat hole. It looked real old and once you entered the gates, a million little dark spots of ancient gum stuck to the cement floor. The grass was poorly watered and our school's logo was faded to an extent where instead of it saying, 'West Konoha High', it said, 'Wst Onha Igh'. I always knew that our school was poor, but I never really thought of it.

Somehow, I didn't feel bad for leaving anymore. This place was a waste of my time.

Shrugging nonchalantly, I turned around and walked out the gates.

Never once looking back.

The darkness I encountered when I stepped into the house was chilling.

It seemed as if all the confidence I had before I left school just disappeared within the blink of an eye. This always happened whenever I came home. I was honestly just two whole different people when it came to school and at my house. At school, I had that 'I-don't-give-two-shits' kind of attitude and most would perceive me as a sneaky, conniving bitch . . . slash prankster, or whatever – something along those lines. But when I was at home? That was a whole 'nother story. In here, I had to be careful where I stepped or I'd literally get slaughtered.

The house was dark and deathly silent. Of course, it was always dark and felt lonely, but it was different this time. I actually had something to be worried about.

What if the damned principal had decided to phone my parents? And they knew and, now, they're plotting on how to beat me senseless? I shuddered at the thought. With a cold sweat running down the back of my neck, I crept towards the kitchen where we kept the main house phone. My heart was beating so quickly in my chest I was surprised it hadn't exploded into a million bloody pieces yet. Breathing heavily, I glanced at the blinking number of missed calls. A feeling of overwhelming relief washed over my senses.

0 New Messages.

I let out an anxious breath, wiping a hand over my forehead exaggeratingly. Thank GOD for that. For a second, I almost thought that—

"Oh, Deidara-chan?"

Holy. Shit.

My eyes snapped open wide and for a moment I saw my life flash before my eyes.

The voice was sickeningly sweet and it made my stomach churn violently. Placing shaky hands on the counter before me, I turned around, staring into the most piercing pair golden eyes I'd ever known. My father's eyes. I bit on my bottom lip nervously, that disgusting feeling of fear racing down my spine. For a moment, I debated whether or not I should make a run for the front door or out the kitchen window. If it were the time, I would've chosen the kitchen window (It was closer). But I wasn't stupid; I knew better than to run from my dad when he wanted to 'talk' to me.

"He-Hey Dad," I greeted meekly.

He took a step closer and I wanted to take a step back. But then, I realized I was already backed up into the corner.

"Deidara . . ." It was that voice again. It sent knee-quivering chills down my spine. "I wanna know something. Something important." Did he know? He was approaching closer and closer, but what could I do? Oh yeah, that's right. Nothing.

"What?" I asked innocently.

The broken smirk on his face twisted into a sour frown. I flinched instinctively, already knowing that the words that came from my mouth didn't please him one bit. I had a habit of doing that. Saying things that other people frowned upon. Unfortunately, I wasn't the type of person to think about my words. I just say 'em as I think 'em. Dad said not a word as he stopped right in front of me, that angry expression I knew all-too-well plastered onto his face.

In a booming voice that made me jump up in shock, he bellowed, "Don't play dumb with me, girl!"

And in an instant, I found myself using the counter behind me as support, clutching my cheek with both hands. There was an unbearable stinging sensation that made a few tears come to my eyes, but after years of experience, I held them back. I glanced up at my father, an angry glare starting to form. Instinctively, I shouted out, "What the hell!?"

This seemed to annoy him even more. He towered over me and I regretted even uttering those words. My father was a tall, not-at-all lanky man. He had to be at least six or seven feet tall. So imagine how tall he was compared to me, a girl who was naturally shorter than most girls her age? He crouched down a bit and grabbed me by the roots of my hair. I let out a shout of protest, more tears starting to brim the edges of my eyes. He forced me to look up at him and I obliged, staring into his piercing gold eyes.

"Why were you kicked out of school?" he asked in a low voice.

I stayed silent, my bottom lip quivering. It's alright, Deidara . . .

"I asked," he growled, "Why the fuck were you kicked out of your goddamn school!?"

With a sudden jolt that made me cry out loud, he literally dragged me into the living room by my hair. He threw me into the direction of the coffee table and I fell upon it, a loud crack indicating that the sheer force nearly broke it in half. I let out a pained groan, writhing as a dull pain wracked through my whole body. My head was starting to ache and my cheek was still stinging from earlier. I shut my eyes tightly, flinching as my father's heavy footsteps came closer. When they stopped, I looked up to find him staring down at me in disgust.

"You are pathetic," he spat, "Truly, truly pathetic. After all I've done for you; you repay me by getting kicked out of the damned school!? I let you live here. I let you eat my food. I spend money on you that I earn. You ignorant little girl!" He grabbed me, again, by the hair and forced me to sit up. He brought my face close to his. So close that I could smell the cigarettes and booze that always wafted off of him. "You're nothing, worthless. You can't even go to school without screwing up." He threw me against the wall and the frames that were on it rattled.

I groaned again, crumpling to the floor.

The words he spoke made me bristle. With what energy I had, I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Yo-You're joking, right?" I let out a weak laugh, "What the hell have you ever done for me? Oh yeah, nothing! You say I'm worthless? You're the good for nothing, screw up father who spends everything we have on fucking crack! And let's not forget how he abuses his daughter! You're nothing but a tired, old, stupid basta—"

My eyes widened as I felt a hard blow to my stomach. I literally flew backwards into the wall and I could've sworn a picture frame fell off and shattered as it hit the floor. Unbelievable pain shot up through my body and I clutched my abdomen, curling into a ball. My breathing was haggard and I fought the oxygen into my lungs. Tears trailed down my face freely and the sour taste of vomit crept up my throat. I let out a weak, pathetic whimper. I heard my father let out a scoff and mutter something underneath his breath. I looked up through my blurred vision and saw him leave out the front door with a loud slam.

My body . . . was tired. Everything ached.

I subconsciously rolled onto my stomach, managing out a feeble, "I . . . hate that bastard . . ."

With a throbbing headache, I felt my eyes close and soon . . .

Black.

When I finally woke up, I was greeted by sore limbs, a stiff neck and a numbing, tingling sensation in my mid-section. My lashes stuck to my skin from what I assumed were dry tears and blinked them open. It was dark. Probably past eight. I was still on the floor and there was no sign of either of my parents around. I already had a feeling that they were both out getting drunk, already on their way to having another unplanned child. I sighed, deciding that I should get myself cleaned up. Placing my palms on the floor, I tried to heave myself up, but a jolt through my body stopped me.

I groaned in pain. "Goddamnit, I really hate him . . ."

After a few more pathetic attempts, I finally managed to get myself on my feet. I swayed around a little, before finally gripping at the railings of the stairs. I dragged myself up the stairs and immediately went into the bathroom, flicking the lights on. I felt a little bad for myself at my pitiful appearance. My normally well-kept blonde hair was now frazzled this way and that and a large, swollen mark was apparent on my face. I touched it with a cool hand and bit my bottom lip to keep myself from yelping. Yeah, I guess you could say that it hurt.

Sighing, I painfully crouched down to open the cabinet, quickly pulling out a first-aid kit.

I also took out a white cloth and ran it underneath cold water then dabbed at my facial wounds.

After rubbing a small amount of ointment on it, I took off my black sweatshirt, leaving me in my white-laced bra. Damnit, it hurt when I stretched. I breathed in deeply when I saw that there was a large, purple and blue bruise forming on my stomach. I stood there for a while, taking in the image of myself that no one outside had ever seen. No one knew what my father did to me. Mainly because, well, who could I tell it to? My teachers obviously hated me and I really had no friends that I could trust with such a secret. And I wasn't really the type to bring other people into my problems.

I'm a big girl, after all.

I ran a hand over the bruise, wincing even at the lightest pressure. I observed myself more and sighed when I noticed that the bruises from previous 'talks' with my father were slowly starting to fade away. I had a lot. I frowned deeply when I saw the scar that ran from my shoulder to just between my breasts. Most of the time my father 'spoke' with me, he never actually did anything that made me bleed, unless it was just me having a bloody nose. He tried to avoid it because, well, it was messy. And bruises eventually go away, no matter how much of a bitch they were.

I traced a finger long the scar, remembering the day I got it vividly.

It was one day when I had pissed him off so much he actually threw me out the window. Yeah, I know. The goddamn window! I got a gnarly wound that was so bad that I had to be taken to the hospital. The bastard lied when the doctors asked him how I got it and said that I tripped. And those nimrods actually believed him! Nevertheless, I got surgery to take out the pieces of glass and stitches for a week. It left this nasty scar, a permanent reminder of the day. I shuddered and shook my head clear of the memories.

After applying a cooling agent on my bruise that kept it from hurting too much, I placed my sweatshirt back on and walked towards my room.

I locked the door shut behind myself and changed into a pair of comfortable clothing.

Crawling into bed, I stared up at the ceiling.

I sighed.

I was utterly exhausted. It's been a pretty rough day. I mean, when I get to school, I find I'm getting kicked out because of something that was a complete accident. Then my principal wants to sign me up to some program for 'bad kids'. Then when I come home, I get beat senseless by my father and left to fend for myself. Now, I don't know about you, but I think that classifies as being a rough day.

I rolled onto my side, ignoring the pain in my stomach and hugged the blanket closer to myself.

I guess I was partly to blame. I should've seen all this coming, sooner or later.

As much as I wouldn't admit it aloud, I was kinda . . . sorta . . . maybe just a little . . . scared. Where would I go? What would I do? My school didn't want me. And I'm damn sure that my parents don't want me. Would I end up in the streets as one of those pack rat kids that live in boxes in deserted alleyways? I shuddered. I hoped not. Closing my eyes, I forced myself to push all those questions into the back of my mind. My body was sore and I was going through major mental turmoil. I really needed to get some sleep.

Letting my muscles relax, I sunk into my bed, ridding thoughts of everything around me.

And soon, I was fast asleep.

A/N Pikaa: Well . . . Hi there! Pikaa here. :) I guess that's the end of Chapter 1? Was it good? Bad? Horrible? Fantastic? I know, I know, it was kind of a rocky start. But I really wanted to introduce the character and some things about her first. I was thinking about opening up the story to where she's already in her new school, but, I decided that I should work up to that point. :P BUT! What do you think about the whole Deidara being a girl thing? I just wanted to try something . . . different. I'm sure it's been done before but, yeah. Ya know, haha. But if you're a yaoi lover, feel free to imagine Dei-kun as a boy again. ;) Haha! It's a win-win situation. Anyways! I'd really love to have some feedback of any kind. Is the story moving too fast? I apologize if it is. But yeaaah.

I'd love to see what you guys think! Any kind of review would be appreciated very much. :)

Until next chapter, bye!

- LOVE, PIKAA.