Disclaimer: As much as I would like to say I owned Craig… I don't. Sorry. Oh and if you don't like… "adult issues" I suggest you stop reading here because there might be some… yeah…

Papa Don't Preach

Chapter One: Little Red Corvette (Baby You're Much Too Fast)

There's no better feeling than the cool, salty breeze of the ocean wind running through your hair; softly kissing your cheeks and sending chills down your spine. It was my favorite thing to do, taking my little red Corvette for a spin, letting the road take me to places I had never been. I always kept a camera shaped air freshener on the rear view mirror, reminding me of the pictures I had taken and the people I had met. But that all changed thanks to one little mistake.

I'm now driving my little red Corvette over 2,000 miles from where it once was. Over 2,000 miles away from the one time happiness and the unimaginable pain. The pain of loss that makes me puke every time I relive it. The pain I wouldn't even wish upon the person that did that to me.

Moving from California to canuck-a-gogo land is the second worst thing that has ever happened to me but I guess I see Mei and Darshan's point, even if I don't agree to it.

Mei and Darshan are my parents. I've never really called them Mom and Dad before, whenever I would try they would tell me they were too young for that title. It's brought me closer to them personally but everyone thinks I'm missing out on those parent-daughter relationship. Maybe that's why they all suggested we move to Canada, over 2,000 miles away from my broken heart.

"Class," I'm pushed back to reality and find myself standing in front of about 25 people, 30 max. A tiny teacher had her hand on my shoulder, almost as if she was using me to project her tiny voice over her student's loud mass chaos.

"Class, this is Lalulu Pasma," she destroyed my name.

"Layana Padma…" I corrected her with an eye roll. I had heard some stupid mispronunciations before but hers was just lame.

"Yes, well," she smiled lightly, inching her eyes at the kids in front of her who were still going on and on about each other's mornings. "Why don't you take a seat next to Paige there, in the pink."

Paige was a pretty girl with long blond hair and pink lips. She had on a floozy looking crop top and a pair of rhinestone jeans I think went out in the 90's. She looked as though she had friends though, which was more than what I could say at the moment. I didn't have one that was in the 30-mile radius of me.

"New?" Paige asked me while she was filing her fingertips. She didn't even look at me, just kept on gnawing down on her super long nails. That really pisses me off.

"Yea," I swallowed my tongue and opened up my bag. I took out my notebook, which was decorated with my fairy drawings, and started to write. But I guess Paige wasn't done with the interrogation.

"Where from?" I set her filer down and looked at me. Her face was expressionless; I could tell the only reason she was asking is so she could talk about "the girl from the weird place."

"California, why do you ask?" I smiled a bit, trying to be as polite as I could. She smiled a bit as well meaning my plan worked.

"California? So what, were you a surfer chick down there or a drugie?" her tone got nastier. Guess the smile was a trick. "Or were you a groupie?"

I rolled my eyes and chose to ignore her. She kept on asking me what "I was" back home but I just closed my eyes and imagine myself back there, hanging with my friends in the Corvette. Just to be back there would make my dreams come somewhat true. But I can't go back. I can't go back to the taunting and the constant reminder of things I had done and things that I hadn't.

The bell rang in the middle of my thought. I picked up my things, only to have them pushed away from me by the infamous Paige.

"Oops," she chirped with a smirk and went off with a dark skin girl I heard her call Hazel. She looked almost like her, a bitch.

I sighed and bent down to pick them up and smash them in my bag. Looking at the bag made me smile. It was filled with all sorts of buttons I bought at the local music store or I had made myself. But the one that made me the happiest was the picture button of me holding my beloved camera. The picture itself was taken from someone in my past. Someone I try not to think about but somehow always do. It's not an obsession; it's more like a hobby.

I steadily made my way out the doors and out into the world they call school. It's an annoying world really, filled with the popular, the geeky and the misunderstood. Then there was my category; the new. New people at my old school were always the ones that either made it to the top or made their long, stumbling fall to the bottom. There was never middle ground unless you had been there for more than three years.

I waited for the preps around my new locker to clear before attempting to open it. The combonation was easy, the same as it was back home. I opened it with ease and stared in at it's emptiness. It looked cold and blue and sad, and this was the place that I was to decorate and keep my things in for the remainder of the year. That was a depressing thought.

I carefully put my things on the hooks, taking out my camera and my notebook. I slammed the locker shut, put my head up high and strolled down the hallways of hell.