A/N: Jenny grew up in a broken family. What happens when, after finding old photgraphs, she learns there is past in her life that she never knew of?

Chapter 1: A Secret Uncovered

Rays of golden sunlight beamed down on seventeen year old Jenny Harlem. Her long brown locks caught the sun and reflected it to anyone near. Her arms swung lightly by her side, one holding loosely unto her basketball bag.

"Home sweet home," she mumbled quietly as she approached the gate to her small two bedroomed house. For years it had been in disaray, abandoned when the owner died. Jenny's mother was in desperate need for a house and chose this one spur of the moment. Taking a long look at the overgrown weeds and drooping trees, Jenny's spirit sank.

Practice had gone excellent. She had managed to learn the drill Coach Barr had gone over quickly, although, as team captain, that was expected.

As her sneakers stepped easily up the broken wooden steps to the front door, Jenny heard her stepfather's voice yell through the screen.

"You're late!" Jeb's slurred words met Jenny's ears. It angered Jenny that she could become so depressed in less than a minute after she stepped into her home life. Pulling on the broken screen with one pink painted fingernail, she walked into the dark living room. Sitting, with only sweats and a t-shirt on, was the man of the house, remote in one hand, and Miller in the other.

"No, I'm not. I told Mom practice was until five thirty this afternoon," Jenny covered the disdain in her voice with practiced calm. If she was lucky, Jeb would go back to the Walker Texas Ranger marathon and leave her alone.

"Your mom didn't say you were late, I said it. You were supposed to be home at five to cook me dinner." Jeb's eyes remained locked on the ten inch television screen. All the teenager saw of him behind the recliner was his thinning black hair, matted down by a filthy Yankee's cap.

"I can make you something now, what do you want?" Jenny was still holding her bag tight, remembering the last time she had left it out. Jeb had barged into her room at midnight, pulling her out of bed and forcing her to clean every inch of the house. He told her it would teach her to become more responsible with not dropping her shit at any place she wished.

"I have to be at the mill at six, you don't have time to cook."

"Well did you already eat?"

A grunt. Jenny walked into the yellow colored kitchen and searched the freezer for something simple to make. Being in that room disgusted her. It was beyond small, with only enough room for a round wooden table and matching chairs. On the oppisite side of the wide opening was a thin door, its white paint peeling. Not that it mattered. Jeb had padlocked it closed a year ago, when, in drunken stupor, he believed Jenn was sneaking out of it.

Finding two hot pockets Jenny threw them on a plate and pushed them into the microwave. The oven was seldom used. Her mom never learned to cook and Jenny rarely had time to prepare anything. Thus, the microwave became home to their t.v. dinners and soggy Cambell's soups.

"What the hell are you doing, girl?" Jeb had entered the kitchen, leaning on one of the chairs for support.

"Making you a hot pocket. I don't want you going into work hungry," Jenny answered, staring at the cooking food.

"Please, bitch, you'd love for me to starve to death. Don't lie to me." Jeb's heavy stature loomed over Jenny, his shadow covering the wall ahead.

"No, I don't Jeb. Now here," she pulled the chipped and cracked plate out of the microwave and shoved it towards her stepfather. "Eat up."

Standing in place a moment longer, Jeb's hunger overruled his stubborness, and he agreed without agruement, grabbing hold of his dinner and walking back to the living room.

Jenny said a silent prayer of thanks that he hadn't chosen to put up a fight, like usual. She had a game coming up on Friday and didn't need new bruises on her arm, the ones from last weekend were bad enough.

"When's Mom getting home?" Jenny asked, heading to her bedroom, without dinner.

"Nikki didn't say, but I'm guessing late."

"Great," she said inside her head. Her mother worked her butt off waitressing six nights a week to rude truckers and dirty bikers. Although Jenny missed her mom, she wasn't sad that she was gone so often. Her mother knew what Jeb did to her, knew the pain he caused, and yet didn't do anything. She insisted it would get better. One day it would get better.

Walking into her only haven away from the basketball court, Jenny threw her bag into the corner and fell heavily unto her bed. The room wasn't much. But it contained all she'd ever owned. Her trophies, notes from her few friends, photos of her mother when she was young and they lived in Puerto Rico.

Picking up her phone she dialed her mother's cell phone, waiting patiently.

"Hello?"

"Mom?"

"Sweetie," Nikki's voice softened only slightly. There had been times, late at night, when she was attempting to fall asleep after an especially brutul night, Jenny wondered if her mother really wanted her. Jenny was smart enough to do the math and knew Nikki had been young when she was born, only a college student. Shortly after she moved them to Puerto Rico, and when Jenny was twelve married Jeb. Although her mom never said it, the girl knew it was for his money only. Jeb owned the only surviving mill in Bunsburrow and brought in a wealthy sum. Unfortunatly, he saved it all under his name alone and wouldn't give a penny to Jenny or Nikki.

"Hey, Mom, are you busy?" Jenny abstendmindly twirled a piece of her medium length curly brown hair. A habit she had picked up from some unkown sourse.

"Uh, kind of, you'll have to make this quick."

"Okay, no problem. Um, I know I spend up most of my time with basketball and I understand you need me around the house, but there is this new art class at the community center near school. It's only on weekends and I promise I'll keep up with my chores if you let me do this."

A loud sigh came through the phone. Jenny could feel defeat only inches away and it angered her. Ever since she was little she loved to draw. Pencil, watercolor, paint, it didn't matter, she used anything she could find. Her mother had tried to stop the artwork early on. When Jenny had showed her a painting of the two of them in front of a big house, Nikki had taken the drawing and threw it away. It had broke Jenny's heart, but taught her to toughen up. As the years passed by Jenny learned to only draw in her school notebooks, during class when the teachers babbled on.

"Jen, you know I already spend so much on basketball. Forget it. You chose to be an athlete, not an artist. Which, by the way, was the smart decision. Artists don't get anywhere in life."

"Yeah, whatever," Jenny had rolled unto her stomach and was holding her thin pillow under her chin.

"Don't say that to me, young lady, I am your mother. Now, if you want me to be able to pay this month's electricity you have to let me go do my job."

"Alright, see you later."

"Bye Jen, make sure you don't stay up too late doing homework."

Both hung up the phone, ending their disasterous conversation. Jenny was on the verge and knew doing the very thing her mother had turned down would only help her get over the evening.

-----

Two hour later, the moonlight from the night sky shown through Jenny's small window, illuminating her simple drawing. It was almost identical to the ones she always drew.

Her real father. She knew nothing about him. Her mother refused to show any photos or pictures of him. She claimed he was a horrible man, and that he did things so horrendous, nobody should have to learn about them.

Jenny spent nights thinking about him. She imagined him to be a hero. A man who would save her from the life she lived. One day he'd be waiting for her on her front porch. His body would be tough and strong. Jenny knew she had to get her strong willedness from him. She wasn't sure if he was dark haired, but it never mattered, she rarely drew in color. Mostly it was black and white.

An idea began to rise in Jenny's head as she stared at the man on her paper holding a young girl in his arms protectively. Determination seeped through the girl. At that moment, between her anger and fear and her feeling of defeat she wanted to know the truth. She wanted to know who her father was. Even if was only a name. It was a name she could cry out for in the middle of the night. A name she could proudly use when someone asked who her real father was.

Getting up Jenny made her way to Nikki's and Jeb's bedroom. Her 5'8'' body despised the room, refused to enter it, and that was exactly why Jenny knew any information her mother had would be in there.

Opening the cracked door slowly, she almost tripped over an overstuffed laundry basket, only to step on one of Jeb's shoes. The room looked as if a toranado had passed through, with clothes and blankets thrown hapazardly throughout the floor of the room.

After searching the room with her soft green eyes, Jenny decided to look in the closet for anything of importance. There was nothing but more clothes and more shoes.

Moving on to the bedstand, all that was in there were magazines and old letters from friends in puerto Rico.

Frustrated, Jenny slid down the side of the bed, her nerves beginning to come back. She was afraid that Jeb would come home early and find her there, snooping through their stuff. Looking around she ran a hand through her hair, then dropped it down.

She squeked slightly as realization dawned on her. The bed. The queen sized bed. Large enough to hide dark secrets. Large enough to hide her past seventeen years of life.

Reaching one of her long arms down under the box springs and mattress, Jenny felt a cardboard box. Pulling it out she discovered it was only an old shoe box, torn away at the corners from old age.

Pulling off the top Jenny gasped at what she saw. On top was a framed photgraph of her mother seventeen years earlier. Her stomach was the size of a balloon, and she was smiling widely. Next to her, his feet buried in brown sugar sand was a man. A boy, really. He looked about her age, with a head fully of shaggy brown hair and a matching smile.

Instantly, Jenny knew that man, that boy, was her father. His soft green eyes and the way he held his face matched hers precisely. They were on some sunny beach, where, Jenny had no idea.

After five minutes of staring deeply at the male, Jenny finally decided she'd had enough and set the frame down. It freaked her out how similar her drawings were of him. The comparison was too close for comfort.

The next item in the box was a newspaper clipping. On top was a photograph of a basketball team, and in the back row Jenny spotted the same man.

"The Tree Hill Ravens go out with a bang as former player Dan Scott leads team to a loss in the first game of play-offs. Lucas Scott missed the three pointer by only centimeters, thus ending the score with a difference of two. Dissapointed Coach Whitey promises next season they will win the coveted state championship title," Jenny read, in a state of confusion. She had no idea where Tree Hill was, but knew it was her mother and father's old hometown.

Placing the article down also, she picked up a pink rattle. Emotions began to overwhelm the girl. She was so close to knowing where the rattle came from, yet had no clue. Large, salty tears formed in her eyes and slowly, one by one fell down her smooth face. It seemed wrong that her mother had kept all this from her. Her biological father couldn't honestly be as horrible as he seemed, she had been happy with him during the pregnancy, and he was a star athlete.

Retrieving the last item in the box, Jenny couldn't prevent herself from saying, "Oh my god."

It, too was a cutout from a magazine. The once whitebackground looked slightly grayer, but the picture was still intact.

"People always leave," Jenny read slowly, staring deeply into the drawing of a stoplight, with special focus on the red light.

Jenny sat there for what seemed an eternity, moving from object to object, trying to piece the puzzle together. She had yet to know the name of her father, but she had something better. An image. A picture for her mind to view as she cryed herself to sleep at night.

"But he's so young," Jenny said breathlessly. She didn't remind herself that the picture was over a decade old, and now the boy had become a full fledged man. All she imaged were the guys at her school, all of them in the same position as her own father.

Hours later, when she sensed her mom would come home soon, she replaced all the objects back in their proper places and snuck back to her room, burying herself deep into her covers. Seeing the picture she had made ealier in the evening, the knowledge of their likeness came rushing back. Jenny knew deep down that something as real as that wasn't coincidence. No one could match a face that perfectly. She had to have seen him before in her life. Had to have met him long enough to chisel his face into memory.

With those thoughts for company she fell into a restless sleep, dreaming of basketball and her true dad.

tbc...