Hi everyone!

I thought of this story while listening to the song "Same Love." by Macklemore and Ryan Lewis. Hope y'all like it! As always, enjoy!

-8tickles

I drag myself home, beat-up and bedraggled from another day of school. My lower lip is swollen and bleeding. My eye is as black as the mascara worn by all the slutty girls at school. How will I explain this to my mom again? I tell her I have friends. I tell her we're teenage boys and that's what we do. We beat each other up. The first 2 times she believed me, the 3rd she became a little bit skeptical, and now I know I'm going to have to make up another story. Another lie, another secret I have to keep hidden.

Why do people beat me up? I'm not a dork. I'm not a badass. I'm not emo. I'm certainly not gay, but they think I am. That's why I get beat up. The only place I feel safe to be myself is the theater, so I spend most of my time there. I'm around girls all the time, and they all know that I'm not gay, but their boyfriends don't. "Get out of here, girl", they say, and shove me.

I reach the bus, halfway home. I hop on, pay the fair and find a seat in the back. I shove on my headphones and tune out the world. Music and acting. I can pretend that I'm not a reject for only 1 short hour.

The bus begins to go, the motion almost instantly lulling me to sleep. 'Macklemore same love' plays in my headphones. Suddenly the lulling jerks to a halt. I sit up. Someone else has boarded the already-full bus.

I look up, and there stands the most beautiful girl I have ever laid eyes on. Her blonde hair shimmers in the afternoon light, her blue grey eyes look intelligent, and even though she is short, she stands tall and proud, making her seem strong. No seats are left except for the two-seater I now occupy, sprawled across the entire seat. Her eyes surf the rows, looking for a place to sit when she spots me. She boldly makes her way over and says "Scoot over, please." I quickly jerk my bag to the floor and sit up, pushing myself as far towards the wall as I possibly can. The way she carries herself scares me, she radiates power.

The bus begins to move again, but she isn't ready. Her body is smacked towards me. I catch her shoulder, keeping her head from smacking into the window on the other side. "Thanks." She says, and her eyes glide away as she sits up abruptly. It is silent for a long minute. Whispering now, she turns to me "What's your name?"

"Thomas. Thomas Anderson."

"I'm Isabel. Isabel Allery."

That short conversation was the start of something big.

"Hi." I whispered back.

"What are you listening to?" she asks, still quiet.

"Macklemore, same love."

"Can I listen, too?" she asks.

I simply nod and hand her an ear bud. She cuddles her head into her backpack and settles in for the ride. "Where's your stop?" I ask.

She looks up. "second to last, you?" She lived in the Beverly hills district. Why was someone as rich as her taking the bus?

"Very last stop." I told her. I lived at the end of town. The poorest of slums. For the four of us, my mom, me, and my two older brothers, we had 2 bedrooms, one bathroom, and a living and dining area. That was all. Her house must have been at least 20 times the size of mine! Yet, she rode the bus. Her manner confused me. I wanted to learn more about her. I wanted to make friends with her. Honestly, I wanted to be more than friends. She was…perfect.

We sat quietly for the next half hour, just listening to music and being with each other. Finally, the dreaded stop came. She rose slowly and turned to me.

"When will I see you again?" She asked, intelligent eyes as wide as saucers.

"Tomorrow on the way home." I said breathlessly.

"Bye, Thomas Anderson." She said, and glided off the bus and down the stairs without ever looking back.

"Bye." I whispered. To whom, I didn't know. To her, I guess it was supposed to be, but she was long gone. My words were carried away into the open bus, mingled and tainted with the gossip of other people on their way home. Would I see her again? I wasn't sure, but I hoped so. I really hoped so.

(Isabel's POV)

I arrived home to a dark house, silent except for my mother's everlasting sobs, still thinking about the peculiar boy. Except for the bloody lip and black eye, he was rather attractive. Something about his aura made him seem different from other boys his age. Even though he lived a whole bus stop away from me, I was sure he had about the same amount of money as us. We couldn't afford our Beverly hills address, anymore.

At the end of the month, we were out. We'd be living on the streets. My dad had been the owner of a successful computer company, always on the phone and never spending time with me and my mom. Until he lost his job about 2 months ago. He was a mess. We had about $400,000 dollars left. He gambled and drank half of it away. The other half, he took and packed up with a few of his possessions one night, not even leaving a note or saying goodbye, and left.

My mom had never gone to college, considering she met dad in 12th grade and had me the following year. She was useless. Currently the only income we had was mine from babysitting and doing whatever small jobs I could on the weekends. "Mom I'm home!" I shouted into the darkness. As usual, there was no reply.

Today was November 9th. 21 days. 21 days was all I had to find a new home, or pull an enormous sum of money out of nowhere to save my home. How was I going to do this? Maybe Thomas would have an idea, if I ever decided to tell him. He seemed like a smart guy. But did I want my new friend to know what I truly was? Scum, living in a big house. I didn't want him to know. Yet. But something below a level of my immediate conscious told me that somehow, that boy going to be a huge part of my life. And I didn't mind, not one bit.

(Thomas's POV)

I trudged up my rickety front steps, trying to open and close the door silently so that I could slip upstairs and hide my bumps and bruises with some stage makeup, but today wasn't my lucky day. Ricky, my oldest brother, heard me come in. He looked up from where he was doing his homework at the kitchen table. Upon seeing my appearance, he sighed. "You got beat up again, little bro." He stated. "Yeah and I don't want to talk about it, ok? Oh and please don't tell mom." My two older brothers knew why I was getting beat up and by who, but there was nothing they could do about it except "not tell mom".

"Tommy we can't let this go on!" My brother covered his mouth and looked down, trying not to cry. He was the oldest, the head of the family, so he had to be strong. He had always been a great student and he got accepted to a lot of colleges, but he chose our community college so he could stay home and take care of the family. Ever since our dad died, he'd gotten thinner. Worrying about my mom and me and my other brother and keeping the house. It'd taken huge physical and mental tolls on him. Now he had to deal with my problems, too. I didn't want him interfering anymore than he had to.

I skidded upstairs as fast as possible to avoid the slowly worsening situation. I slipped into the bathroom and shut the door, turning the lock shut with a satisfying click. I was a mess. I thought about Isabel. She was probably inside her warm, brightly lit home, enjoying something delicious with a perfect family. Thinking about her gave me a weird premonition that we were going to help each other out in the long run. How wasn't clear, but I didn't mind. Not one bit.

(Isabel's POV)

Today was only Tuesday. The school day dragged on. All I could think about was the bus ride home, and the boy. Finally, 3:30 came. "Class dismissed." Mrs. Ravendella droned in her harsh voice, the sound was like grating nails over a chalkboard. I shot up out of my seat and speed-walked for the door. When I was finally out of Los Angeles County High School, I breathed a sigh of relief, and then took off at a run. I looked at my watch as I ran, muttering swears under my breadth, praying that I wouldn't miss the 3:35 bus. That was the one Thomas was on.

I reached the bus stop just as the bus was pulling up. I smiled and ran up the stairs. I put my $1.50 fare into the machine and quickly began searching faces for Thomas. When my eyes finally settled on his scruffy brown hair, I sped-walked my way over and plopped myself down. His face was towards the window and he wouldn't look at me. "Hey Thomas, what's up?" I whispered in my high girly voice.

"Nothin'. Just nothin'. He whispered back before finally turning to face me. I couldn't help myself. I let out a gasp. Knife-marked into his right cheek was a word. One gruesome word that sure to leave a scar on his beautiful face for life.

The word in bulky, thick, bloody lettering was BITCH.

I know, it's kinda sad but I think it's one of my better stories. And don't worry, it will get happier.

-8tickles :)