Chapter 1
T H A L I A
I groaned as something small, heavy and not-so-soft slammed into me. I'd been having a nice dream of Johnny Depp doing things that I will not talk about here, and guess what? I. Woke. Up. Fucking... considering I didn't know who to slap, I decided, against my better judgment, to open my eyes. Big mistake.
There, sat on my stomach, was the devil. Or, more accurately, Abby. The pixie of doom. Literally. She was a short 4'11, barely coming up to my shoulders, with layered brown hair. Her blue eyes were always alight with life, and a smile always stretched across her lips. As soon as she realized I was awake, she started talking so quickly I couldn't make out her words. Hardly surprising, given her secret coffee addiction that I have yet to force convince her to admit.
When my sleepy mind finally caught up with what she was saying (apparently there was a Prada sale she was just dying to take me to, the hottest guy in school, Dean Stevens, had asked her out and she could not wait to see the cute guys in London -at which point I pointed out to her that two-timing the hottest guy in school was the worst idea in the history of bad ideas-), I groaned. London. Rain, practically zero sunlight and shitty cars. My mom -well, adopted mom- and dad -again, adopted- were dumping us on our British aunt and uncle, because they were going on an adults only cruise around the Caribbean. Great parenting, huh? We were leaving in a few hours, to go JFK and catch a plane. Then, a seven hour flight in a shoe box (but it was first class, like we demanded) and then we go and move in to a shit-hole, uh, cottage for the next school year (yeah, mom and dad's cruise isn't long enough apparently, so they're going Barbados for a while). Yeah. I'm not looking forward to it either.
I felt Abby tugging on my arm, and I sighed.
"Okay, Abby. Either you stop pulling my arm or I give you a black eye."
Yeah. She may be my sister, but I'm not opposed to punching her. Affectionate, huh? She pouted but let go, running out the room and calling behind her,
"And we are going to that Prada store, so get the fuck out of bed and into some clothes!"
I chuckled. Then again, she's not so kind and gentle either. (Yeah, our parents try to describe us with those words. Usually, doesn't work out so well). I flung the creased white sheets off my body and swung my legs off of my bed. My bare feet brushed the floor for the moment, before I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair, yawning and trying to beat away the sleep in my mind with a stick. I stood and walked to my dresser, digging through the drawers to find something decent. And by decent, I mean not lingerie. You do not want to know how much lingerie I have. Finally, I pulled out some faded grey jeans and a doodle print bandeau dress. I fished some neon shag bands and a black penguin necklace from a table near my TV and some orange converse from next to my door. I quickly made my bed (oh! The torture!) and ran to my en-suite bathroom and ran a shower. Stripping, I quickly studied myself in the wall-that-was-actually-a-mirror. I was pretty, I suppose. A little pale, a little tanned, 5'8 and a to-die for body (yeah, I hear the guys at school). Platinum blonde hair cropped short (and so messy I look like I just had sex), a small nose; no, not a button nose. I'm sexy, not cute; pouty lips and grey eyes. A tattoo of the deathly hallows sign from Harry Potter (I got drunk one night, thought it was a good idea) marked my right ankle and an awkward scar I've had since I was young on my tailbone. Thing is, it looks like a crescent moon. Almost like someone… carved it…
I was interrupted from my thoughts by Abby's yells.
"Hurry up Lia!"
I shook my head, grinning. I love my life.