Name: Demi Miranda Simmons
Looks: African American/Puerto Rican Mix, dark brown hair, caramel skin, brown eyes, about 5'5.
Background: Came from Baltimore, MD, moved to Chicago to her grandmother's during her high school years because she was caught up in the wrong crowd doing drugs.
A/N: The beginning of the story it tends to start out as her in the past to her in the present, then eventually the story starts as her in the present and may make references to the past. If there's any confusion, I'll try and clarify.
'Ugh!' I think to myself. 'Why did grandma send me to public school in mom's old catholic outfit?'
"Well look at that, fresh meat." A guy said, who I'm guessing is a senior, says undressing me with his eyes. "Where are you from, sweets? Catholic school?"
"No, I'm from Baltimore." I hiss.
The boy cocks an eyebrow, "Really now?"
For the first time, I get a good look at this boy. Brown hair, curled at the ends, green eyes, and pink skin. He's a little taller than them boys back home and a lot dumber. I can take this fool.
"Yea, I am." I say pulling my bag up on one shoulder with my face smug.
"Well maybe I show you how we in Chi-town get down." The boy says giving me a smirk.
"And maybe I'll show you how we do in Bal-da-more." I say in my accent.
The boy chuckles and pulls out a pen. "Well here you go. Call and ask for Dylan."
Dylan scribbles his number on my hand and I take his pen and write down the number to the armory where my grandmother works.
"Thanks…wait. I didn't quite catch your name." Dylan asks thinking he's being a slick talker.
"Miranda," I say winking and walking to my first class.
I had always despised my 1st name. It reminded me of my older sister, who was the epitome of perfection at home. Her name was Demitria Alexa Simmons. So yea, I dabbled in drugs to be different, but I'd never thought my life would be this different.
Thanks to my grandmother, Phil, and the essence of Chicago, I never would've thought I would be walking hand-in-hand with a man with "X's" on his hands.