So. I have a new idea guys. I don't know it just came up and I had to write it down. This is the first chapter. Please tell me if I should continue writing it. :)

Hi there My name is Brooke Penelope Davis. I'm 15 years old and right now I'm living in Charlotte, but soon I'm going to move to Tree Hill. Ever heard of this city? Well I don't and to be honest: I'm not really font of moving away. I think it doesn't make a difference if I live in Charlotte or Timbuktu...I think I'm never going to be happy.

I'm not popular. God. Far from it. People in school used to tease me. I'm wearing boring clothes, I have glasses and I'm a tutor girl. I'm also a kid that started school at the age of four, because I was already able to read and write and so my teachers were scared that I wasn't "challanged" enough in kindergarten. How STUPID is THAT? I'm 15 and a virgin and I'm sure as hell NOT someone you'd call sexy. I'm Brooke Davis, nothing more.

Right now I'm sitting in my empty room and all I want to do is go to bed and never wake up. I'm scared, I really am, because I don't know what is waiting for me down there in Tree Hill and to be honest: I don't want to know, because my life there won't be any different. I can feel it. I just don't fit into daily high school life where everything is about boys, fashion and who is the most popular student.

I'm sick and tired of being alone. I have parents who pay no attention to me and the word "friends" is foreign to me, because I never really had one. My life sucks and moving away won't make it any better.

But what can I do about it? Nothing.

I think my parents are ashamed of me when I look at my mother who asks me everyday to change something about my looks or wear different clothes. I don't know what is wrong with my baggy jeans?

"If you look like this you are never going to have a boyfriend."

That is what my mother tells me every damn day...Screw her!

I mean yeah...I really would like to get to know the feeling of being in love...feeling the butterflies in my stomach and the desire to lie in some one's strong arms, but who am I kidding? Being smart is not something guys are looking for.

"Brooke."

My head snaps up at the voice of my mother and I sigh when I see her standing in my door way with her arms on her hips.

"What?"

"Go to bed. We are leaving early tomorrow and we want to arrive in Tree Hill in time, because we have to catch a flight in the afternoon.

"Where are you going?"

"Business-Trip"

"You are going to Tree Hill just to fly to somewhere else right away? That doesn't make any sense."

"We want you to get settled down before we leave. You will have a nice big house and we bought you a car. You will be fine."

My mother smirks.

I just roll my eyes at her and continue to stare at my netbook.

"Welcome to Tree Hill" I mumble to myself as I look out my window in the back seat of our car. To be honest, this city looks very nice. There are a lot of cute, little coffee shops and the streets are clean.

"Maybe it isn't that bad after all".

"Are you speaking to yourself again?"

I look at my mother while rolling my eyes.

"So what?"

"You're weird. Are you on drugs kid?"

"What? Are you crazy?"

My mother shrugs her shoulders and I continue to stare out the window, watching the buildings passing by.

"Ok. We left our numbers on the coffee table. There is enough foot in the fridge, your Mercedes comfortable is in the garage, we left you a credit card with plenty of money on it and we already signed you in at Tree Hill High", my father tells me and walks down the drive way without giving me a hug or something.

"See you Brooke" my mother says and slides into passenger seat of their car.

Here I am. Alone again. I know I can do it but I really don't know if I want to do it. I'm scared of living in such a big house and I'm scared of going to school tomorrow, but I think I don't have much of a choice.

So I watch my parents backing out of our drive way and continue looking at our car until it is just a little spot on the horizont before I turn around and walk into our...no my big house.

The house with a red, wooden door.