Authors Note: Okay, so here goes. I hope you guys think this is a promising start to my fanfic! There will be some characters I created. For instance, their cousin Erin, aunt Grace, cousin-in-law Danny. More new and old characters will be arriving in the early and later chapters. Can you please comment some of the characters from OTH you want in the story? And possibly your own character as long as you describe them and say what you want the to do. Like, being the girls new friend or a cousin or something. I want to thank everyone who has given this story a chance! Please, please, please keep the hate comments to yourself. I'd rather not start a fight over the Internet or get in trouble. Ciao! - Ellie :)

Summary: Meet the James sisters. Popular, drop-dead gorgeous, smart, and happy. That is until their parents relocate from Chicago, Illinois to a small town in North Carolina. Now their lives are turned upside down. And it turns out, getting to the top of the food chain is a lot harder at their new school. The James sisters have stuck together through everything that's threatened to ruin them, but will this one town change everything? Will they be able to make it through the obstacles now that they are on their own at school? Couples Naley, Brucas, and Jeyton.

Prologue

Brooke's P.O.V

My family is close-knit. We share and tell each other everything. At least, that's what my sisters and I thought before our father ran off with some blonde bimbo half his age. It's been a little over a year since we've seen him, last I heard he got married to her. My family and I cried, for a good amount of time. I wasn't even sure if our mother was strong enough to move on, but she did. We were happy, honestly. Until that day our father left.

Oh, I should probably be introducing my family. Sorry. I tend to get ahead of myself and ramble constantly like my mother, like Peyton, like Haley, like Aunt Grace, and our cousin Erin. Oh, crap you probably want to know about them too. Okay, well- dammit, stop rambling.

First, there's Peyton. She's the eldest by three minutes. Peyton's gorgeous. With curly blonde hair, a skinny figure, chicken-y legs, and big doe brown eyes. All she does is sketch, listen to tragic rock, and cheers for St. Jessica's Academy. I go to her whenever I need practical advice, she's three minutes older and most likely has more wisdom than the others.

Then there's me. Brooke. I'm gorgeous, I know I am. Not only have I seen it myself, but I get compliments everywhere I go. I am seven minutes older than my baby sister. Which means I'm the middle child. I have long, brunette locks, a trim figure, dimples when I smile, and deep hazel eyes. I'm dramatic, there. I finally admitted it. I love being one of the best cheerleaders at St. Jessica's, I design my own clothes (no way am I wearing ugly ass outfits from the mall), and I'm naturally perky.

Finally, there's Haley. She's ten minutes younger than Peyton, but seven minutes younger than me. She's a tutor at St. Jessica's, as an A average, and is nicknamed Tutor Girl because she loves school and tutoring. She's contempt on being away from the spotlight, which I thrive in. Haley has long, straight auburn hair, a slim figure, high cheekbones, and sparkly chocolate brown eyes. I go to Haley for her honesty on subjects. She also likes to sing secretly.

We lived in Chicago, Illinois. In a big house, with a huge garden and a deck with a pool. There were a bunch of rooms inside the Victorian style house. The kitchen was huge with stainless steel appliances and an island with bar-stools. Our dining room had a long rectangular table that could fit about thirteen or fourteen people. Next we had the living room. It had a big, white couch with plush pillows. A large bookcase for Haley, a sewing machine for me, and a fireplace where Peyton sat to help her sketch.

Remember, I keep saying 'had' or 'were'. Yeah, we don't live there anymore. Our father made it clear five months ago that he and his new wife, Kathryn, would take the house. That my sisters, my mother, and I had a certain amount of time before they would claim the house for themselves. And it caught us be surprise. We knew we didn't want to stay in Chicago anymore. So, that's when a friend of Haley's suggested we move to Tree Hill, North Carolina.

Now, we have to pack up because at the end of this week, this house will no longer be our home. It will officially belong to our father and his skank of a wife. The one place that made my sisters and I feel safe would no longer be our home; our safe haven.

All of us have gone through the pictures of our early childhood, when our father still loved our mother. Their honeymoon pictures, the perfect wedding, having us. After seeing those photos, we'd go through the pictures of us all together. Like the ski trip to Vermont, the summer vacation in California, the winter break in New York, and most importantly, our cousin, Erin's wedding to Danny in Florida. God, I loved bikini weather.

Peyton made an entire scrapbook of our best memories, those trips and weddings and honeymoons included. She even put the one's of us going to McDonald's at one in the morning, staying at Walmart until three in the morning, dancing like lunatics at home with the curtains pulled back, the old and recent movie nights. Everything we did that we loved is in that scrapbook. Even the awards pictures they took; the spelling bees Haley competed in, my cheerleading awards, and Peyton's art show wins.

Since that skank Kathryn ruined our family, it's been awhile since we've been happy. Sure, on the outside we look bubbly. On the inside, now that's a completely different story. During school, our peers would whisper and spread rumors about us and our parents. It honestly hurt when they started to bully us, online and offline, in person. Physically, mentally, and emotionally.

To be honest, it scared our mother half to death when Haley came home with a black eye, I had bruises on my arm, and Peyton had cuts on her face. So, she talked to the headmistress who promised it would stop. It hasn't. They still make snide remarks and all I want to do is bash their heads into the pavement. Unfortunately, my mother doesn't want to see me go to jail for murder. As for my father, I'm pretty sure he could care less if I went out and partied all night and died of an overdose of cocaine.

Anyways, no need to beat around the bush. That's the truth, or at least I'm 99.9% sure that's the cold, bitter truth.