I'm a nice person. I thought to myself, as I wiped yet another tear away from my face. Why was this happening to me? I wanted to scream. I glanced at my pocket book that was sticking out of my carry on. The old photo I always kept of my mother and I, in front of our apartment in Paris was poking out slightly. The tears came harder now, and I could no longer hold them back. They slipped down my cheeks as I tried to control the volume of my sobs. Out of all the people in the world my mother chose to leave me to my father, a man I had never met, and lived literally across the globe. My grandparents fought to keep me in Paris, but my mother's will was rock solid, no family lawyer could find a loop hole.

I'm not saying that my father was a terrible man, I mean I don't know him; and up until a few days ago, he didn't know about me either. However, the thought of having to leave the only life I've ever known in Europe, right after the death of my mother didn't exactly make me want to get to know him. Maybe if he lived in some decent, moderately known city, like Nashville or Maine, I could actually accept this move. But no, he lived in the middle of nowhere, in a tiny town in South Carolina, called Tree Hill. For someone who's spent their entire life moving from one incredible European city to the next, Tree Hill doesn't exactly excite me.

"Miss," One of the flight attendants cut in to my thoughts, "are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I said quickly, wiping away my tears. "It's just this movie," I said, gesturing to the small tv screen in front of me, "It's a killer." She gave me a knowing smile, patted my arm then walked away. "Bimbo," I mumbled under my breath. Shit, I need to stop. I tend to get very bitchy, I guess it was the French in me, when I was emotional my words could cut like knives. I thought back to my father for a second, Lucas Scott. I'd received an email from him a few days ago, detailing me on his life, and what I would expect upon my arrival. Apparently he was a writer, and he had a wife and a little girl. He'd also sent a picture with the email, I didn't stare at it long, the thought of meeting him made me nauseous.

I'd only ever asked my mother about him once, and the only thing she said was that he was a kind man. To everyone's astonishment (and by that I mean my family, therapists, and friends) I never cared about my father, or lack thereof. I'd always just had the mentality that if he was supposed to be in my life, he would be. My life had always been great without him, my mother was a journalist for a travel magazine, so we got live in some pretty amazing places while she was writing her pieces. That's how it had always been, just me and my mom.

"Passengers, we are about to land. Please buckle your seatbelts and collect your things." The pilot said over the intercom.

Twenty minutes later I was standing in the middle of the airport completely lost, and on the verge of a breakdown. He was late, ten minutes late, but still. How was I supposed to trust someone who can't even pick me up at the airport on time? Nervously I pulled my dark brown hair into a braid, surveying the tiny airport.

"Gemma?" There he was, standing right behind me. I tried to speak, but my jaw felt glued together. The resemblance was there, I had his eyes, his face shape, and I'm guessing I contracted my height from him as well. "Wow," he smiled, "I would say you look just like your mother, but-"

"You're late." I said, cutting him off.

"Yeah, sorry about that, I came as fast as I could. You see, I'm a coach at Tree Hill High, and-"

"I know," I cut him off again. We stared at each other for a few moments, it wasn't exactly awkward, but it wasn't comfortable either.

"Sorry," I sighed, "I just, I didn't get any sleep on the flight."

"It's alright, this is scary, I know," He said softly, grabbing my suit case. He motioned me to follow him to the car. I wanted to ask him question, but for some reason I couldn't bring myself to speak. For the first time in my life I wanted to know about him, know about him and my mom, and know about who I was. The thoughts shook me, and thankfully Lucas didn't instigate any conversation.

Once we arrived at his home in Tree Hill, I was truly surprised at how charming the little town looked, small but charming. He grabbed my suitcases from the trunk, and led me into the house. "We recently had it redone, added on a guest bedroom, and on suite," He smiled. He seemed like a really positive man, it was actually quite refreshing. The men in France were often rude, and harsh, they thought children should be seen and not heard. He showed me to my room, it was painted a light pink, with white bedding and white furniture. "Peyton went a little crazy," he chuckled, "she wanted it to look Parisian for you."

"It's great," I smiled, running my hand along the white desk. He placed my suit cases by the bed, then turned to face me.

"I bet you're exhausted, you should get some rest. Peyton took Sawyer to the park so they should be back soon, and then you guys can finally meet. Tomorrow we have a meeting at the high school about your enrollment. Then if you want, I could introduce you to some students, or show you around Tree Hill. There's a lot to do around here, believe it or not."

"That sounds nice," I said quietly, "Um, I think I will sleep for a bit, if you don't mind."

"No, go ahead," He said heading for the door, "Oh, um, Gemma?"

"Oui?" I laughed, I hadn't used my French since boarding the plane, "sorry, yes?"

"I know that this transition will be hard, but I just want you to know, I'm here, and I care." With that, he closed the door.