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Chapter One

Disclaimer: I only own my O.C.s

"Sixteen years old and never been kissed". Those words swam in my head as I looked at the text on my cell phone. It was from one of my best friends, Rylee claiming that she had received her first kiss moments before at our school's homecoming game. Sadly, I was still a lip virgin. In a brand new place. My father had just uprooted my sister and I from New York City all the way to Beacon Hills in California. I was dreading having to start a new school in the middle of the semester. (Can you sense my excitement? I mean, it's practically palpable.) Don't take me the wrong way though, I was happy for Ry. I wished I could be there with my old friends, instead of being alone, in California, on a Saturday evening. I sat down at my easel, waiting until the moon hit the exact spot so I could begin painting. As the moon rose, I dropped my brush into the paint and began to let loose my frustrations. My door creaked open and the blue-grey eyes of my sister Noah peered around the corner.

"Georgia, I need help getting Skittles' food down. We also need to feed Lennon and Keith since Dad's out walking EJ," My little sister flopped down on my carpet after her speech, ever the little actress. I groaned silently, mostly because she called me Georgia. Georgia, the nickname my father christened me when I was 12. Georgia, after Georgia O' Keeffe.

"OK, let me finish this spot," I said, concentrating on making sure my mother's eyes were exactly proportional.

"What is it?" Noah asked. I smiled sadly.

"Mom."

Noah peered over my shoulder.

"It looks exactly like her!" Noah cried.

"I tried," I shrugged sadly.

"I miss her," Noah whispered.

"I know sweetie," I muttered, trying to hold back my tears as I finished wiping off my brush.

"Now let's go feed the troops!" I smiled sadly after a moment, taking her hand in mine.

We lost my mom four months ago. She was a veterinary technician at this superb clinic. My mom could never let a stray animal live on the street. She also could not fathom how parents could leave their children alone, to fend for themselves. After my parents got married, they decided to adopt because they could not have children naturally. Noah and I were in a foster family at the ages of 3 and 8, respectively. Noah was a quiet toddler who never bonded with anyone, child or adult. Until I came. Though we were not sisters by blood, we were sisters in all other ways possible. I even remember telling our parents that if they adopted me, they would have to take Noah too.

Victor and Juliana Mendez officially adopted us 2 years after. They are our parents. No one else will ever be, no matter what our birth certificates say. My mom was only 42 when she died from a malignant brain tumor found too late. She was different when she had it. She couldn't control her body. Sometimes she hurt herself. She had no way of telling us if she was in pain. It was heartbreaking and we couldn't do anything about it. After Mom died, Dad couldn't take living in New York. It was Mom's town and everything we saw when we stepped outside reminded us of her. Dad moved us out here to get away from the memories. When Noah and I found out, it wasn't a nice fight. We called Dad a coward more than once and things got broken.

Dad says Beacon Hills is our new beginning but Noah and I are upset.

I grabbed the bag of rabbit food and some carrots for our flop- eared bunny Skittles, as Noah fed our ferret Lennon. Our cat Keith, weaved in and out of my legs and purred. I picked up the Bengal that once was a stray and petted his tan fur. He purred and I smiled.

"Food for Lennon and food for Keith!" Noah sang.

"Skittles, don't worry- we didn't forget you!" I proclaimed, handing the food to Noah to give to our rabbit. I opened some cat food and put it in the food bowl I made in art class. Keith purred appreciatively and began to eat. I sat down at the table with Noah next to me as we watched our pets chow down. The door to our new house creaked open as dad and our pit bull mix, EJ bounded into the house. EJ jumped up and began licking me, his tail wagging furiously.

"Hey buddy, I missed you too!" I laughed. Noah and I stood up and hugged Dad simultaneously.

"No plans tonight Aria?" my dad teased. I rolled my eyes.

"What a humorous joke father dearest," I grumbled and he smiled.

'Who's ready for school?" Dad then asked us. I groaned and Noah sighed, shaking her head.

"Did you feed EJ?" I questioned my forgetful father. Dad shook his head so I began piling food into the bowl.

"Here EJ," I set the bowl down by his paws and he began to gulp it down.

"Bedtime for Noah! It's 9:00!" my dad proclaimed. Noah nodded, "OK Daddy," and clambered upstairs silently.

...

After an uneventful Sunday, I was pulling on my cliché 'I Heart NYC' t-shirt with my Beatles pajama pants and getting ready to read to Noah. Though she is 11, this is a ritual that hasn't changed for us. She handed me her book and got comfortable with her stuffed llama Jorge and her cat Jade. I cleared my throat and began reading the third Harry Potter book. (In a British accent, no less). "Aria?" Noah interrupted just as Harry was about to climb onto the Knight Bus.

"Yeah?' I asked her.

"I'm scared for school. What if they make fun of me and my accent?"

I paused. "Noah Nose, (you will be hearing a lot of weird nicknames our family has given each other!) in California all they care about is tanning, surfing and celebrity stalking. I bet they will not make fun of you. Besides, we don't have a New York accent anyway," I pointed out, which was true. Noah smiled.

"Can you braid my hair?" She asked then. I nodded, took a brush and began combing her hair out

"Shall we do normal braids, French braids or fish tail style tonight, Scooby?" I said.

"French braids please!" Noah smiled. I complied, combing her blond hair and twisting it until she had two French braids hanging past her ears.

"Time for sleep," I said when I was done, "Dad will come kiss you too," I hugged her then placed a kiss on top of her head. I turned on her CD, (this week's choice, a CD by The Rolling Stones) and shut her door halfway, the way she likes it.

I sat down at my bench and swirled the paint, mixing it until it grew to a subtle red, the color of mom's hair. It was funny; I was always jealous of her fiery, straight hair whereas she was envious of my black and curly locks. I once told her we should just trade heads for a day, just to see how each other felt. That made her seemed I could always make her laugh. I stroked my brush onto the paper, wondering what junior year at this new school would bring.

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