I didn't belong. I won't and never will. I feel like a stranger. A stranger who was just there to enjoy this tragic moment. Sick and twisted. This is how I felt at the moment. Anyone could pluck me out of the crowd. I mean, I'm the only one dressed up in jeans and pale white from the horror going on around me. Swirls of confusion, danger and a kiss of smoke surround - let me stop right there. Excuse my rudeness.

I am the one. I'm the one who is getting the cart ahead of the horse .I'm the one who started this. I'm the one who let out the secret. A family secret.

I guess I should start from the beginning. A beginning that was supposed to be fresh. That was meant to be a new start.

I'm Brooke Penelope Davis. I'm nothing but sixteen. Jail bait, not a model in the glossy pages in a magazine. One that you may be holding in your hands, at this moment. I'm a sixteen year old girl from the heart of Seattle. A girl who only wants to be home in her bed, warm, safe, and secure. Not insecure. That's not what I want to be.

I don't want to move to a place I don't even know. Where the people there are supposedly friendly. I don't know those people. I mean would you go up to some stranger and say 'hey my name is and I live here and I came from here'? No you wouldn't want to talk to someone you don't know, but maybe it's good to talk to someone different for a change. Someone you don't know, maybe.

I have a box in my hands labelled my stuff very vague huh? My mom is a worker. She always has been. She climbed the ladder at her last job and now we're moving. She's been offered a job at wave inc., in Tree Hill. Our things that were sitting in our house only a mere six hours ago, are boxed up and put roughly in a u- haul truck by four stubby, greasy, unkempt men. Josie, my cat, is somewhere but I can't find her. The back yard. Yes, she loves the shade that the left behind yard chair gives her.

I pick her up, but not before I touch the wet Seattle soil that's been exposed after so much rain. I sniff the air, the smell of fresh rained on grass. I may never smell that as often as I do-well did. I know what you're thinking. She thinks it doesn't rain in Tree Hill. I'm just saying it may not rain as much. I wipe my hand on my white skinny jeans.

I hear the shrill of my moms strained voice, calling my name repeatedly through the house. It's easy for it to echo, her voice bounces off the bare walls where family photos once hung.

"Brooke, honey I have been calling you for- what happened to your pants?" she says in a curious tone. "Nothing just a little dirt, that's all," I say nonchalant.

"Okay well we have to get going before traffic hits," she says.

"Maybe traffic is good you know. I-we can enjoy the site of this lovely city, one more time" I speak through my dry lips.

"What's with you and the word maybe?" she asks. I know her tone is playful and she means well, but leaving my home isn't a very happy occasion. I scowl.
"Okay, okay I surrender. Though if we get to town late it's your fault," she says again in a playful manner, "whatever" I say rolling my eyes.

"Car now" she yells as I pick up Josie, who lingered around my feet for the time of the conversation.

Tree hill. Here I begrudgingly come.

AN: To anyone or everyone who is reading this ,I now have a beta reader. So now ,you're reading will be a little more enjoyable. Also anyone who has ideas they would like me to use, I may be able to use them. I would also credit you. Just send me a message, or email it to me.

Crushed peicies of my heart.