Chapter 1: Bad News

Before I moved to Beacon Hills I was just your everyday high schooler. No one ever looked twice at me before that wonderful day, but that comes later.

Hi, my names Brittney Bluebird. I'm 5'6" with long legs, long brown hair to my waist and intelligent hazel eyes. My story starts in a small town in Colorado on a cold October day.

My day started off just like every other, the exact same routine. Wake up, get a quick shower, grab breakfast, and leave for school.

It was in my trig class that things started going downhill. My schools campus monitor, Mary, came into the classroom looking shaken. Naturally my fellow classmates were all wondering what was going on, to be honest so was I, little did I know the conversation that was happening right outside the door would change everything for me.

When my teacher came in he looked shocked too, but he met my eyes steadily, "Brittney, your parents are here to pick you up. Take your things from your locker as well, I don't think you'll make it back to school for awhile."

I nodded to him, gathered my things from my desk and walked down the hallway with Mary. I could feel the eyes on my back as I left the class but I tried not to think about that as I opened my locker and quickly emptied its contents into my backpack.

What's going on? My parents never pull me out of school for anything. Not even when my brother broke his arm a few years ago. I was thinking this as I pulled open the office door to see my parents sitting next to each other on the couch. My dad looked vaguely shell shocked, and my mom was in tears. "Mom, dad, what's wrong?" I asked as I moved to comfort my mother.

My dad turned towards me slowly, as if he would shatter into a million pieces if he moved to fast, "your Grandma passed away a few hours ago. Larry said that her heart gave out and he couldn't get to her in time."

My Uncle Larry was staying in Beacon Hills with my Grandma after her heart attack last spring.

"Her funeral is in a week, we're catching the flight out of here at noon, that gives us 2 hours to pack and get to the airport," my dad unwillingly continued.

My mind can't process this, my loving Grams, who had always been there for me is dead? How? She can't just die. I didn't even get to say goodbye.

The next 6 days were hell, packing clothes and other necessities, getting on a plane to California, meeting my uncle at the airport, and arriving at Grams' house were the easiest. What came after that wasn't easy on anyone. We had to sort through Grams' stuff. All the pictures, all the papers, all the memories.

She had moved into the house in Beacon Hills 2 years ago after my Grandpa passed, since then I had only visited her twice, and I didn't really remember the house much.

The day before the funeral Grams' lawyer read us her will, clearly stating 'my belongings go to whoever wishes to keep them. My house and my Impala go to my beloved Granddaughter.'

Grams left me a house and her 1967 Chevy Impala in an unfamiliar town. Why? What was her purpose of giving me a house so far away from my beautiful Colorado? These thoughts plagued my mind for days after my Grams' funeral.