A/N: Yeah yeah yeah, it's another 'Girl goes to Camp Greenlake' fic. Even I get sick of them. And now I'm writing one. Twisted, right? Anyway, muse bit me.
I know, it's been done a lot. I'm working on making this one different. Unique. Trying to make it a really good story, and I think that I've done a good job so far.(I've already typed up some rough drafts of future chapters.)
Disclaimer: If I was Louis Sachar, that would be awesome, because it would mean that I wrote Holes, but alas, I'm not him. I don't even LOOK like him. Do I LOOK like some old guy? Wait...don't answer that...too many people would insult me by saying yes.
Prologue
I'm not a bad kid. Honest. Okay, so I've caused a heck of a lot of trouble to all my foster parents, and maybe gotten involved in a few fistfights in school. Add some minor theft on top of that. And I've run away. A lot. But I don't think that those minor things can possible make me deserve to go to some juvenile delinquent camp. Since I've belonged to the state my whole life, I've not exactly had it easy. Being bounced around a ton of foster homes, like some old sweater that nobody wants. And what kid wouldn't cause trouble after 14 years of being treated like crap? Sure, some of the people were nice. But you could tell, nobody wanted me. Most of them were either big families with lots of screaming babies or newlyweds who wanted to see what having a kid would be like. I probably wasn't the best example for those people. Point is, nobody wanted me. My own mother didn't want me, for crying out loud. She dumped me on some pastor's doorstep when I was a baby and took off.
So I grew up, distant from everybody, basically just hiding in my own little shell. And I got hardened. Pretty soon I was almost to a point where I didn't feel anything. One time after school I saw this kid getting beat up, and I just shrugged it off. Stuff like that happens. I spent a lot of time on the street, too, when I ran away, before they found me and hauled me off again. Living on the street hardens a person faster than anything. I caused trouble myself. I did pick fights with kids at school. I disrespected authority figures. And now where am I? Stuck on a hot, dirty bus, in handcuffs, driving through a desert to a boys juvenile delinquent camp. And why am I going there? Because the State can't find a place for me. No one wants me. They couldn't find anybody who wanted to take me in. No one wants me. But I don't care.