Anna.

I never expect there to be simple, middle-class homes in this town.

From what I have seen in my five-minute drive through town, Arendelle, Illinois, is not middle-class. Massive lawns with lively gardens. Gargantuan mansions. Hell, I haven't seen a McDonald's since I entered the area. Arendelle is absolutely lavish, with affluent citizens practically controlling the place.

My eighteen-year-old brother Kristoff seems as amazed as I am. Although he is the one driving, he is completely inattentive to the road; instead, he's gazing around, as if the houses just like the ones back in suburban New York are downright spectacular. The warm August air is drifting inside through the open window beside him, yet is wearing what he would usually wear back in New York: A beanie, dark jeans, and a hoodie. His shaggy, blonde hair falls over his eyes.

I crane my neck to look behind me. My ten-year-old brother Olaf is rambling on about how summer never ceases to fascinate him. His dark brown hair is sticking up in places and his charcoal eyes are focused on me now. He can talk endlessly, especially if the topic is summer. He adores the sun and the warm weather that much. I, on the other hand, only ramble when I am nervous.

I glimpse at the two brothers and shake my head. Sometimes it is difficult to believe that we are related because our appearances do not resemble one another's. Kristoff has unkempt blonde hair and a somewhat tan complexion, while Olaf is pale and has contrasting dark hair (and a rather large nose, but we do not mention that to him). While they both share the same amber eyes, mine are a dingy blue-green. I am gifted with the same tan complexion, but I also have auburn-red hair with a single blonde streak on the right side. My hair can become a little unruly a times, so I usually contain it with braiding it into two pigtails. Freckles dot my cheeks and the bridge of my nose; of course, I am the only member of the Summers family with embarrassing traits: Clumsiness, what Kristoff calls "an unbearable sunny disposition," and the infuriating habit of rambling when I am nervous.

Kristoff elbows my left side. "This is great, isn't it?" he questions. "I mean, we aren't living in one of those gigantic mansions..." He trails off and bites his lip. "Yeah, we aren't living in one of those gigantic mansions."

"But it's summer!" Olaf points out ecstatically. He is grinning from ear to ear. "Swimming pools and beaches and ice cream and sun! Put me in the sun and I'll be a..." He pauses, seemingly deep in thought. Then his expression brightens and he exclaims, "Happy snowman!"

Kristoff chuckles, casting a sidelong glance at me. "He knows what happen to snowmen in the sun, right?" he asks in a low voice.

"Don't you dare tell him," I warn through gritted teeth.

Kristoff shakes his head, disregarding the subject, and directs his attention towards the road. "All jokes aside, isn't this fantastic?" He sighs contentedly. "We're free-we're finally free. I'm training to become a veterinarian"-he has always has a passion for caring after animals-"and Olaf is starting fifth grade. And damn, you're sixteen already. You're already in your sophomore year of high school."

The thought sinks into the pit of my stomach-not the fact that I am in my third year of high school, but the fact that I will be attending a new school in two days. Arendelle High, apparently. Judging by the imposing houses and the innumerable sports cars I have spotted since this drive, school will most likely be difficult at first. I am not one to give up, though; Kristoff states that my unwavering determination is an irritating trait of mine. On the other hand, I believe it is a major advantage. When I want something, I will work at it relentlessly until I receive it, regardless of what obstacles lie in the way.

In fact, I was the one who suggested we move to escape our drunkard father. He was dangerously violent, almost sending Olaf in a permanent slumber with a kitchen knife once. That's when Kristoff and I decided enough was enough.

And now I am here.

In addition, I strongly believe that everything works out in the end. History cannot be unwritten, and so can't my disturbing childhood. Before the move, everything took a deep plunge. But means life has to gradually glide up from here on.

I glance out the window. The sun is casting down a glorious light; the sky is a deep blue, not a single cloud to be seen. The perfect view if I am traveling up.

XXX

Once we arrive at our new home (a one-story white house with a black roof), I pick out my room. Since this house is not as lavish as the others, there are only three bedrooms. They are in the same hallway and are practically the same size. I pick out the one closest to the bathroom for the sake of convenience.

My Converse slap onto the hardwood flood as I haul my heavy suitcases into my new room. I have five total: Two containing clothing, one containing stuff for my bedroom, one containing toiletries (ahem, womanly necessities), and the final one crammed with school supplies. (Arendelle High is incredibly demanding!)

Kristoff is going to retrieve a few boxes with my other belongings. However, as I study my room, it does not take long for me to realize that it is completely unfurnished. No bed, no desk, just a window looking into the backyard and white walls that vaguely remind me of snow.

I shudder. I never favored snow because I would inevitably slip on it and injure myself. And afterwards, I would blubber on and on about how embarrassed I would be, only humiliating myself further.

I am so lucky Kristoff brought the air mattresses.

I amble out into the hallway, crinkling my nose is distaste at the alien new house scent.

I carefully make my way down the hall, taking note of my surroundings. If I go down the hallway and take a left, I will be the the kitchen. I'm grateful that the kitchen has basic necessities: Counters, sink, dishwasher, stove, and the fridge (the fridge is a number one priority). The kitchen is connected to the living room with an arch.

I stride into the carpeted living room, smiling fondly at Olaf looking out the large window.

"What're you looking at?" I question, walking beside him. The window allows a view of the backyard; I notice an oak tree towering over the house, its highest branches probably able to graze the top of one of those fancy mansions.

Olaf's eyes are gleaming with interest. "Summer," he states simply, his voice hushed in utter awe. "I don't want it to end. What if Dad returns when summer ends?"

I rub his back soothingly as Kristoff walks through the front door, grunting as he carries a stack of boxes. "Olaf, that's not going to happen," I reassure my youngest brother. "I mean, summer's going to end like it always does, but I'm certain Dad won't return. He doesn't know where we are right now. Plus, he's a bad person, and the police are probably gonna get to him real soon. Promise."

Immediately Olaf gives me a toothless grin. My heart warms at his cheerfulness; he's an optimistic boy and does not allow anything to bring him down. Kristoff constantly jokes that Olaf and I will share the same "unbearable sunny disposition," which I don't mind. I kind of understand why Olaf scares children his age away; he's quite intimate, which makes many uncomfortable. Olaf's signature greeting "I'm Olaf and I like warm hugs" has shooed away numerous potential friends.

"Anna, let's play outside!" he cries out, snatching my hand and dragging my down the halls. I nearly knock over Kristoff, who is still carrying to heavy boxes.

He curses. "Anna!"

I stick my tongue out at him and Kristoff's peeved expression disappears from my line of vision as I turn a corner.

XXX

I have to crane my neck back to properly look at my new high school.

Arendelle High is a massive brick building, three stories high. Huge windows peer into the cafeteria, while smaller windows look into classrooms. ARENDELLE HIGH is carved onto the side of the building, right beside the entrance. And this is just the front of the building; according to the school website, they own two track fields, two football fields, two soccer fields, and a swimming pool. Why the hell is this not a private school?

Students are filing into the building, casually chatting. Meanwhile, newcomers are staring at the building in amazement and/or fear.

I gulp and shoulder my black backpack and lift up the paper Hollister bag (I scribbled over the shirtless guy with Sharpie). Then, hesitantly, I follow the crowd into my new life.

Most of the students are already acquainted with the building, so they nonchalantly amble about. However, I have no knowledge whatsoever and am extremely uncoordinated. I keep bumping into students and stupidly apologizing afterwards. I receive reprimanded looks in return.

Did I dress too casual? I study my outfit-green t-shirt, purple sweatshirt jeans, black Converse-and then observe other students' clothes. Name brand clothing, fancy sneakers, and gleaming jewelry. I shake my head in disapproval.

Struggling to keep hold of the paper bag, I round a corner. My locker number and combination is written on my left hand, but the paper bag is too heavy to carry with one hand. I groan and plow against the wave of students.

Before I round another corner, I decide to check my hand. I cautiously remove my left hand and the weight of the bag alone on my right hand nearly sends me crashing down. Luckily, I maintain my balance and chuckle nervously at the students casting me strange looks.

Once I round the corner, however, I collide with a body, and the bottom of the bag tears. My school supplies pour out like a waterfall, scattered by inconsiderate students.

I yelp in panic and scurry over to to the heap of my belongings, hastily apologizing as I desperately gather them into a somewhat neat pile. Apologizing once again, I clumsily shove everything into the ruptured bag. I grab the bottom of the bag to prevent any more things from falling out and rush to the side.

The hallway is beginning to clear as a man orders for everyone to accumulate in the gymnasium. He is extremely tall and wide-set with a thick mustache. The nametag pinned to his striped shirt reads MR. OAKEN. Although he looks very intimidating, he takes me by surprise when he says in a gentle, high-pitched voice, "Hoo hoo! Along to the gym, now, children! Excited for school, yah?"

"Ugh, Mr. Oaken really needs to learn how to communicate with teenagers," a female voice mutters.

I glance up and am met by a pair of light blue flats. My gaze travels up, and my heart nearly stops beating altogether.

A girl with unbelievably pale skin is looking down at me. I assume that she is a teacher because her hair seems to be white, but as my vision refocuses, I determine it as a platinum blonde. Her hair is messily braided, unconfined strands framing her face perfectly. Her eyes are blue like mine, but they're a different shade of blue-an extremely pallid blue, the kind that vaguely reminds me of ice. Actually, her whole outfit gives off an icy aura: Light blue pullover and white jeans. She is so pale that the lack of color almost makes my eyes burn. The only contrasting color are her pink lips, and they are perked up in a self-assured grin.

A terrifyingly familiar feeling is stirring in the pit of my stomach. I feel the heat rise to my cheeks-and elsewhere-as I'm staring at her lips, longing for something I don't quite understand.

I realize that I'm blatantly staring at her. Face red with embarrassment, I immediately leap to my feet. However, the gorgeous girl decides to bend over to assist me at the same moment so we end up bumping heads. She winces and rubs the left side of her head.

My jaw drops in astonishment. "I am so sorry!" I blabber. "Argh, I'm new here and I'm ridiculously clumsy and it gets me into a lot of shit and I am super duper sorry for all of this! I didn't mean to run into you, I just wasn't paying attention because I was trying to read what's on my left hand-by the way"-I impulsively hold out my left hand, accidentally hitting her smack dab on the center of her nose-"holy shit, I am so, so, so sorry-"

The girl pinches the bridge of her nose with her right hand and holds up her other to silence me. I instantly clamp my mouth shut, my face burning red.

"It's okay," she reassures me; her tone does not sound forced in any way, which surprises me. She shoves her right hand in her pocket, smiling awkwardly. "I'll be fine."

I smile sheepishly. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." The gorgeous girl leans back against the wall, shaking her head in amusement. "Are you scared of failing?"

I give her a weak smile. "Well, it's my first day. I don't want to make a bad impression."

She cocks her head, and my heart seems to beat faster. "You don't look like a freshman."

"I'm not. I'm a sophomore; I'm just a new student."

She folds her arms. "Ah, I see." She smiles, and there is this strange sensation in my heart, like I am at the highest peak of a roller coaster and spiraling down. "Five dash three hundred fifty-six."

I raise an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"Five dash three hundred fifty-six," she repeats. "Your locker number. Your combo is eighty-three dash ninety-four dash ten." She smirks and the weird sensation reoccurs, more prominent this time. "Do you know how to open your locker?"

I scoff. "Why wouldn't I?"

She gives me a knowing look, as if to say, I've known you for less than five minutes and I'm already aware that you're a fuck-up.

I sigh in defeat. "I don't have a damn clue," I confess wearily.

She motions for to follow her, her icy eyes twinkling. "Follow me then. I'll help you." Without allowing me to reply, she turns around and begins walking.

I bite my lip and my no-no square heats up at the sight of her rear. I shake my head vigorously. Oh my God, Anna, not now.

I jog in order to catch up to her. I cannot help but admire something else besides her butt: The way she walks. She stands tall and with a noticeable confidence. Her head is held high and her hips sway. The few students wandering the halls instinctively move aside at the sight of her. I may not possess any, but confidence is extremely attractive.

I gaze up at her (she's at least three inches taller than me) and inquire, "So...why are you helping me? Not that I'm ungrateful, I'm just curious."

"'Cause you look pathetic."

I feel a pang deep in my chest. I furrow my eyebrows together in confusion. "Oh."

She shakes her head and places her hand on my shoulder. My entire arm tenses at her touch and my heart is thumping against my ribs. My breath hitches in my throat. "Don't take anything I say to heart," she informs me, her eyes darkening due to her pupils dilating. "And it's because we're both sophomores. Also, I try to be a decent human being, unlike my brother." She turns a corner and I follow, now intrigued.

"Is your brother a dick?" I question, and then recognize the error in the wording. "Erm, I didn't mean to call your brother a-"

"Dick?" The girl snorts. "'Dick' is an understatement. By the way, here's your locker." She pokes a beige locker beside a water fountain and cracks a small smile.

My heart drops when I realize that I'm done talking to her. I do not want to stop talking to her; for some reason, I long to have more conversations with her, preferably more personal ones...

I inwardly shudder at my abnormal thoughts. God, you're such a pervert.

The gorgeous girl eyes me momentarily, a lopsided smile plastered onto her face. "Well, it was a pleasure meeting you."

I blush and reply, "Ditto."

My eyes widen and she giggles, "You're so awkward it's adorable."

I'm certain my face is a fiery red now. "Thanks. You too!" I mentally facepalm myself. "No, no, no! I mean, you are adorable, but it's not because you're awkward! You're so confident it's attractive-like, extremely attractive. Like, damn." I berate myself in my head and mutter, "You know what, I'll shut up now."

Instead of looking at me in disgust as I was anticipating, her cheeks are tinged a pale pink-is she blushing?

She recomposes herself, clearing her throat and assuming an imposing stance. However, there is something different: Her stance is rigid, her muscles tense instead of relaxed like they were earlier. "Thank you," she acknowledges stiffly.

My eyebrows knit together and I bite my lip. Awkwardly, I hold out my hand and say, "I guess I should introduce myself. Anna Summers."

She studies my hand skeptically. Something flashes in her eyes: Fear? Guilt? Shame? It makes my heart sink nonetheless.

She tentatively grips my hand (my heart skips a beat) and shakes it firmly. "Elsa. Elsa Arendelle."

It takes me a second to register her last name. Arendelle...

"Arendelle? Oh..."

She nods curtly. "My great-something grandmother founded this town. So...yeah."

She does not boast; in fact, she seems ashamed. "Doesn't that make you rich, then?" I question, and before I can apologize, a male voice says, "Extremely wealthy, actually."

I turn around and am met by a tall, well-built male. His dark brown hair is tousled artfully, as if he wanted it to look like he woke up and did not fix his hair. His brown eyes are fixated on me, his stare hungry and harsh. He's slightly tan and wearing a blue button down. The insufferable scent of Axe reeks from him; I suppress a cough.

He is smirking at me. Suddenly, he grabs me by the waist and pulls me in close, but not that close. "I'm Hans. Hans Arendelle," he greets smoothly, his hot breath burning my face.

The asshole brother. "I'm Anna. Anna Summers," I introduce, chuckling uncomfortably. I glimpse back at Elsa; her hands are clenched tightly and her eyes are narrowed in a sharp glare. She's infuriated, I can tell, but why? I stifle a grin when I wonder if she is jealous.

I put a hand on his chest and push him back, furthering the distance between us. "Nice meeting you."

He releases me and grins. "It was a pleasure meeting you."

"Okay, Hans, that's enough," Elsa snaps, storming over to us and clutching my arm. My arm tenses and the awkward emotions in my heart intensify. "You're making her uncomfortable."

As Hans argues with his sister, she drags me away, fuming.

In hopes of lightening the mood, I state, "You two look nothing alike."

She looks at me grimly, and I know I have made a mistake.

Finally, she sighs and diverts her gaze. "Good. He's a sleaze. I don't want to share anything in common with him."

I purse my lips. Sure, Hans was a bit forward, but he is charming and handsome. I would not be surprised if girls were throwing themselves to him.

"Is he single?" I blurt out.

Elsa halts, her jaw tightening. She stares me in shock and fury and...hurt? The pain in her eyes is evident: They are glassy and dark. "Yes," she replies flatly. She lets go of my arm and says, "Anyway, I'll lead you to the gym."

She strides down the hallway, her formerly confident posture now slouched.

I decide to not say anything and follow, two emotions swirling within me.

Anguish and admiration.

A/N: How do you like it? I recently watched Frozen for the first time, and I absolutely adore Elsanna. I wanted to write this in a high school setting though, because I could relate to it more and I felt as if others could as well. So, I hope you enjoyed it!