Chapter 1 – New Home

"Are you joking?" my mouth fell open –this wasn't my dream house, this was far from dreamy.

"Annabelle, dear, close your mouth."

"Anna, Mum." Of course, Mum was always worried what the neighbours would say if they were peering nosily out the window and spotted the new family next door, and discovered that they had a deranged daughter who didn't like their perfect little town and was determined to leave. And she would never call me Anna like everyone else did.

When Mum and Dad explained to me the little town of Legg and the house we were moving to, they described with so much enthusiasm, excitement and splendour that I wouldn't have been surprised if it was a mansion. They described Legg as 'the most perfect place in the world, everyone is so friendly…' and they claimed the house would be 'spacious, beautiful, the garden's nice; too, it's everything we could ever dream of…'

There wasn't much to like here; just forests, forests, a lake, and then more forests. I should have appreciated it like dad told me. I answered back, of course, why waste time now when I had the rest of my time here to do it? Instead, I pulled my battered copy of 'Twilight' out of my bag and read that for the 2 ½ hour drive down to Legg –our new home.

A roar of an engine told me the removal van had arrived, and the slamming of car doors announced that Grace and Erin were getting out of the car. I got out of the car, too, and walked round to the boot to help Dad.

"Come on, Anna, life here will be great," Dad inquired, getting a box out and handing it to me. "Try not to break this box, please. Cheer up, Anna. You're going to a great school, Grace has found a good job and Erin will make new friends. Plus, I saved you the biggest room." He added with a wink, hoping to cheer me up. But he knew Grace would object.

Oh, joy! Just what I needed; a conflict with Grace over who gets the biggest room. As if life here wasn't bad enough, I'd only been here for about 5 minutes and was already considering escaping.

But, I probably would get the biggest room; I could throw the biggest and worst tantrum if I didn't get the room I wanted. Some man who called himself a doctor told me that I might have a minor case of ADHD, but I shouted at him, because in other words, ADHD means a hyper kid who seeks attention.

I didn't think I had ADHD, just some kind of really bad temper which caused me to pull strops and throw things and not pay attention to anything.

I smiled weakly at Dad, and then turned to the house, one hand around the box and one hand on my hip. I sighed, I would have to find a way to cope. Mum and Dad could have at least bought a bigger house.

You see, the problem with parents is that they think they're doing everything the right way, and they think they know what is best for you. But if Mum and Dad thought that the best way to turn over a new leaf was by exiling us all to here, then they should probably think again. Some parents.

I sighed again as I stared up at the small semi-detached Victorian house we now had to live in. It was red brick, and had revolting grimy windows. There was two floors and four bedrooms, one on the ground floor which Erin had already claimed.

I swung my bag over my shoulder as I trudged inside the house –all but empty except for Mum, Grace, Erin and the removal men.

As I stepped inside, Mum came rushing up to me, a small box in her hands.

"Here," she said breathlessly, dumping the box in my hands and relieving me of the one I had carried in. "Take this to your room; it's got your stuff in it. Try not to drop anything." She seemed to notice the quizzical expression on my face as she realised I had no clue where my room was –all I knew was that it was the biggest.

"Ah, up the stairs, first room on the right." She mumbled before rushing away into what I guessed would be the kitchen.

I stomped noisily up the stairs, and into the room I figured was mine.

Dad was right; it was the biggest…and also the emptiest. I placed the box on the wooden floorboards, and smiled; I liked the floorboards. Just then, someone knocked on the door. Without time to reply or move over to the door to answer it, two removal men barged in carrying my bed and some more boxes.

"Over there," I said, pointing to the wall beside the window. The removal man carrying my bed placed it where I said, and the other handed me the box. I placed it on the floor, and then walked over to lie down on the bed, sans mattress, as the men left the room.

Over the next hour, more removal men came into my room uninvited, carrying more boxes carrying more of my stuff. I didn't notice them; I just noticed the small but growing pile of boxes against one wall of the room.

I didn't have many things, but I did have a lot of books. Each of the cardboard boxes was labelled clearly, three boxes were filled with my clothes, one with my shoes, another was filled with miscellaneous, and the rest of them were labelled 'Books'.

Eventually, I rolled over and got my iPod out of my bag and turned it on, placing the headphones into my ears. The first song that came on was 'Hard to Live in the City' by Albert Hammond Jr. I laughed without humour at the irony of it –it wasn't hard to live in the city, it was hard to live in a small town.

I was slipping in and out of consciousness, one moment awake the next asleep. My iPod drowned out all other sounds; the loud, heavy beats of a particular rock song cutting out the sound of Dad's voice as he poked his head round the door.

I ignored him, and I ignored the other removal men bringing in my bedside table, my wardrobe and various other things.

I was being cynical, but I really didn't care. I didn't care that I was hurting people's feelings, either.

The wooden planks in my bed were hurting my back, so I searched through the boxes until I found the right one. I laid down the mattress and placed the dusty pillows over the top, not bothering that they were dirty.

I thought about sleeping, and I started to think more about the house around me. I sighed, the house was empty, and I felt empty. There was no furniture, no fire in the grate, (I wasn't even sure if we had one yet) no food in the fridge…just a lot of boxes and a lot of dust. It would take a lot to make this house a home. Now I sounded like a stupid Homebase advert.

I felt the depression slide over me as I once more slipped into unconsciousness, this time I stayed asleep.

The next day was a Tuesday, exactly one week until I started at my new school. I didn't feel ready to go to school, let alone a new one.

I pulled back my bed covers, and discovered I was fully dressed. As I got out of bed, I yawned loudly and decided to see what was for breakfast. I could smell bacon and eggs as I dragged myself downstairs –my favourite. Mum must have gone out early to buy them, and must have dug through a lot of boxes to find the frying pan and plates. I felt slightly guilty as I realised that I hadn't been particularly enthusiastic about the house. Plus she and Dad had tried to make it better for me here, they gave me the biggest room and cooked me bacon.

I entered the kitchen with my nose in the air, the scent of bacon wafting up my nose. The kitchen definitely needed work doing, at the moment it was just a mess of cupboards, except for our large, silver fridge which towered about the rest of the kitchen.

I ate my breakfast, eggs and bacon, in peace, then skulked back up the stairs and into my room. I groaned to myself as I thought about the day ahead; I would have to clean, tidy and decorate the house as well as this room.

Rummaging through the boxes I found my old silver purse, and pulled out the change for ten pounds. In another box I found a clean hoodie, so I took the old one off and pulled the new one on over my head.

I skipped down the stairs two at a time, and nearly crashed into Erin at the bottom.

"Anna, where are you going?" she demanded, her eyebrows raised.

"Out," I mumbled, tying to push past her. She blocked me by sticking her skinny leg out.

"Out where?" she prodded. Gosh, she was so nosy!

"The paint shop."

"Ooh, sounds like fun!" the funny thing was, she wasn't being sarcastic. Ah, the joys of being a 7-year-old; everything is interesting.

"No, you can't come, Erin." I sighed, pushing past her and heading out the front door.

There were already a few customers at the paint shop by the time I got there. I scored the aisles for about twenty minutes, until I found the colour I wanted; a pale blue.

But as I took out the money to pay for two large tins of paint, I spotted something that made me stop and stare.

It was a man, though he looked very young. He was about twenty, and had the palest skin I had ever seen. His dirty blonde hair framed his face well, and the colour of it brought out the green of his eyes and the handsomeness of his face. He was, without a doubt, extremely good-looking, and as he bent down to pay for a small pot of paint his eyes glanced in my direction.

I flushed, and looked away.

Funnily enough, though, I couldn't help looking at him, but I knew I had to stop staring. Realising a second too late that my mouth was hanging open, I hastily closed it, blushing once more.

Before I left the shop, I gazed back at the mysterious person, who was smiling coyly –but a nice, kind coy. I smiled back, trying to match his coy one. Then he winked at me, and I decided that it was time to leave the shop before the man gave me a heart attack.