Hey guys! I just got a Mac Book Air! *Everybody applauses* So, now I can probably get more stories out there quicker.

This idea was inspired by Kitsu Maxwell.

She left a comment that some people would say was mean, and that was how I took it at first, just another hater. But, I really took in consideration some of the things she said, and I realize how bad this story is. So, I am rewriting it. I also unexpectedly just ended the story, which wasn't very fair to any of you, so that is another reason why I have decided to rewrite Snowy Love. And this time around, I promise, I'll be better.

Chapter 1: Nothing To Stay For

I had given up hope a long time ago.

I no longer expected my father to snap out of what I had hoped was a "phase". I no longer kept believing that my father was just grieving his lost wife, and that it justified him beating me to a pulp. I no longer expected there to be food in the kitchen, clean clothes in my closet, and coming home to a clean house, free of beer cans and evidence spilled all over the house that reminded me, day after day, that my mother was gone.

And I defiantly, no longer expected my father to love me anymore.

But that didn't mean it still didn't hurt. It still hurt when I opened up the refrigerator door, hoping for something to eat after not eating for two straight days, and seeing nothing. It still hurt when I had to wear the same clothes everyday, of course drawing attention from the other kids. It still hurt that I had to step over beer cans in my once clean house.

And it still hurt to know that I wasn't loved.

That was what was on my mind as I grabbed my backpack from the bottom step of the staircase and stepped out of the house into the cool autumn air. The leaves where just starting to fall off of the tress, decorating them in a collage of oranges, reds, and yellows.

I wonder if the leaves knew that when they became something so wonderful, that when life became so good for them, they were only going to die.

The month of September was close to being over. I had been in school for over two months now, and I still haven't made a single friend. Not that I counted on doing that anyway.

It seemed only a handful of teachers seemed to notice that I was always outcasted by the other children, but only one or two of them actually said anything. Aand the things they said didn't actually mean anything. All they said was:

"Just try to make friends, you'll be surrounded by them in no time!"

Or:

"It's not healthy to be so isolated. Try talking to some of the other kids."

Yeah, easier said then done, thank you very much. Do you know how nerve racking it is to go up to someone and strike a conversation with them? Especially if you're already awkward and have social anxiety like me.

I gazed down at the small hole in my right black Converse low tops as I walked towards the high school.

I live in a very big neighborhood. One of those neighborhoods were the houses are simple and two story, yet smushed together next to a gazillion other house that look just like yours. Where you only have a couple of yards before there is another house, and another, and another. Those type of neighborhoods where you celebrate the holidays together, and grow up together. Those neighborhoods where everyone is suppose to know everything about everybody.

But oh, how they know nothing.

All of the kids avoid me, but I'm used to it. Being alone is something I've grown used to over the months that then turn into years. But, when someone like me is alone, it's bad. Because when I'm alone, my mind is free to wonder. Which is very, very, bad. Because when my mind wonders, thoughts start forming. Dark thoughts. And that is never good.

I can hear all of the other teens that surround me talking to each other about random stuff. Although the real chatter happens after school lets out and we're all walking home. But for now it's seven in the morning, it's chilly, and nobody really wanted to get out of bed this morning.

Except for me. I'm always looking for an opportunity to leave the house, whether my dad is there or not.

Suddenly, one of the kids on the other side of the road screams, "It's them!"

We all turn, preparing ourselves for the worst. If only they all knew how many times I've had to do that, they just might treat me better.

A black, sleek, shinny car comes zooming on the road, and my heart falls into my stomach.

It's the football players. A mixture of Juniors and Seniors that love to torture Freshman, like me. They think they rule the school because they won the state championship last year. And what made it worst, was that the team caption, also the richest kid in our entire town, no actually the richest kid in our entire state, scored the game winning goal. Which of course just made his ego shoot up even more, and his popularity went up with it.

Jack Frost.

I'll admit, I was jealous. But not because he was rich or popular, but because he had a family that love him and cared for him. Something I don't have...anymore.

One of the football players, a senior that was dumber than a loaf of bread, rolled down the sunroof and screamed, "FRESHIES!" And then thew an open bottle of Coke filled with half a pack of Mintos straight at me. They did it every morning.

And even though he was stupid, that still didn't effect his ability to throw.

It landed right at my feet and splatter me, and the girl that was about two yards in front of me. We both got the sticky liquid spilled on our arms and legs, but all of the kids ran over to the girl, asking if she was ok, some of the girls offering some wet wipes they had in their backpack.

But, of course nobody came over to me to see if I was ok. Nobody offered me any form of assistance. Because once again, I was forgotten.

The car had all ready zoomed by to go terrorize another set of Freshman, so while everyone was gathered around the girl, I ran past them all, trying to get to school early now so I could clean off the unwanted sticky substance.

Five minutes later, I arrived at our local town high school, pushing past the large crowd that was mostly Juniors, Seniors, and some Sophomres, mostly because they could all drive.

I ran to the nearest boy's restroom, my backpack smacking against the back of my upper thighs. The liquid was starting to dry, and get super sticky. This was just going to make the task at hand harder than what it was.

After wetting a bunch of paper towels and running them over my legs and arms, being slightly successful at the goal of cleaning myself off, I walked to my locker, of course keeping my head down and avoiding eye contact with anyone.

I'm messed up. That's how I'll put it in. In other words, I'm broken. Down right broken. God, I guess, made a few mistakes making me. I'm shy beyond any other average shy person, I have social anxiety, which is a total turn off for anyone who even dares to talk to me.

I hate it when people laugh at me.

I hate it when people look at me.

I hate it when people look me in the eye.

I'm afraid of never being good enough.

I'm afraid of disappointing people.

I'm afraid of rejection.

But, unfortunately, all of those fears have already come to life.

I'l never be good enough.

All I ever do is disappoint people.

And nobody will ever accept me.

These things I know for sure.

Not to mention my depression problem. But, I guess that's nobody's fault. Except my brain, always telling me things, things I don't want to hear.

Told you I was broken.

I twist the knob on my locker, grab the books that I need, and practically sprint to my class, but still keeping my head down at all times.

I'm not late; I just want to be the first one there. If someone else is there first, they will stare at me as I walk in, judging me, not accepting me as who I am...

The mere thought sends shivers down my back.

I finally arrive at my class, ten minutes early as usual. At least I start off the day with one of my favorite classes due to how crappy my morning has been. I'm in AP Calculus, the only Freshman in a class of Juniors of Seniors. I love math, it's so balanced and equal, and there is never a maybe in math, everything is in black and white. It's other right or wrong. That's what I love about math- the fact that it's stable, it never changes, and it's ironic because math is the complete opposite of my life. I guess that's another reason I like it. It keeps me busy, and keeps my mind away from the horror that is...well, my life.

I slide into my seat, trying to draw the least amount of attention to myself as I can. I pull out my notebook and the huge book that has the word "Calculous" on it.

Some other students walk in as well. I sink into my seat. Please don't notice me. Please don't say anything. I keep my eyes on my desk, staring down at my Calculous book.

Not that anyone would say anything.

I pull out my favorite book of all time: If I Stay. I can compare so much of my life to hers. Just like her, I play the cello. Although, I play it in secret so nobody can make fun of me. But, I love playing the cello. Whenever I play it, I leave this horrible reality, and I go to a different place, where's there is no yelling, no bullying, just me and my cello.

I just love music in general. It's an escape. So is writing.

Oh, spoiler alert: She stays. For anyone who hasn't read the book yet.

I don't know what it is. But, when you have a connection with someone, even if they are fictional, you cling to it. Just like Mia, I stick out like a sore thumb, and I hate it. All I've ever wanted was to fit in.

Just like Mia, our build is something we struggle with.

But, unlike Mia, I have nothing to stay for.

Nothing at all.