Hey, guys, I'm starting To Write Love On Her Arms over again. So, it will still have the same characters and happenings, it will just be set back a while, while she is still at the same age.

I am listening to: Headstrong by Trapt

I do not, nor have I ever, owned PJO.

Chapter 1

"Nation Disgrace"

…

I see your fantasy, you want to make it a reality paved in gold, see inside, inside of our heads, yeah, well, now that's over.

Silently I looked out the window, mixed feelings about this town. Hanover, Pennsylvania. I didn't know much about it. So far, we had passed four 'Utz' factories, some place that made potato chips and a 7/11, and a sign that said, "Welcome To Pennsylvania, where our puppy mills are a nation disgrace!"

My gaze shifted back to my father, a 33 year old bald Hispanic made named Jorge. He had been silent since we had gotten off the airplane. It was rather lucky because I wasn't speaking to him either.

I stared at the low sidewalks and close houses, a glare working it's way onto my face.

"You'll like it here, mija." Jorge said suddenly, his dark eyes flickering towards me for a moment before going back to the road.

"Somehow," I began, flipping the bird at a boy who stared at me too long, "I doubt that." As if on cue, the little red truck we were in ran over a pot hole, serving as a point as to my hatred of such a town.

"Listen mija, I already have the house paid for. We're just going to see Grammy Flores." He said this like it was a good thing. I supposed it was in his mind. Mine, however, wanted to jump out of the little red truck and walk back to California where my dreams laid.

"Just what I wanted." I spat sarcastically, "to see my senile grandmother! Yippy Ki A! After that let's go visit cousin Osabas in the mental institute he's residing in! Then maybe, and just maybe, we'll visit Grandpa in prison! What a lovely way to spend the day!"

The silence in the car was overwhelming. Then, we hit another pothole. Fuck yes.

"I'm sorry." Jorge said after a while.

"Me too." I said evenly, waiting for him to take the bait.

"What for, mija?" he asked, his tan face twisting with confusion.

I turned my head towards him, making sure my voice was drawling, "I'm here."

Jorge frowned but did not try to start another conversation with me.

Turn. Turn. Swerve—stupid cat. U-turn. Hit the gas. Turn. Stop sign. Swerve—damn kid. Turn. Turn. Park.

"Oh, baby! You have grown so much! How are you, Danielle?" I glared at the chubby Hispanic woman in front of me. That. Was. Not. My. Name.

"It's Paris, abuela." I said sweetly, trying to squirm out of her iron grip. When I found I couldn't I decided to instead glare at the skinny brown haired twins behind her, my eyes more fixed on the one with glasses rather than the one without them.

"Oh, yes, yes, dear." She said offhandedly, dragging me over to the snickering boys. "Isidro, Ramon, this is my granddaughter Danielle."

I couldn't stop the growl that escaped my throat, "My name is, Paris." I spat out. It's not that hard, you old bint! I thought viciously.

"Isidro." The one with glasses said, sticking out his hand.

"Ramon." The other one said, keeping his hands in his pockets.

"Daddy!" I called instead. "Can we go now? We visited; therefore, we can leave, right?"

"Such a jokester, little Paris is." Jorge said, gripping my shoulders while trying to soothe my erratic grandmother.

"Less is more." I muttered. The less time I spend with them, the more sanity I have.

"Mr. Flores, am I correct?" Isidro said. I think I'll call him Sid.

"Yes." Jorge replied, smiling falsely, though I supposed acting is a big part of his business.

"What school will Paris be starting?" he questioned, his face looking innocent enough.

"Some place called Bermudian Springs in the eighth grade." Jorge said.

"Really?" Ramon perked up, "We go there, along with out older sister, Ellie."

"Really?" I said in the same tone, "I could care less." And with that, I went back to the little red car ready to be taken home.

…

East Berlin Pennsylvania, population, 2000.

On the street behind Rocco's pizza place laid a little neighborhood. In the middle stood a blue house.

This, was where I was living.

Kill me now.

Get me out of this place, before I cause anymore damage.

...

I am listening to: Running From Lions by All Time Low

Okay, so right now I am going to vent, feel free to skip to the bottom,

So right now I am really fucking pissed. My dad and I had another argument, just him being an asshole and me being a bitch. So of course he's telling me how proud of my eldest brother Alberto and how I'm fat and stupid. If that doesn't piss me off, him not even hinting at my other brother David did. He's dead, it's not like he never fucking existed. I hate my father so much. Sometimes I feel like going anorexic just to get him riled up at not eating enough and I am just so fucking sick of everyone in this fucking house. I am so close to leaving all their sorry asses behind. And my mom is such a fucking unsupportive bitch! She just forgets David when everything is fine but when everything is going down the hill she starts going pshycho bitch, "David wouldn't do that! David would love to come along! Why can't you be like David?" And it just pissed me the fuck off. And when I told her that I've been hearing voices, and that I might have Schizophrenia she fucking made fun of me, "Oh, did the voices tell you to do that too? Listening to the voices again? Did they tell you to who's going to win the Superbowl?" and I'm just so sick of it!

Anyways, review!

O.o Livi Lou o.O