2nd chapter- enjoy!
Important notice: TIMELINE CHANGE! Claire arrived in Westchester sometime during grade six. And Kristen moved to The Pinewoods a few months after grade seven started (when the story will be starting). In case it wasn't obvious, this would be an AU fanfic. I'll try my best to add the big things that happened in the books, though.
Thanks to hawtjuicyaddict and gravity5 for reviewing. Stay loving and keep on reading!
Thanks for the Alerts. :3
Sadly, I do not own The Clique but I do own my OCs. :):
Kitten
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" My mom, Marsha Gregory, exclaimed as she looked around my new bedroom proudly.
"Must be opposite day today," I mumbled under my breath.
Upon hearing me, Mom patted my blonde head comfortingly. "It isn't that bad, honey. We'll get through this. I promise." And with that, she left me alone to go yell-instruct the movers to where exactly they should put the shelves in our living room.
With a sigh, I flopped down to my blue and green polka-dot duvet and looked around; trying to imagine the new friends I would make hanging out in my new room. That is, if they would even willingly hang out in The Pinewoods.
My apartment isn't exactly that bad—if only we weren't in this part of Westchester. As in the rich and privileged and glamorous part of Westchester.
But maybe I was just overreacting. Maybe I was just anxious. Maybe this was part of the New Girl Syndrome. After all, being the new girl starting in a new school in the middle of the year is hardly easy. Sure, there'll be those cases in which the rich, popular pretty girl transfers and instantly wows the student body. And I'm someone like that. I think.
I've always believed that I already have the three Bs. Namely, beauty, brains, and brawn. My only problems are being rich and popular.
Living in The Pinewoods and attaining a scholarship to Octavian Country Day are proof enough of having money issues.
In my old school, Karter Middle School, I wasn't exactly popular but I wasn't a wannabe either. On the soccer field (or any sports field for that matter), I was the star. And when I walked down the hallways, I was a respected student. But I've realized how much my life is pretty much consumed by sports and studying. I have friends, sure, but mom would only let me "socialize" with them if I study. Or play sports. It was like Planet Loser at its finest.
I warily picked up the OCD handbook which sat on top of my bedside table along with my lime green lamp. I browsed through the pages, becoming more and more nervous for Monday.
"Clothing is a form of self-expression. We encourage—"
I quickly shut the handbook. In Karter's handbook, it never mentioned anything about clothes being a form of self expression. Nor did it encourage the students to actually come in good, reliable designer wear. Were they serious?
I closed my almond-shaped aqua eyes tight, trying to imagine what my classmates would say upon seeing the dowdy non-designer clothes Mom forces me to wear. They would probably think I was trying to express to them that I was just another scholarship girl with no real taste in clothes.
We'll see about that.
I stood up and shuffled over to one of the boxes placed in my lime-colored room. I opened it and started taking out the clothing items in it.
Shirts, pants, shorts, maxi skirts, and other unacceptable clothes from Marshall and last year's Juicy Couture spring collection came out. Only a few were decent… but not for the first day of school.
Hmm. Today was a Friday, which meant I only had less than three days to prepare myself for Monday. And I should start by buying acceptable stuff. Just as I was figuring the perfect excuse to head over to Saks, David Beckham sauntered in.
No, it wasn't that amazing soccer player from England. I wish. It was just my fluffy white Persian cat.
"What's up Beckham?" I mumbled absentmindedly. Beckham replied by rubbing his white head against my toned and tanned calves. I picked him up and sat down on the blue shag area rug, stroking his coconut-scented fur. "How's it going so far?"
"Meooww," he purred, looking as if he was asking the same question.
"I know," I agreed. "This… sucks. Why The Pinewoods of all places? I mean, the place is nice and cozy and all, but seriously? If mom says this is gonna be okay, then why would she let us stay in an unglamorous apartment in the middle of glamorous Westchester? Our old house in the other side of town was perfectly fine. And so was my old school. She didn't need to transfer me to OCD in the middle of the year because of dad's new job! Couldn't she have just waited till next year? Or better yet, NEVER!"
Beckham started hissing, and thinking he was encouraging me to go on, I started rambling longer. I poured my doubts about everything. How I was feeling really nervous, how I'm scared that my old friends might forget me and move on, how people my find out about my scholarship and think I wasn't good enough... But when he started to scratch my hands, only then did I realize he was trying to stop me from squeezing him to death.
"Oops," I breathed, releasing him from my deadly grasp. I watched him run out of my room, possibly to annoy the movers. Beckham always did that whenever strangers were in the house and he wanted them to leave. And that tactic worked. Sometimes, anyways.
I stood up once more and followed my cat, ready to pester my mom—something I always did whenever I wanted something badly.
And what I wanted right now was to escape Planet Loser.
