Chapter One
The day dawned bright and early for Shania Love, and the birds chirped happily outside her bedroom window. Shania was almost going to admit that it was peaceful in the country, out here in Springwood, but she didn't want peaceful. She wanted New York. She wanted the traffic that made your heart race. She wanted the parties. She wanted her friends. She wanted it all back.
But after her recent brush with slight insanity, Shania's father had moved them out here. She had hated him for it, but his blue eyes, so full of concern for her and only her, had softened her attitude.
"It'll be good for you," he had pursued as they rode the plane from their Upper East Side penthouse in New York City to.here.
When she had first seen it, her first thought was, 'Where is "here"?'. It seemed like only a speck in the highway; Shania was amazed her Dad could even find it, being as bad as he was with navigating in a car by himself. In New York, their chauffer had always driven them everywhere.
But it was Springwood. The tiny dot on the map was called Springwood. What had even put it on the map? Something pretty spectacular must have happened here for it to be recognized as a real place. Even Buffalo hadn't been on the map until a few years ago.
Springwood High. What an original name for a high school. But then, when there was only one, how many unique names did you need to come up with? And that was where Shania was off to today. Her first day of grade eleven had to be spent in a hick-town high school, with nothing to do afterwards.
At least the pain of going to school for the first time after six weeks of holidays in New York had been numbed by the prospect of a lively party after. Now, even Shania didn't have that. She had to move from her gorgeous house in her gorgeous town in her gorgeous state with all of its top-of-the-line shopping centers and all of her gorgeous friends, and now, she didn't even get to have a party. After all, she didn't know any one here, except her Dad, who didn't count.not for anything other than family.
Shania pulled a comb through her long, thick, wet hair, wincing as it tugged on knots. She plugged in the hair dryer, blasting it full over her wet head, until every inch of her gorgeous hair was dry and smooth, bouncy at the ends with her perfect - and natural - curls. The envious stares that she had always gotten in New York because of her never needing to use a curling iron and fry her hair like so many other girls who tried too hard to be beautiful had always tickled Shania's insides like nothing else. Though, thinking back on those stares and the way she and her friends used to laugh at those girls made her even more homesick, and inevitably nervous.
Shania didn't have to try hard to be beautiful, and that was what made her unique - in a way. She still dressed in the latest New York fashions and wore makeup like any other girl, but it was only to enhance what she already had.
Now, don't get me wrong, it wasn't as though Shania was one of those perfect "just ask her" girls. She looked perfect, but it wasn't as though she acknowledged it. Looking in the mirror was satisfactory to her, but any other girl would have given a limb or two to look like she did.
Many people had often called her "White Tyra Banks", because she was so pretty.
Maybe her eyes were her most arresting feature, but molded with the rest of her face, they made her beautiful. Fringed by long, thick, curling eyelashes that accentuated their almond, slightly upward slanted shape, they were black-ringed, silver flecked emeralds in darkly tanned skin. A slender, straight nose extended from fine, fully arched brows, leading down to full, red lips not unlike Angelina Jolie's. Her jaw was a smooth, yet strong line against her slender, seemly neck, her chin determined and almost arrogant. Her cheekbones were high and wide, her cheeks slender.
Had she wanted to be a model, she would have had no trouble at all. Her body was long - especially at the legs - and slender, but she still had her curves. She was a little taller than average height, standing at five feet, eight inches, and her hair did nothing to downplay her height. Cascading from her head to her softly curved hips, it only made her bold height stand out more, even if it was layered. It was a perfect, untouched blonde, curling at the ends, making the thickness bounce.
As Shania wrested a comb through the knotted curls, she cursed God for not giving her Andy's hair. Andy was Shania's best friend - a girl - and she had the thinnest hair known to man. It was easy to comb through and it took her five minutes to get her hair brushed instead of the twenty it took Shania; not including the times she had to brush it at school.
Thoughts of Andy made Shania think of home, which she shouldn't have been thinking about. It just made her sad.
Standing from her dressing table's cushy chair, Shania went over to her walk-in closet, her white bathrobe brushing against her smooth, bronze legs. Opening the door, Shania chose her best attention-grabber outfit; a pair of Brazilian cut black jeans with a rhinestone studded belt, a satiny black halter-top with a cowled neck and diagonal stripes of glitter in a silvery-pink color, and high-heeled Dolce & Gabbana black boots. The outfit flashed her belly-button-ring, which was now a pink-and-white cat's eye on a silver hoop, and her fine-boned bronzed arms. She pulled her hair into a ponytail high on top of her head, with the bangs framing her face.
She was zipping up her backpack just as her Dad called her from downstairs.
"Shania!" he said, "You're going to be late!"
"I'm coming Dad," she yelled back, exasperatedly. She sprayed some of her Escada perfume in her hair and on the exposed areas of her body, leaving her room smelling like a Russian whorehouse and leaving her smelling like a bar of the sweetest candy.
***
Perhaps the school was exactly what Shania had predicted it to be. Small, no more than three hundred people at the most. What surprised her most of all was their clothing. It appeared to be rather hip for the girls, and the boys were dressed typically for any boy.
'Where did they get their clothes?' Shania wondered. Was there a mall nearby? Her spirits brightened. Maybe she could convince her Dad to take her shopping after school, if she could find a mall.
The classes were predictably long and dreary, making Shania's eyelids droop until finally, the lunch bell rang.
She pushed her way through the hallways, clutching her books as though they were her freedom, ignoring the whistles of guys as she passed. Shania grinned. Perhaps, she thought, it wouldn't be so much different.
The day dawned bright and early for Shania Love, and the birds chirped happily outside her bedroom window. Shania was almost going to admit that it was peaceful in the country, out here in Springwood, but she didn't want peaceful. She wanted New York. She wanted the traffic that made your heart race. She wanted the parties. She wanted her friends. She wanted it all back.
But after her recent brush with slight insanity, Shania's father had moved them out here. She had hated him for it, but his blue eyes, so full of concern for her and only her, had softened her attitude.
"It'll be good for you," he had pursued as they rode the plane from their Upper East Side penthouse in New York City to.here.
When she had first seen it, her first thought was, 'Where is "here"?'. It seemed like only a speck in the highway; Shania was amazed her Dad could even find it, being as bad as he was with navigating in a car by himself. In New York, their chauffer had always driven them everywhere.
But it was Springwood. The tiny dot on the map was called Springwood. What had even put it on the map? Something pretty spectacular must have happened here for it to be recognized as a real place. Even Buffalo hadn't been on the map until a few years ago.
Springwood High. What an original name for a high school. But then, when there was only one, how many unique names did you need to come up with? And that was where Shania was off to today. Her first day of grade eleven had to be spent in a hick-town high school, with nothing to do afterwards.
At least the pain of going to school for the first time after six weeks of holidays in New York had been numbed by the prospect of a lively party after. Now, even Shania didn't have that. She had to move from her gorgeous house in her gorgeous town in her gorgeous state with all of its top-of-the-line shopping centers and all of her gorgeous friends, and now, she didn't even get to have a party. After all, she didn't know any one here, except her Dad, who didn't count.not for anything other than family.
Shania pulled a comb through her long, thick, wet hair, wincing as it tugged on knots. She plugged in the hair dryer, blasting it full over her wet head, until every inch of her gorgeous hair was dry and smooth, bouncy at the ends with her perfect - and natural - curls. The envious stares that she had always gotten in New York because of her never needing to use a curling iron and fry her hair like so many other girls who tried too hard to be beautiful had always tickled Shania's insides like nothing else. Though, thinking back on those stares and the way she and her friends used to laugh at those girls made her even more homesick, and inevitably nervous.
Shania didn't have to try hard to be beautiful, and that was what made her unique - in a way. She still dressed in the latest New York fashions and wore makeup like any other girl, but it was only to enhance what she already had.
Now, don't get me wrong, it wasn't as though Shania was one of those perfect "just ask her" girls. She looked perfect, but it wasn't as though she acknowledged it. Looking in the mirror was satisfactory to her, but any other girl would have given a limb or two to look like she did.
Many people had often called her "White Tyra Banks", because she was so pretty.
Maybe her eyes were her most arresting feature, but molded with the rest of her face, they made her beautiful. Fringed by long, thick, curling eyelashes that accentuated their almond, slightly upward slanted shape, they were black-ringed, silver flecked emeralds in darkly tanned skin. A slender, straight nose extended from fine, fully arched brows, leading down to full, red lips not unlike Angelina Jolie's. Her jaw was a smooth, yet strong line against her slender, seemly neck, her chin determined and almost arrogant. Her cheekbones were high and wide, her cheeks slender.
Had she wanted to be a model, she would have had no trouble at all. Her body was long - especially at the legs - and slender, but she still had her curves. She was a little taller than average height, standing at five feet, eight inches, and her hair did nothing to downplay her height. Cascading from her head to her softly curved hips, it only made her bold height stand out more, even if it was layered. It was a perfect, untouched blonde, curling at the ends, making the thickness bounce.
As Shania wrested a comb through the knotted curls, she cursed God for not giving her Andy's hair. Andy was Shania's best friend - a girl - and she had the thinnest hair known to man. It was easy to comb through and it took her five minutes to get her hair brushed instead of the twenty it took Shania; not including the times she had to brush it at school.
Thoughts of Andy made Shania think of home, which she shouldn't have been thinking about. It just made her sad.
Standing from her dressing table's cushy chair, Shania went over to her walk-in closet, her white bathrobe brushing against her smooth, bronze legs. Opening the door, Shania chose her best attention-grabber outfit; a pair of Brazilian cut black jeans with a rhinestone studded belt, a satiny black halter-top with a cowled neck and diagonal stripes of glitter in a silvery-pink color, and high-heeled Dolce & Gabbana black boots. The outfit flashed her belly-button-ring, which was now a pink-and-white cat's eye on a silver hoop, and her fine-boned bronzed arms. She pulled her hair into a ponytail high on top of her head, with the bangs framing her face.
She was zipping up her backpack just as her Dad called her from downstairs.
"Shania!" he said, "You're going to be late!"
"I'm coming Dad," she yelled back, exasperatedly. She sprayed some of her Escada perfume in her hair and on the exposed areas of her body, leaving her room smelling like a Russian whorehouse and leaving her smelling like a bar of the sweetest candy.
***
Perhaps the school was exactly what Shania had predicted it to be. Small, no more than three hundred people at the most. What surprised her most of all was their clothing. It appeared to be rather hip for the girls, and the boys were dressed typically for any boy.
'Where did they get their clothes?' Shania wondered. Was there a mall nearby? Her spirits brightened. Maybe she could convince her Dad to take her shopping after school, if she could find a mall.
The classes were predictably long and dreary, making Shania's eyelids droop until finally, the lunch bell rang.
She pushed her way through the hallways, clutching her books as though they were her freedom, ignoring the whistles of guys as she passed. Shania grinned. Perhaps, she thought, it wouldn't be so much different.