Chapter One...

Yes, my parents sent me to live with them. They mainly sent me to live with her. They said she would be a good influence on me. They had always been so oblivious and naive. Yes, I despised them. I had always despised them so don't alert the press this is nothing new.

As long as I could remember, I hated my parents. Whether it was because they told me not to play with worms when I was five or if it was when my mother told me that if I continued to eat Oreos then I was going to be a fat cow. She would say, "No daughter of mine is going to be fat especially not my little Davis."

Maybe she should have looked in the mirror; the liposuction was not doing all it was cracked up to do. She still had saddlebags and I sware to god in a routine facelift, routine only for my mother, they made one of her eyebrows permanently higher than the other. She always looked desperately confused. I loved it.

It was a possibility that I hated my parents because of my horrid name. Davis Raney Griffin. Davis after my mother's maiden name, Raney after the doctor who delivered me and of course Griffin the last name of my money hungry, greedy bastard of a father. My name sounded as if it could be a serious New York Law firm. Injured or arrested, come to Davis, Raney, and Griffin the best attorneys in all of the Bronx.

I rolled my eyes at my thoughts and lay back on the bed in my Pepto-Bismol pink room. It made me feel as if I needed some form of nausea medication. I hated pink. The fact that every girl was completely infatuated with the color from the time learn colors until the time where they come to the realization that pink is not as cool and sexy as the suspected.

Brooke hated pink. That was one of the few things she and I agreed on. My number one vice, other than pink, was cheerleaders. Pink-loving, pom-pom waving, basketball-player screwing cheerleaders and as I had heard from multiple people around Tree Hill my cousin Brooke Davis was two out of those three.

That made me have to hate her. My parents looked at her as the perfect child. This was because the didn't have to see her creep into the house at three thirty in the morning shitface drunk stumbling up the stairs and once up them nearly passing out at the top.

The first night I was there was an early night for her, two a.m. and I had to help her into her pajamas. That was the night she asked me several rude and crude questions which to this day am still a little traumatized by. I so desperately wanted to get a video camera and tape her every move and every word to send to my parents showing them that she was not a role model.

I will give her one thing. She had impeccable taste in the opposite sex. They guy she was constantly seen with was definitely not bad looking. She knew how to pick 'em.

The first day at Tree Hill High everyone who saw me immediately knew who I was. I was Brooke Davis cousin. Whispers said that I was a drug addict or that I had been a prostitute in New York. Everyone said they knew I was her relative by the way I walked. I had mastered the bitch walk, wonderful. I didn't in any way to be compared to her, but I should have known it was going to happen.

Everyone knew everyone else's business around here. They only way we knew other people's business back home was if they were on the cover of or in the National Enquirer or Star the next day.

I saw her standing in my doorway. Narrowing my eyes at her I turned the music on my headphones up. Her mouth moved but thankfully her voice was inaudible. All I got was the last word, "Bitch."

"Wench!" I screamed back as she left the room. I rolled my eyes and reached for my cell phone.

When I left New York my parents told me they were going to take my phone away. They said I needed to focus on my new surroundings. I told them that I had begun searching for retirement homes and found the perfect one for them, a home in Jersey for plastic surgery addicts and balding self absorbed business men.

My mother believed me, even when I told her there was a law in New Jersey against silicone so she would have to get her implants taken out before crossing the Stateline. I shook my head at the thought. My stupid socialite mother.

I rolled off the bed and stumbled over pieces of clothing to finally reach the bathroom. My hair that was blonde as a child now appeared to be a chestnut brown. I searched through drawer after drawer for my contacts. When I finally found them, I dropped my glasses onto the marble top and put the first contact in. The brown pigment of the contact covered the emerald green of my eyes. I had my mother's eyes.

Brooke screeched from the bottom of the stairs, "Davis are you ready?"

I peaked out of the room to see my cousin dressed in full out cheerleader gear. She even had a blue bag that said Brooke Raven Cheerleader. "It's not Halloween, ya know."

She scoffed at me, "Very funny but seriously," She tapped on her watch, "Hurry up."

Standing at the top of the stairs I yelled, "Where am I going, especially with you dressed like that? Customers really enjoy the cheerleader get-up, huh?" I raised one eyebrow, "And no, I will not be your pimp, so don't even ask me."

Brooke raised her middle finger at me and I smiled. "You are going to your very first high school basketball game. Fine Arts High has made you a sporting even virgin."

"You have no idea how crazy those band competitions get."

She narrowed her eyes at me. "Get dressed."

"I'm serious, they are insane..."

She gave me an aggravated look and I walked back into my room. My favorite jeans lay on the floor along with my red cashmere turtleneck. What, just because I am an "angsty" fifteen year old doesn't mean that I don't appreciate the occasional fine piece of clothing.

My brush sat in the bathroom onto of my book of the moment, a collection of Emily Dickinson's poetry. I opened the book and began to read. I ran the brush through my hair. My reading and hair brushing was interrupted by a bellowing Brooke. "Damnit Davis, don't you understand I am in a hurry?"

I screamed back, "Don't you understand I don't care."

Running down the stairs, I almost tripped on piles of Brooke's dirty or clean; I'm not sure, clothes. I pointed to them and looked at her, "Ever considered putting those in the laundry room so someone might consider cleaning them?"

She shrugged her shoulders, "Not really. Someone will trip on them and do it for me."

"That person will probably be me."

"So thank you ahead of time."

I crossed my arms and slipped my feet into black flats. Brooke watched me carefully. "Can I help you?" I asked her as I reached for my purse off of the bottom step.

"You're almost cute you know that?"

"Gee, thanks." I pushed my hair over my shoulder and tied it into a knot. She obviously wasn't so good at giving out compliments so I suppose that was one. Maybe it wasn't. Maybe I was supposed to say, "So are you" but I sure as hell didn't. She didn't need one more person telling her how insanely gorgeous she was. Brooke told herself that enough every time she looked into the mirror.

I have caught her. The routine goes a little something like this: Brooke runs her fingers through her hair. Her hand slows down and caresses her chin. She smiles and says something along the lines of, "Why am I so good looking?" or the typical grin followed by "Now I know why people are so jealous of me."

I started to laugh at the thought and Brooke looked at me, "Something funny?"

I shook my head, "Definitely not."

She reached for her car keys and looked at me, "Were leaving."

"Okay. Thanks for the warning."

We got into her Lexus SC430 and I requested that we put the top down. She laughed at me, "Not in this outfit we aren't and plus just because this is the south doesn't mean it is like ninety degrees all year long."

Did she think I was stupid? "Really Brooke, because golly jeez I have never left New York City, I thought that it would be sweltering hot down here." I spoke in my best southern belle accent until I said New York.

"Smartass."

I smiled, "Thank you."

"I don't know how I am going to fix you." She said as we stopped at a traffic light.

I put down my visor and opened the mirror. My contact had folded over. "I don't know either."

She looked over at me, "Why do you do that?"

"What?" I asked, looking up at her and then turning to the mirror, putting my contact back in.

"Cover your eyes."

"Cause I hate my mother." I closed my eyes tightly and looked back over at her, "Green."

"What?"

"The light is green." Slowly I said, "That means go where I am from."

I caught Brooke rolling her eyes and I smirked. This was going to be more fun than I had ever expected.

Walking into the gym, I followed behind her and almost enjoyed all the attention I was getting. Guys hollered at me and girls looked at me in disgust.

"I heard she got kicked out of her house in New York." "No, I heard she was a drug addict."

I smiled and looked up at the girls who were gossiping. They closed there mouths and as I walked away I noticed the talking began again.

"Damn, she is hott." "Brooke is hotter." "No way, this girl is edgier." "You're right, plus her boobs are bigger."

I looked down at myself and then at Brooke. They were right. I began to laugh and she looked back at me. I shook my head, "Nothing."

I felt eyes burning my back and I slowly turned around. Brooke boy toy stood directly behind me with a basketball in his arms. "Lucas," Brooke cried out as she threw herself into his arms. His eyes remained on me as he patted her on the back.

She looked back at me, "Oh, Lucas you know my cousin Davis."

He put his hand out, "No I don't think we have met."

"Probably, they basically hide me and don't allow me out in public. You know the family name counts on the youth."

He smiled at me and laughed, "Understandable."

Brooke quickly took his arm and mouthed, "No" to me. "Walk you to the locker room?" She asked Lucas.

He nodded, "Nice meeting you, Davis."

"Pleasure's all mine."

He smiled once more at me and was lead away by the evil cousin. She turned her head and narrowed her eyes at me, giving me the death stare.

I put my hands up and acted scared. I then put my hands on my hips and cocked my head to one side. I climbed up the bleachers and sat next to a familiar person.

She turned to me, "Davis right? Brooke's cousin?"

"Guilty."

The girl put her hand out, "Haley James."

"Davis Griffin." I leaned forward and looked at her, "You're not on Brooke's team are you?"

"If the team you are referring to the sex-crazed, cheerleading, alcoholic posse then no, I am not on that team."

I smiled at her, "Finally someone who hasn't been brought over to the darkside."

She laughed at me, "Not yet at least." She pointed out to the basketball court, "See number twenty three?" I nodded, "My boyfriend and has tried to bring me to the so called darkside."

I laughed at her, "How has that gone over?"

"Not well, but the parties are almost fun. You should come tonight."

"How do you know there will be one?"

She shook her head and put her elbow on her knees, "You are so obviously new here. There is always a party after a game. No matter win or lose, there is always one."

"Might be fun."

Haley nodded, "I'll take you. So you don't have to ride with Brooke."

"How considerate of you."

We both laughed. Finally I had found an ally in a sea of basketball players and cheerleaders. A friend who was a little like me. Now my trip could be a little more bearable. I tapped Haley on the arm, "Here come the cheerleaders."

"Here comes the fun."