an:
first chapter.
excuse the lack of detail.
mistakes belong to me.
although, the clique does not.


[/]
;block, massie;


Kendra Block has a strict script.
[She expects you to say what she wants,
to move when she says so, and to hear
what she wants you to. Everything must
go her way]

I know because, well, I'm her daughter. If and when you do not play by her rules, you will pay the price. She craves perfection for herself and those around her. Perfection is hair, clothes, and make-up all in place. Perfection is manners, obedience and poise. Perfection is my worst enemy.

I think at some point in time, Kendra gave up on attempting to train me to perfection. At some point, she must have realized that I wasn't the daughter she wished for because she blocked me out of her life, and I was only along for the ride.

I must sound as though I'm a mindless misfit, but truly I'm not. I have a voice and I speak my mind. So, when Kendra announced we were moving to Westchester, New York, I decided I was done going along for the ride, and put up a fight.

"No, I can't go there. You know exactly why," I hissed.

"You're sixteen, you need to grow up and realize the past is over."

"You act as though we can just pretend that the fire never happened. You act like Dad never existed. You act like we can just forget!"

"I've forgotten, and I think you should, as well." She said, calm. Kendra put down her fork and looked at me from across the dinner table, challenging me to rebut.

"How the hell can I forget when there's a scar on my face reminding me everyday of your mistakes? You told Dad you loved him, and you lied. He didn't deserve you and now I have to be reminded of that everyday when I look in the mirror."

By then, I was in tears, and I was so wound up, I threw my dinner plate across the table, barely missing Kendra. I ran up to my room, the aftertaste of pasta and bitter words, staining my mouth. I threw everything up in the toilet, only out of guilt, and fell asleep into a slumber full of nightmares.

When I woke up, our bags were packed, the house was empty, and we drove to Westchester, our new home.

Kendra always wins.

[/]

The thing about New York is, the streets are made of garbage, but somehow the people seem to manage to be trashier then the roads. In Westchester, this statement is more then true.

Our new house sits atop a hill. It overlooks Westchester, and I hate to admit it, but it's beautiful. But a drowning feeling goes through me as I realize that the downer of having a large house is the silence that will come with living in it.

"There's a stable near here. And the school isn't far, either. But naturally, Isaac will be driving you."

This will be the sixth home I've lived in with Kendra. I look over to her as she grips the steering wheel, driving up the hill. For a perfection-starved mother, she isn't that bad. But she's always running away.

As soon as we start to settle in somewhere, and it begins to feel like home, she makes us leave. I almost hate her for that.

Almost.

"You like it?" She asks, once we park in front of the mansion.

Yes. "No."

"You'll get used to it."

That's what I'm afraid of.

But of course, it's what she expects.

[/]

That night, while I unpack everything on my pre-shipped bed with Inez, our housekeeper since I was six, Kendra walks in unannounced. We're laughing about Inez's soap opera obsession, and Kendra just stands there. Awkwardly, even.

"Ms. Block," Inez gasps. I'm shocked as well. No matter where we've lived, Kendra's never stepped
foot in my bedroom. She believes in privacy. To protect herself, of course.

"Inez, please be dismissed to cook dinner." She orders as Inez scurries out.

"I like the room," I comment, filling in the silence. And it's true. The white and purple walls, hardwood floor, and modern design style is sleek and sophisticated. Very Kendra.

She turns to me. "We need to talk,"

I don't want to talk to you. "Fine."

"You start school on Wednesday. I expect you to be prepared by then," She says, and adds quickly, "Also, the reason we moved here isn't what you think, Massie."

"Oh."

Pause.

"Good night."

"Is that all?"

"Did you want to talk about something else?" Kendra asks.

I want to talk about Dad. I want to talk about the fire. I want to talk about why the hell we moved here. I want to talk about everything. "No. Good-night." I whisper.

As soon as she leaves, I cry myself to sleep.

[/]


I'm willing to rewrite this. Depending on the feedback. I didn't want to give you all of Massie's personality, just a taste. And her relationship with her Mother.
That's important for later chapter(;

Review Response To (entwined leather): Thanks for the review, I hope this isn't too long. I wanted the reader to think this would be cliche, and then totally throw them off. I'm changing around pairings, making characters much more deep, and there's going to be a lot of twists and turns. I hope you stick around for the ride, because I have a lot planned!

[city in love]