Authors Note: Okay, I am seriously going to try and write these chapters as fast as possible now to compensate for my lack of writing in the past...3 months. And for everyone who might wonder or whatever–Blair is not a transfer student. Who would ever transfer in their senior year? That's completely ridiculous. She's been a student at Spencer from the first day of her freshman year.

The Middle

Whenever I needed to be alone, I would go for a run. It was one of my things. While I was running I could focus and keep my head clear. I would be able to set a pace and keep with it for as long as my body could withstand it. Surprisingly, running came easily to me. It was a sport meant with those with long legs but I did it just fine with my two little stubs.

I had been running since I was four. My nannies would take me and my brothers running in the evening to tire us out so we'd be able to go to sleep and not be up until midnight. After a while, I began to rise above the rest. I was always told to slow down and stay with the group but I didn't want that. I wanted to be faster, stronger and better than my brothers who had shined in their respective areas.

Running is where my love of lacrosse came from. Naturally I was the quickest out on the field and with training I became the best. My teammates were unable to match my ability for the sport. In Spencer, a majority of them didn't come anywhere near my level. I always carried the load of the team, keeping the scores close but hardly ever over powering because I had no support.

My mom was hesitant when I told her I wanted to play and become serious. She didn't want me to get hurt, to ruin my "pretty face" even though I was far from what her definition of pretty was. She thought I was too short, too muscular, to manly to be a pretty girl. I wasn't manly by any degree, she only assumed so because I'd rather run then go shopping. When it came to getting equipment, trainers, and going to intensive camps my parents were more than willing to pay. My mom told me she was happy to spend money on me. Her continuos comments like that made me think the UV Rays from her fake tans were getting to her brain.

Regardless, I always had custom sticks costing well over $1,000 dollars. They were personalized with the right shaft, the right head, even the right color scheme(my mother's idea). My cleats were replaced almost three times a year, always the same custom made Nike's that were too expensive to imagine. Everything matched. All of my work out clothes were the "top fashions" in coordinating colors all made curtsey of Nike–my favorite brand. I would've been fine with a normal stick, normal cleats and regular gym clothes. You can't win them all, though.

I had four personal trainers. The first was my running coach, who I would work out with on Sunday afternoons. The second, one of the top female college lacrosse players who would work with me on my skills and shooting that came up every other weekend to work with me for Friday afternoon and all of Saturday. The third, one of the top male lacrosse defenders who would work with me on defense and making clean and legal checks. He came on alternating weekends with my skill trainer. The fourth of course was my weight trainer, who would almost work me to the bone every night for 2 hours until the beginning of lacrosse season. Once lacrosse started, it became 3 hours.

Tonight however, I was all on my own. Jill, the skill trainer, couldn't make it this weekend. Her sister was getting married tomorrow morning, so I had to do my work out all by myself before heading over to Spencer's state of the art gym with Michael, who would probably not go easy on me. Last night I had pissed him off slightly by asking him to end the session early so I would be able to get in some extra studying for the Physic's test. If I was popular and social I might have pissed him off more by telling him that I was going to a party tonight but of course I wasn't. No one knew my name...how could they ever invite me?

It didn't bother me. I'd rather read, run, and relax. Then get all up tight when I go to work out with Michael. But that was a completely different story. He'll probably run me on the treadmill for an entire hour before making me do some actual lifting. He still didn't realize that I could run for more than an hour without stopping. That's what happens when you have no friends.

Today felt like a favorite shorts kind of day. My favorite shorts were the only pair I had actually picked out myself. My mother hates them, and she has told me on countless occasions to throw them out. I can't help that I enjoy my bright and shiny red shorts with my tie-dye shirt. It wasn't like they didn't match–there was red on the shirt. The lacrosse field was the only place I didn't feel invisible, so when out there I prefer to make myself the brightest and most identifiable person.

When I was 12 I devised a way to look for practicing. I always parted my hair and put it into two french braids. From there I put a thin black headband on to keep my bangs out of the way. I put on my knee brace–I had a bad sprain to it when I was fifteen. I put on the watch that I used to keep track of my running times. Then I finally left my room, walking with my cleats, goggles and mouth guard in a black drawstring bag and my stick hanging over one shoulder. I heard a few people in the halls of my dorm whispering as I walked by, saying "She doesn't actually take that whole sport thing seriously, does she?". If I had the nerve to answer them I'd tell them "I've taken this 'sport thing' seriously my entire life.".

All of the girls hardly took this seriously. They wouldn't work during practice and then they'd starve themselves to keep in shape. I learned that I could eat as much protein and carbs I wanted–they would actually help me keep up energy and be able to preform better. They whisper when I eat pasta, bread, and chicken at lunch asking each other how I could stay that in shape. It's called working out–they should do it some time.

When I was out earlier on the field I wasn't paying much attention. I noticed later on though that there was someone watching me–the guy from the bookstore. It was hard to do my practice routine with people watching me. I stopped, and just stayed in my dorm for a while before getting up and going the gym.

The gym was on the other side of the student parking lot. It was on the complete opposite side of campus. My dorm was completely obscured in the back corner of the campus, covered and hidden by the large oaks. It made for a long walk down winding paths, created over a hundred years ago.

The Harwick Women's Dormitory was built when women were allowed to come to the school in the early 1900's. It matched the other buildings in style and size, but was placed awkwardly out of the Dormitory circle that had been created when the school was built. There were three dormitories that formed a circle with a large courtyard between them. Harwick was awkwardly placed outside of the circle with a simple path connecting it to the rest of the dorms. Until twenty years ago, it was the only girl's dorm, but now they have converted one of the previously all boy dorms into another girl dorm.

By the time I had reached the parking lot, most of the cars were gone. The ones that were there I assumed belonged to people like me, the losers who didn't go to parties. I didn't bother walking on the side walk all the way around the parking lot, instead I decided to sprint through it and save myself some time. I was already running a little bit late. I kept my eyes trained on my feet–they were moving in an awkward motion. The only way to fix that was to look and change my pace until they were moving they way they usually do. It was probably the uneven ground.

"Woah, watch where you're going!" I had ran into someone who was walking in my path. They gripped my shoulders to prevent any kind of tripping or falling. I didn't bother looking up, I kept my eyes on my trembling feet.

"Sorry." I mumbled before trying to back away. The person who I had already determined was a very tall boy, released me. "I wasn't watching where I was going." I looked up slightly to see the boy with white blond hair towering over me. Everyone towers over me.

"Where're you going so fast, baby?" I cringed and backed away more. I hated confronting people.

"Training." I mumbled again while beginning to walk past him. His large hand stopped me.

"Why don't you tell me you're name?" He slyly grinned down at me. Oh. I remember him. Graduated last year, he's a complete player. "Mine's Reid. Don't worry, I'm friendly to freshmen."

"I'm a senior." I said flatly before pushing his hand off of me and once again trying to walk away.

"A senior? Did you transfer in or something? I don't exactly remember you. I would have...I like things that come in small packages." I shook my head and ran past him. He didn't bother to try and catch up with me.

Being a fast person sure had it's advantages.