This is the beginning of my rewrite. Enjoy :)

Mondays; the day after Sunday, the day before Tuesday, and the day every kid from the ages of 5-18 hate. Simply because Monday means school and school, well school means death. That's what school means to a social outcast like me I guess. Monday means I have to leave the comfort of my room and venture out into the world of dumb sex-driven idiots once again. Not that I don't like the occasional hook up, but ugh whatever. It's too early to venture into my hell of a buzzing social life. Kidding.

I stretch my arms and open my eyes looking over to the source of my rude wake up. I look over to my living alarm clock and its like I'm locking eyes with the devil himself. He's taunting me with his squinted eyes that are almost speaking to me, saying come at me, I aint scared. Which would be mildly weird if he did actually say that because in my seventeen years of being alive not once has a dog ever spoken to me.

I glare at the little black puffball that my older sister picked from some overly expensive dog website four or five years ago. Since she got to pick out the demon spawn I got to pick what we named the said demon. So being the already overly sarcastic preteen I was I picked the most obnoxious name I could think of for a dark black ball of fur. Snowball.

Snowball snarls at me and I was beginning to snarl back before I realized how pathetic I was being and pushed the thing off my bed. He lands on his feet, pure talent, and struts out of the room. Bitch. Snowball has been a pain in my ass ever since we brought him home from the airport and he ripped up my new bright orange crocs. Not because he ripped up the horrid shoes but because my mother tells the story every single time Snowball is brought up in a conversation. Not only does mom tell the story to her posh friends who sit there and stuff there assess with tea and caviar but every time one of my sister's new friends or often-new boyfriend comes to visit she warns them to "Watch out for Snowball. He has a thing for bright orange crocs. Right Rachel?" I then proceed to walk shamefully into my room and watch reruns of 16&pregnant until the bitches (or dick) leaves.

Ugh. Crocs, life wreckers.

I glance over at the alarm clock. It's six, to early. I roll over, trying to get some extra sleep, but a second later when I realize that is never going to happen I roll out of bed and onto the floor. Looks like those six years of gymnastics and dance totally paid off in making me oh so graceful. I push myself off the floor and make my way to my closet getting out an over-sized sweater and ripped jeans, #swaggie, and make my way to the bathroom.

I do the usual morning routine, which consists of putting on makeup: aka the stuff that is supposed to make you look good but doesn't help much if you were born a ratchet. Representing the ratchets! Okay anyways, I get dressed and put my hair in a ponytail, leaving my side bangs out. Now comes the moment of truth. Socks.

The type of socks you wear could make or break your day. You could go preppy with the bleach white socks, perfectly crisp, with the little frilly lace at the top for a normal day. You could go borderline casual with different solid color socks for a day of cool relaxation. You could go with no socks cause you are just to hipster for that for a fun day. Or you could go all out with one Christmas tree sock and one monkey sock for a crazy day like I've decided to do.

Socks are your horoscope. Basically.

After I slip on my socks I lace up my combat boots that my mother has deemed as hideously awful and head downstairs to get breakfast cause my fat girl senses are going crazy right now and I want pop tarts. I skip down the long staircase, forgetting its Monday and focusing on pop tarts and coffee. Starbucks asdfghjkl.

I stop skipping when I see a pile of bags and suitcase by the front door. Weird. I walk into the kitchen and see my mom cooking some big home-style breakfast. Well looks like my pop tart dreams are coming to an end for today. I run a hand through my side fringe and sit down on the bar stool.

Saying our kitchen is nice would be and understatement. With marble granite countertops, glossy white cabinets, stainless steel appliances, and not mention the huge island, Oprah would be lucky enough to have our kitchen. Well maybe not Oprah but you get the point. Our family of three is loaded with money. We got all of our father's inheritance after the accident. The un-talked about never mentioned accident that haunts my dreams and turns them to nightmares.

My thoughts are interrupted when my sister walks in with her hair in tangles and only a tank top and lace panties on. Cough slut cough. I roll my eyes and my mom greets her with a hug and a smile even though she didn't acknowledge me in the slightest when I walked in three minutes earlier. Mom turns to me and nods at me, finally noticing my presence and goes back to gushing at my sister for no apparent reason. I roll my eyes and scold at the plate full of bacon my mom sat on the table in front of me.

Poor pig. It was just going on with its happy pig life, eating slob, jumping in mud puddles and getting it on with the slutty pig in the barn. And then farmer Bob comes up and chops its head off. What good is a pig with no head? I cringe and push the bacon across the Island which my mother takes notice to.

"It's bacon Rachel," she shakes her head at me, flipping a pancake, "Not the plague."

Good morning to you too mother dearest.

"It's wrong," I state plainly, "Killing animals like that. They have a life too." My sister scoffs beside me rolling her eyes and picking up a piece of bacon.

"Yeah, unlike you." She giggles as she takes what can only be classified as a pussy bite out of the piece of pig. I cross my arms and stick my tongue out at her, "And that's why."

I can never win with her. Ever since I was old enough to understand Cara has been mom's favorite and after the accident life was hard for me with mom focusing on Cara's feelings and not giving a single shit about me. It's still like that but I'm used to it by now. But enough with the melancholy, at least I can have pop tarts now! I walk to the cabinet and pull it open my smile dropping when I see we have no pop tarts.

I'm having such a lucky day today! First the devil dog wakes me up, then I fall off the bed, then I try to get ready but still look awful, then I see suitcases by the door, then I proceed to get insulted by my mom and sister, and now my luck continues when there are no fucking pop tarts. How hard is it? Got to Wal-Mart, go to the breakfast aisle, find the section that says heaven in a box and roll outta there. I groan in frustration.

"Don't worry Rachel," my mom starts and I raise and eye brow. How can I not worry about this? This is a life or death situation. My mother continues, "We'll only be gone for a little while and you'll have Finn to keep you company."

"What the hell are you talking about?" I ask. Gone where? And what about Cara's boyfriend?

"We were just talking about it." Cara states raising an eyebrow, "How we are going abroad."

I jump in excitement clapping my hands, "I've always wanted to go over seas!" I say smiling, "When are we leaving?"

I couldn't believe it. I was finally going to get out of California, even if it was just for a little bit. I would get to travel, see the world! I was already starting to think of the things we could see when my mothers voice interrupts my thoughts.

"Oh honey," her voice was demeaning and cold as she looked at me with a fake sympathetic look you would give a six year old, "Your not coming with us. Your staying here." My shoulders slump in disappointment as I hear footsteps behind me, "With Finn." My mother points at the boy behind me, and my eyes widen.

"What!" Finn and I say in synch as we both look at my mother in surprise.

Looks like my horoscope socks were right. The next few months are going to be hella crazy.

I've already written the next chapter and it is twice as long. It will be up when I get close to 10 reviews!

xoxoxo- broadwaybound24