As promised, here is the first chapter. I know I'm crazy. Didn't even give anyone a chance to reply to the prologue and I'm already updating. But I have faith in you guys who are reading this. Hopefully, you'll like this a little more and I promise you that if you're patient, my writing does improve as does the story.

Oh and I don't know if you care or not but I've kind of become used to giving the reasons behind ratings for my stories. So, this one is rated M right now because I'm being cautious. I've tried to edit and tone it down, but I know that I can tend to use strong language frequently in some chapters. Also, there will be some sexual content in later chapters.

Anyway, here you go.

Chapter 1:

It was another extremely non-extraordinary day in my extremely non-extraordinary life. I had learned to accept the fact that I had cancer and preferred not to think about that too much. After I was diagnosed a month ago, my sister and her abusive husband decided they could no longer handle my intrusion on their practically nonexistent lives (consisting of two screaming toddlers, a dark and messy house, and countless drunken fights).

That's how I wound up here. In friggin Alabama. Who the hell lives in Alabama anyway? I'll tell you who. My freakishly old and wrinkled beyond recognition grandmother, who is 90 deaf and has the least retentive memory of anyone you will ever meet. Most days she doesn't remember my name and calls me the first thing that pops into her head. I used to correct her in hopes that one day Haley would stick; now I just do it out of habit.

We've settled into an odd, but familiar routine by this time. I awake to my blaring alarm clock, wondering what the point is in petty things like attending school when I have less than six months to live, but groaning and sliding out of bed regardless.

I get into the coldest shower known to man (because the water heater broke and my cheap grandmother can't spring for a new one that you know, wasn't made sometime in the 18th century), and am always done in under five minutes (the only advantage to feeling like I've been stuck in a tub of ice).

Then, I blow dry and straighten my hair in the same meticulous way I do every morning, not knowing why I bother seeing as I have no one to impress. But I do it anyway, hoping that maybe, if I make myself look as pretty as I possibly can, it'll hide all traces of my sleepless nights. Not likely, but it's worth a shot. Well, thinking about it, it's probably not, but what girl doesn't want to look her best?

I dress in a denim mini and a low-cut burgundy top, wondering why I even try. It's not like anyone ever notices. Their eyes just pass right by me, knowing I'm there, but not wanting to look at me. They all know about my cancer and it brings me a strange sense of satisfaction knowing that makes them uncomfortable. The cocky assholes.

I stomp down the stairs ungracefully, my anger at the world completely undisguised. Somehow, it always manages to slip some of itself in. Life's a bitch and I'm used to that by now.

I walk into the kitchen, my oh so attractive trademark scowl creasing my brow and distorting my otherwise quite nice lips, if I do say so myself. But on to more important things.

As per usual, my grandmother has taken up residence in her favorite chair in the adjoining den, staring mindlessly at the TV, seeing everything, understanding nothing. She hears me moving around in the kitchen and turns to look at me, a film of forgetfulness spreading over her eyes. "Gemma, darling, so glad you're awake."

I roll my eyes. "It's Haley, Grandma."

She smiles, her eyes empty as ever. "What did you say Amelia, dear?"

I shake my head and attempt to smile back. Somehow, the gesture gets a little more difficult every day. "Nothing, Grandma."

She frowns slightly. "Don't call me Grandma. I don't have grandchildren. How old do you think I am, child?"

I decide to humor her, tired of fighting against her stupor. "Why, you don't look a day older than 30."

She turns back to the TV, already forgetting my presence. I quickly scarf down a pop tart as I throw out a careless goodbye and run out the door. She doesn't notice I'm gone.

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At school, I am simply ignored as always. Until the first bell rings, I sit on a bench, alone and lonely. I watch all my shallow, self centered peers walk by me and feel nothing but contempt toward them. I never want my name to be associated with people like them, people who have nothing to contemplate save the pathetic trivial melodramatic scenarios they like to think are soooo fucking important. Like not having some stupid damn designer pair of jeans is the worst part of life.

Honestly, high school itself isn't what makes my days here hell, it's the people; the shallow, fake 'woe is me' people with no minds of their own. They just can't get over themselves.

The warning bell startles me from my silent fuming and I rise from my trusty, rusty bench and mosey inside to my locker.

A few jocks walk by, rowdy bastards they are, jostling me roughly, albeit unintentionally. That doesn't matter to me though. I give them a death glare; not one of them notices, let alone cares.

I slam my locker shut. And so begins another day in the life of Haley James: the ignored, the unimportant.

When you think about it all, it's quite depressing, though I suppose it is partly my fault that I'm a walking disaster.

I'd say I'm one of those damaged beyond repair people, the ones you always read about, but think you'll never meet. The kind of people who end up stealing cars and robbing banks. Yep, that's me, except I highly doubt I can accomplish all that being that I'm like four feet tall and skinny as a toothpick. Or you know, that I could pull it off in just five months.

Damn it. I just can't stop thinking about it.

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As I finally pull into my grandmother's driveway at the end of another boring, hellish day at Green Bay High School, I notice an unfamiliar car parked nearby. It can't be my grandfather's; he's dead. It's not my sister's. It can't be any of my friends because, that's right, I have none. Shit, I have a depressing life.

But back to the issue of the weird, flashy rich person car. Either grandma has finally gone out and miraculously met someone she thinks worthy of spending time with; maybe (even more shocking) someone of the male persuasion. Or it's one of those guys in a white coat, finally come to take her off my hands. My money's on the second one.

Cautiously, I walk through the door and call out, "Grandma?"

"In here, honey!" Her voice comes from the den, where she often spends her days. I walk in to find her once again staring at the TV screen. But this time, she's not alone. Sitting in the chair next to her is a guy about my age. 'Holy shit!' I think. He has to be the hottest guy I've ever seen. His strikingly blue eyes seek out mine as he smiles politely at me.

I glare at him, then shift my gaze to my grandmother. "Grandma, who is he?" But she is unresponsive, fascinated by whatever soap opera is currently on. So, I turn once again to him. "Who the hell are you?"

He smirks and holds out his hand. "Nathan Scott." When I don't shake it, his hand drops back to his side as he says, "And I'm assuming you're Daisy."

I roll my eyes and turn on my heel, walking into the kitchen and throwing over my shoulder, "Actually, it's Haley."

He follows me. "I see, well, your grandmother seems to think it's Daisy."

I sigh and look through the doorway at her still form on the couch. "She doesn't have a very good memory."

"Right." He sits on one of the stools at the counter, drumming his fingers on the countertop.

Everything about this Nathan guy screams HATE ME. From his gelled to perfection hair to his polo with the popped collar to the varsity jacket he is wearing with way too much pride (OK buddy, no one cares that you can play high school ball and no one's ever heard of you), he's begging for that attention that high school gods get. Well, he sure as hell ain't gettin any of it from me.

I study him. "Not to be rude or anything, but why are you here?"

He laughs. "Well, um, I'm best friends with your cousin Tim." When I just stare at him in confusion, he continues, "from Tree Hill."

I snort. "Oh, that loser. Why would anyone want to be friends with him?"

Nathan shrugs. "He's not that bad."

I raise an incredulous brow. "Riiiight, you mean the very same guy who tried to nail me after being repeatedly told not to hit on me because we were related? That guy?"

Nathan grimaces. "Oh…. He's kind of a dumbass sometimes."

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, like I hadn't guessed. But whatever. Back to my original question, why are you here?"

He coughs. "Well, you see, your aunt Sherry thinks your grandmother is incapable of taking care of you. Something about how old women who can't remember their own names shouldn't be held responsible for teenage girls."

I nod, indicating he should continue.

"So, she sent me to come get you."

"Come get me…. for what?" I prompt.

"She wants you to live in Tree Hill with her."

My head drops onto my arms lying on the counter top in front of him. He simply looks on with this amused smile on his face that I want to smack off. Or kiss off. What can I say? The boy is fine. Even if I do hate him on sight. "So, why'd you come for me?" I mumble.

He takes a few seconds to respond. "I volunteered. Who wouldn't want to miss a day of school to go pick up a hot 16 year old girl?"

I choose to ignore the 'hot 16 year old girl' bit and lift my chin slightly to meet his eyes, asking, "Why didn't Tim want to come?"

He smirks. "Tim can be a little dense sometimes. I kinda tricked him out of it."

I laugh. But I still don't quite understand where all this is coming from. Everyone was fine with my living arrangements a few weeks ago. Besides, why should I have to pack up and move for the second time in three weeks just because some lady I've only met a few times doesn't think my own grandmother can take care of me? What the fuck is her problem anyway?

I rub my temples, trying to think. "No offense to everyone in Tree Hill, I'm sure you're all lovely people, but why would I want to pack my bags and leave when I just got here three weeks ago?"

He smirks. "Well, you see, the people in Tree Hill are dying to get some new blood. And what's better than a bitchy, sarcastic girl with a sharp tongue?"

I raise an eyebrow. Who the hell does he think he is? But I keep my cool. For now. "Charming."

That cocky, yet oddly endearing, smirk only widens. "Yeah, well, as you pointed out, we're all just such lovely people."

I roll my eyes. "How nice for you. However, none of that answers my question. You know, the one you've managed to skillfully dodge twice now."

He shrugs. "Hey, I'm just the escort."

I huff out a breath and begin walking up the stairs. "Hey, where are you going?" he shouts.

"To call Aunt Sherry!" I shout back.

Thirty minutes later, I hang up the phone, defeated, and start packing, making a mental note never to argue with this Sherry person again. If she's that intimidating over the phone, imagine what she's like in person. And apparently, I'll be living with her until I'm old enough to move out and go to college. Which won't be for another two years. And in two years, I'll be gone.

"Damn it! Why does everything remind me of that?!" I exclaim.

"You know, talking to yourself really isn't healthy. There is help for people like you. And I'm sure it's not that expensive." I turn to see him leaning against my door, that same cocky smirk twisting his lips.

I groan. "You again. Do you ever stop spouting random shit and thinking it's clever? No one else thinks it's funny, OK?"

He rolls his eyes, a perfect imitation of me. "Whatever, you coming or not?"

I sigh. "Unfortunately, yes. I'm being forced to leave against my will."

He chuckles. "That's Mrs. Smith for you. Hurry up and finish packing." And then he is gone, jogging back down the stairs to wait for me. I flip him off. What he can't see won't hurt him. Even if I kind of wish it could. I've known him for an hour and already, he's under my skin. That must be a record, which is saying a lot, because I'm a world class bitch.

This will be one interesting trip. Me and some arrogant son of a bitch named Nathan Scott. He is hot though…

Well, I know it's short, but they do get a lot longer and I hope you enjoyed it anyway. As I said, I've already written 13 other chapters, so leave me some reviews and see how fast I update. lol. Thanks for giving me a chance.

Love,

Ashley