I Got Caught In A Storm... And Now I'm Stuck In Naruto!?!?

How It All Began

Disclaimer: I do NOT own any of the Naruto characters mentioned throughout this entire story. I only own my OC and her other friends that are not normally in Shippuden. Thank you, and hope you enjoy reading ^_^ !

Also, just another quick note: This story, while containing certain parts/scenes included in the anime, was written following the original Naruto manga. Therefore, if things in this story appear differently from what occurred in the anime, then that's because I went by the manga instead, which was entirely intentional. Additionally, I am currently in the process of editing this book as well, so expect some slight changes and/or brand new additions. Thank you, and happy reading!

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"Chiquita! Up and at 'em! Time for school!" called Maria.

I groaned, stuffing my face farther into my pillow. That didn't work, though. Maria barged into my room, anyway –without knocking, might I add– and though I couldn't see her, I could still imagine her standing there, hands on her hips and foot tapping impatiently.

"Chiquita, I told you to get up!"

'Chiquita' is her nickname for me, considering how small I am. Sadly, I'm sort of short –a pitiful 4'7, to be exact, even at thirteen– and at this point, I'm pretty much convinced that I'm doomed to stay this height forever, but I've learned to accept it. On the bright side, at least I'll be able to make the most out of the children's discount at restaurants for a while, which means a lot to me, considering my love for food.

And you know what else I have a love for? Sleep. But clearly, Maria didn't care much about that part, since she was still harassing me to get out of bed, despite knowing how much my bed and I loved one another. It was a shame, really, how badly everyone was trying to keep us apart. Some people just really don't get true love, I'm telling you.

"Minxie," She said sternly, this time calling me by my real name. 

I'd always had a bit of a love-hate relationship with my name. On the one hand, it was unique, but on the other hand, it meant that I was forced to endure hearing my teachers butcher it as they struggled in various attempts to pronounce it, ones that almost always turned out poorly.

In my time at school, I had to deal with teachers calling me things like "Minnie," "Mine-See," and even "Mineral," which everyone seemed to get a kick out of except for me, though now I was pretty much used to it.

Growing up, other kids would always ask me why my parents named me "Minxie." I supposed it was a valid question, all things considered, but I never answered them, mainly because my parents weren't the ones who gave me my name at all.

See, in actuality, "Minxie" was the name the nurses gave me while they were examining me at the hospital, after I was found abandoned in the middle of the woods when I was only six years old. I had no memory of who I was or where I'd come from, nothing that could connect me to my birth parents or explain how I'd gotten there. I didn't even know my own name.

Apparently, I was found near a hiking trail just outside of the city by a kind couple and their teenage daughter, who noticed me between the trees and immediately alerted her parents. The family stayed with me until the police came, and then I was taken to the hospital to make sure I was okay.

At least, that's how I think it happened. That was what the police and all the hospital staff and the social workers told me, anyway. Truth is, I don't really remember much about that day, or what happened before it. Part of me is honestly kind of glad that I don't. Junior high was hard enough without adding any additional trauma into the mix.

What I know for sure, though, is that "Minxie" was just supposed to be a temporary thing, something to call me until my memories returned, but they never did, no matter how many doctors or psychologists I talked to. My parents never showed up, either, and so "Minxie" ended up sticking, even after I entered the foster care system.