Chapter One

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Hope you guys like it, BTW, I won't be posting pretty often (tight schedule).


Manhattan's cold, bone penetrating wind slapped my face as I waited outside at the bus stop for my school bus. Today was Morning day; you see, there are two days, Dawn day and Morning day. Dawn day was when Dad would wake me up at three or four and sometimes two in the morning for his late night shifts, so that he wouldn't go back to the apartment to wake me up for school then return to the hospital. Morning days were the best, basically I would wake up like every other normal school student, well that is unless there's another Chloe Henderson out there.

The bus finally arrived, I felt like getting down on my knees and thanking God for that. Pablco opened the door, I called him -to myself of course- Pabclo because I was never really sure of his name, it was either Pablo or Paco. The name tag didn't help.

"Morning, Mr. P," I said as I entered the bus.

He mumbled something and shut the door behind me. I sat down near the window and got my algebra book out.

I went to a public school; I guess my father never really cared about the type of education I'd get, or maybe he didn't want to spend his savings on me, the money leech. In fact, he never looked at my report card and never asked about my grades. He also never attended any of the parent-teacher conferences, my teachers didn't care about that anyway.

So basically, my  dad wasn't like other dads, while his  daughter wasn't like other daughters, I guess it was because I never really knew what being a daughter really required. 

The bus stopped at the school. The kids ran to get out of the bus, hitting my head with their backpacks as they went. Pablco turned around to see who was left.

"You're gonna have to leave this bus sooner or later, kid." He told me.

"Could you take me back home?" I begged.

He scoffed and got out of the bus, not bothering to care for my 'safety'. I sighed, got up from the vandalized seat and left the bus, dragging my backpack along with me.

I entered the building and felt like an alien. I've never had any friends and people looked at me like I was, well, an alien. Girls started whispering once I passed them, pointing at me with their fingers. I wish I could shoot them the finger.

I always wondered what they would whisper about me. The only good part about being gossiped about was knowing that your existence is evident enough to be mentioned; that alone was good enough for me. 

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