I'm in Naruto?! Say what?!

I grabbed my skateboard from my locker and ran out of the school, harboring the skills necessary after years of bullying to ignore everything kids yelled at me. Doesn't mean that it still didn't hurt.

"Freak!"

"Nerd!"

"You don't belong here!"

"Snob!"

I just took out my IPod and blasted the music to drown out my surroundings. As soon as my feet left the building, I dropped my board to the ground and took off towards the house, my black hair floating in the wind behind me. The house is not mine, nor will it ever be home. Would your home consist of abusive foster parents who hate your guts but need you to promote their business? Didn't think so.

As soon as we left the adoption agency and got to their house, the beating started. Even when they aren't drunk or high, I get beat. To them, my only purpose is to promote my 'father's' law firm. I'm their sweet little girl who always gets good grades and is popular.

Ya right. I have absolutely no friends, if I talk back, they use a chain, I don't get an A, they use a whip, I even think of disobeying, they use a shock collar on me. It's disguised as a necklace so no one suspects anything. Most of the time, they just spout random beatings on me for no reason. It hurts inside. My little personal Hell is called Briskin. It's right next to Lowell, though it's not as gang ridden. (this is not a stereotype! My cousin lives on the border of 3 gangs in Lowell) While it has less gangs, the ones that are here, are vicious. My 'parents' don't know this, but there's a gun hidden under my bed in case of a break-in.

As soon as I got to the house, I did my homework. Christina made sure of that. Christina's my adoptive mother, George is my adoptive father. When I was asked about my grades (which I still didn't have) I told them I didn't have them.

"You had a test last week didn't you?" she asked threateningly. George held the whip in his hand, he knew I feared it.

"Y-Yes." I stuttered, eyeing the blood stains, MY blood stains, on the torturous instrument. I saw the flash of the whip, then heard it crack as pain seared out on my back. I bit my lip so I wouldn't cry out.

"Stop stuttering you little wimp." he said.

A few minutes later, and many slashes later, I was in the bathroom treating my wounds. My bathroom is connected to my room on the 4th floor. God knows how I make it up here every day. We live in a mansion if you haven't already noticed, though I could really care less.

The wounds weren't as bad as they usually were, but I brushed it off. I took off my clothes as they were now tattered and torn. That's part of the reason that I'm called a snob at school. I never wear the same clothes twice because of the beatings, though the kids at school don't know that. I wrapped bandages around my torso to cover my new wounds then changed into black jeans, a blue tank top, and a blue plaid shirt. I put on my black converse and put on a Patriots snap back.

"Sydney!" called Christina from the kitchen. Only when I was at the bottom of the stairs did I respond.

"Yes mother?" I said sweetly, to avoid a hit. I walked into the kitchen and sat at the table. She preferred that you were in the same room as her when she was talking to you.

"Pack your shit we're moving." she said bluntly, not looking up from the carrots she was chopping.

"That's wonderful! May I ask the occasion?" she rolled her eyes, knowing my sweetness was faked. Her hand pressed the button on the counter, immediately enabling my shock collar. My hands reflexively went up to my neck as I fell off of the chair. After Christina was satisfied a second or two later, she smirked and let go of the button. I gasped for air and pulled myself back up onto the chair.