That One Year

Chapter 1

Don’t get me wrong. I love London.

I’ve always wanted to live there, and I even started a fund to buy my own flat once I get old enough. I wear my Union Jack shirt quite often, fangirled with the birds at 4 AM during the Royal Wedding, and it seems that I love everything British.

Hah, like One Direction.

But now, it’s different.

So, picture this:

You’re walking home one day from school- no, fast walking- mind on one thing only: changing into the slouchiest pajamas possible, curling up on the couch with a cup of tea, and squealing over new episodes of Project Runway on TiVo. It’s been a stressful day at school, with midterms and all, and you are in desperate need of some TLC.

Right. So you are basically sprinting now, as if you were in the Olympics, nearly tripping over every crack in the sidewalk, until you finally reach your house.

“Damn girl,” you think to yourself. “Better than Usain Bolt.”

You jog over to the front stoop and rummage through your limited edition Marc Jacobs messenger bag for the key. Then you begin to stick the key in the lock and turn it…

Nothing.

The key doesn’t work.

“What the hell?”

You twist it, twist it, nearly ‘til the key breaks…. but nothing.

So now, obviously, you get a bit scared. Something is clearly wrong. Your mom doesn’t get off of work until well after 6, and you are supposed to stay home alone, as normal, until she comes home with an apologetic dinner in her hands.

What would you do? Stay outside for 3 hours? Who knows how many rapists are prowling the streets looking for their next victims.

You shake your head, once, twice.

No. There must be a mistake! Is this the right house? You start to double-check yourself as you scan over the familiar features.

Yep, same old wooden fence with tiny marks from your dog viciously scratching it, the “Mommy can I keep it?” year.

Yep, same old garage door dented from sophomore year, the “I must get on varsity tennis” year.

Yep, same old tree with baby hearts carved into it with the initals ‘HC + BM’ carved in the middle, the “I love Henry Carter” year.

Then what was wrong?

You start to fumble with the key again, checking if you accidentally have the wrong one. A frown comes over your face as everything seems to be in order, except for the fact that the damn door won't open.

You walk to the end of your driveway, mind scrambling to think of a way to hitchhike to –

And then you see it.

The huge, red, heart dropping sign that reads,

‘FORECLOSURE’

That’s pretty much where my story starts.

{A/N: Hey! This is my first ever fanfiction on wattpad...so this will be interesting! I have a mibba, but it doesn't seem like anyone goes on that anymore, so I'm giving this a go! I would really appreciate it if you commented/become a fan (I don't know, is that what people do?) and let me know what you thought of it! Thanks! xx