Prologue*
2006
My name: Alexandria Night, but I prefer to be called Zandy. I'm thirteen years old and am attending the School for Creative and Performing Arts in Cincinnati, Ohio. I have lived in Cincinnati for all my life, and, up until three years ago, I had been comfortable with the people around me. I even had friends.
My father died when I was ten, leaving me with my mother, who is never home, my older brother, who left for college last year, and my two younger siblings, who were eight at the time. That was the lowest point in my life and my friends started to drift away, leaving me with myself and my thoughts. I was still liked well enough that people I knew talked to me and asked me to sit with them at lunch, but I no longer had lengthy conversations with people like I used to. And when my brother left, everything just came crashing down.
Everything about me seemed to grow darker and more solemn. I traded my bright pink frilly shirts and jean skirts for black band tees and dark wash jeans. People I thought were my friends before my father's death ridiculed me and called me names. They told me they were only friends with me because my mom was a rich clothing designer and I would never have any real friends. I drew further and further into myself every time someone called me a bad name or messed with me.
At this point in my life, my mother's career was really taking off and she would fly all over the world, leaving me and my little brother and sister with our grandmother. Grammy, as I liked to call her, always helped me with people at school. She'd tell me that it was okay to be different from the other kids, and that I didn't need them to feel complete with my life. She helped me rid of my frustration and anger with everything by taking me horseback riding and letting me use her art studio that my grandpa had built for her back when they first got married. Grammy was my rock, I could always go to her when I had a problem or if I needed some release. She was my everything.
Finally, we come to this point, approximately one year after my brother had left for college. I was sitting in the eighth grade locker corridor, my red spiral-bound notebook in my black clad lap. It was opened to a fresh page and I was drawing a picture, of what, I'm not quite sure, but I'd know when I was done.
Everything was silent; the rest of the eighth graders were at lunch, talking to one another and having fun. I checked my Batman watch for the time: 12:23. Lunch lasted for another twenty minutes. So, I stopped drawing and flipped my notebook closed, standing up and taking the few steps to my ugly blue locker. I twisted in my combination and pulled it open, shoving my notebook inside.
I looked at myself in the mirror-like metal of the inside of my locker, seeing the girl who stared back at me.
Jet black, shoulder length hair framed a pale, thin face. Thick bangs covered my whole forehead and swept down, just above my right eye. My eyes were their natural brown today since I didn't decide on putting in the colored contacts this morning. The ring of black eyeliner covered both my upper and lower eyelids, and there was a thin application of mascara on my eyelashes, making them stand out even more. My lips were normal, just slightly uneven in thickness, but hardly noticeable. But the two piercings in my bottom lip were. Aside from my snakebites, I had a zigzag industrial rod through my left ear, double piercings on each, and a small obsidian stone in my nose.
I stepped back a bit to look at the rest of myself. The purple camisole I was wearing peaked through the lowest part of my black t-shirt. My dark wash jeans were slightly tighter than what everyone else was wearing now. And on my feet, I wore plain black Converse. Both my wrists were covered in black plastic bracelets and on my left wrist, I sported my Batman watch. Around my neck was a plain black, thin, round, leather choker and a string of black beads that hung a bit lower. Simple, but my style.
As I was about to close my locker, I heard a slam, like body against metal, and then a grunt of pain. I took a step back and looked to my right first. There was no one there, not even a scrap of paper, so I whipped my head around and looked to my left. There, at the very end of the corridor, were two boys. One, who was quite tall and had jet black hair and wearing all black, was pushed up against the lockers. The other, who was a few inches taller and wearing the typical preppy clothes, had his fist in the first guy's shirt, holding him against the lockers. They looked like they were talking, but I could tell it wasn't a friendly conversation.
I made a snap decision and closed my locker as quietly as possible. I didn't want to draw attention to myself, since it looked like neither of them knew I was even there. They kept talking as I crept closer to them, making sure my footsteps weren't too heavy on the cement. When I was finally close enough, I was able to hear what they were saying, and see who it was.
"Go home, fag," Jason, the school's bully and the one who was dressed in the preppy clothes was saying.
The other guy had a hard look on his face; his black kohl lined eyes narrowed, making his strikingly electric blue eyes nearly black from the shadow. His chin length, black hair was flopped over his forehead, obviously out of place from where it normally would lay. He said nothing, seemingly waiting for Jason to let him go.
Jason scowled, offended that the other boy had said nothing back. I don't know why I keep calling them boys; Jason was a sophomore and the other guy looked about the same age, so they were both a good two years older than me.
"No one wants you here, cutter, just leave. And on your way, go get that little eighth grade emo girl; she doesn't belong here, either," Jason snarled.
Suddenly, anger washed over me. He was talking about me. I was the only person in my school who dressed like this, or so I thought. I clenched my fists by my side, ready to run forward the ten or fifteen remaining steps and punch his lights out. But then I thought, 'Why should I care? He's nothing to me, and whatever he says is not who I am. I know it's all lies because no one at this school knows the real me. Anything Jason says is not true and he doesn't deserve the satisfaction in knowing it affects me.'
So, I opted out of smashing his ugly face in and decided to just help this guy that looked like he was about to get a beating from Jason.
"Hey!" I shouted, walking toward them slowly. Both guys' heads snapped to look at me. The unnamed guy looked confused, but grateful and relieved, and Jason smirked, knowing I had heard what he had called me.
"That 'little emo girl' is right here, you know!" I shouted, getting closer and closer to them with each step.
Jason's smirk grew wider and he released the guy he had up against the lockers. "Why should I care?" he asked. "Neither of you are worth it anyway." Then he turned around and started to walk away. I stuck my tongue out at him and flipped him off behind his back.
There was a sweet melodic sound, and I turned to see that it was the guy chuckling. I smiled at him, walking a bit closer so we weren't so far apart.
"Thanks..." he said, trailing off at the end.
"Zandy," I offered.
"Thanks Zandy. I'm Andy," he said extending his arm and offering it to me to shake.
I took it and gave a small chuckle. "No problem. How come I haven't seen you around before?"
Andy tilted his head slightly and said, "I could ask you the same question."
I nodded, retrieving my hand and placing it by my side. "Touché."
He gave me a beautiful half smile, making his snakebites, which I was just now noticing, move as he flicked his head to one side, putting his hair back in order. "But to answer your question, I don't hang out with anybody. I try to keep to myself."
"Same here," I said, nodding.
I looked around the corridor, making sure no one was coming our way or there weren't any teachers who could see us. It took me only a second to make a snap decision, like I had earlier.
"Wanna ditch? I really don't feel like being here any longer," I told Andy. He gave me a half smile again and nodded slowly.
"You just read my mind," he said, holding his hand out to me.
I took a step back and started to bite on my right corner of my bottom lip, looking at his hand. I wasn't so sure if I trusted this guy. Yeah, he was like me and is bullied like I am, but I just met him not five minutes ago. It usually takes me years to trust people.
But then, I felt like I could trust Andy with my life already, like he would never hurt me, either intentionally or on accident. He seemed like the first good person I had met in over a year. But could I trust him so soon, even if my brain and heart was screaming at me to just take his hand and leave. Could I...
"You can trust me, Zandy," he said, seeing my hesitation. "I won't hurt you, I promise. I've been fucked over too many times to intentionally hurt someone."
I looked up and gazed into his never ending blue eyes. They held sincerity and reassurance, two things that I really needed. I finally nodded and grabbed his hand with mine.
"Okay," I said, making it just above a whisper. Andy gave me a full blown smile, and tugged me along with him gently.
"Is your locker around here so we can grab your stuff?" he asked casually.
"Yeah, just a few more down," I responded easily. Andy really was an easy person to talk to and get along with.
Andy and I stopped at my locker and I put in the combination quickly, wanting to escape this place as quickly as possible. I snatched out my notebook and my iPod. My notebook had a pencil in the spiral binding and an extra eraser was stuck there next to it. On the cover were logos of my favorite bands that I had drawn myself: Danzig, Kiss, The Sex Pistols, Alkaline Trio, Samhain, Glamour Punks, the Misfits, Lords of the New Church, et cetera.
As I closed my locker, I saw Andy examining my notebook and the artwork on it. I didn't stop him; I just waited until he was finished. He finally looked up at me and gave me yet another half smile.
"Mine looks a lot like that, and I'm surprised you know who Glamour Punks are," he finally said.
I smiled then, knowing I would definitely get along with him. "Of course I know who Glamour Punks are. They're my favorite little known band."
Andy chuckled slightly shaking his head. "I like you; I think I'll keep you around for awhile."
At that point I was a skeptic. Not many people 'kept me around', as Andy had put it. But I had no idea how wrong I was.