Chapter 1

      Okay, so I was challenged by this one goon I know to just start writing a story on here. :)P You know, one of those stories where you start typing and have no idea what you're doing, but just keep making it up as you go along. My story will probably end up having no plot, but that's okay. I'll do it anyway. :) But I can't think of a title, so whatever. And I apologize ahead of time for all the spelling and grammar mistakes I make-- I'm not entirely sure I'll be proofreading it as I write it.
Here goes!




      I own this pair of yellow Converse high tops. Despite the fact that they're just shoes, they're my second most prized possession. They were a gift from my mom and dad before they were killed in a car accident last year. Yeah, I know you probably don't care about that yet, but I just thought I'd throw it out there.
      Now I live with my uncle, Uncle Adam, whom I love to death. However, he's out every day looking for a job after being fired from a harsh company I don't know much about. He's not a bad person, he's just unlucky. He doesn't tell me much, but at least he listens.
      Back to the present, I glance at the alarm clock on my bedside table while I tighten the laces on my yellow Converse. I'm all ready now, but I still have a good ten minutes before the bus comes.
      Hopping back to my feet, I grab the backpack from my bed and swing it over my shoulder, then proceed to stare at my clean room. It's large, the one benefit of having a brother in college, and probably the biggest room in the house. Uncle Adam insisted that he has enough space in his own. Although my bedroom doesn't have much in it, the window is my favorite part. It faces my front yard, and at night I can usually see the moon through it pretty well.
      But the moon's not out now. I turn and exit the room, and cross the hallway outside, ignoring the pictures on the walls of a happy family with all the members still alive and together. The rest of the house is tidy and vacant, as always.
      I lock the front door behind me when I walk outside, and stroll down to the sidewalk where the bus will pull up. Pulling my hand from out of my skinny jeans pocket, I look at my watch. Six minutes.
      There's a path about half a mile down the sidewalk that leads into the woods, and my eyes can't help but follow down the sidewalk as far as I can see. The path isn't visible, but my mind paints it there. Trees all around, flourishing with vibrant leaves. Hedges of greenery behaving like rails on either side of it, as if to guide you to your certain destination. I'm not sure why there aren't many people who walk down it. Maybe their destination just doesn't satisfy them.
      But my destination satisfies me just fine. There's an opening torn in the bushes, as if it was made for me to leave the path and go find my own. And I have found my own. It's my secret.
      The sound of the bus approaching is what makes me realize my eyes are closed. I quickly open them, and step onto the vehicle.
      "Good morning, Miss Hadley," says Mr. Hughes, the bus driver, and also the only person who remembers my name.
      "Good morning," I reply with a smile, and take a seat.

      The bus ride is uneventful, as usual. The loud, "cool" kids shout to each other and laugh, telling stories about the football game and daring each other with sarcasm. Almost everyone else is on his/her phone.
      When we get to the high school, I rush into the classroom, just a little bit early. It's better than being late. The rest of the day passes like this; I walk from one class to another, listening and taking notes and avoiding people. Lunch comes and goes, and more classes.
      Eventually, it all ends, and I've made it through the day without having to deal with the jerks who usually pick on me. A sigh of relief escapes from my mouth as I leave the high school.
      Suddenly, there is less weight on my head and my dark brown hair blows to the left. Gavin
Turnell, my not-favorite person on this planet, has taken my snap-back. He's running off now, waving it around in a mocking behavior.
      "Gavin!" I yell. "Give it back!" It would be funny if he didn't hate me, and also if I knew he would give it back. Knowing Gavin, he won't.
      With a groan, I decide to run after him. He dances around like an idiot as I descend the concrete steps.
      My hands reach for it, but he's just a bit taller than me, and keeps moving it around.
      "Come on, Gavin. Now!" I shout.
      He chuckles, clearly enjoying this.
      "Come on Hadley! You can get it-- just keep reaching!" he teases.
      Another arm comes from nowhere, snatching the hat from his grasp, and I turn to see Logan, whose dark hair sticks out of the beanie he wears. I don't know his last name, but he's one of those funny kids everyone laughs at in school. I'm pretty sure he's nice. I've not really talked to him, though, and I'd like to keep it that way. Call me antisocial, but I've got my reasons.
      Logan sets the hat back on my head.
      "Really?" Gavin says. "You just had to ruin the fun?"
      "It didn't look like she was having fun," he responded.
      "Thanks," I say to Logan, and quickly leave the two of them. I probably should be more friendly, but I don't really like the fact that he had to get my snap-back for me. I can stand up for myself, and Gavin needs to know that.
      I pull my hat back off and run my hand through my thick hair, sighing heavily. And that, I tell myself, is why you don't make friends. This thought just comes into my mind, and it frustrates me even more, because I'm making a constant choice of avoiding people. So how is it possible for me to care about friendships? It's not. I don't know why I thought that.
      I decide to walk home. It will take a whole lot longer, but I've had enough to do with people for the day, and the school bus is teeming with them.

      Uncle Adam isn't home when I arrive, which is no surprise. I dump my stuff in my room and hurry back outside. This is the moment I've been waiting for all day. If you've been bored, well, I have too. This is where the good part is-- for me, at least. That secret I was telling you about earlier? This is it.
      My yellow high tops carry me with speed as I run down the sidewalk. My heart is racing, and I have to hold my hat on my head. The locket around my neck bounces up and down, and my hair trails behind me as it blows in the wind.
      At last, I find the entrance to the path. The hedges on either side make an opening for me, welcoming me home as they always do. The trees overhead move back and forth slightly, and the leaves rustle in the wind. I smile and start down the path.
      This trail itself is so beautiful; it's completely isolated from buildings and streetlights and cars. Nature sounds all around, and birds don't cower when you walk by. Even if my secret didn't exist, I would love this path. However, I soon find the tear in the bushes that guide one along the path. It's like someone drove a motorcycle right through the hedges on the left. Or maybe took clippers to it or something.
      With a wide grin, I dash through the man-made exit off the path, and run through the trees, dodging branches and getting closer and closer to my secret. Leaves crackle underneath my feet. I love the sound. I love everything about this place.
      And finally, there it is.
      An old, full-length mirror a bit taller than me leans up against an oak tree. The frame of the mirror is intricately detailed, and vines crawl up the edges. It's lovely.
      Taking a deep breath, I step forward into the mirror, right through it, and when I open my eyes I'm in a literally different world.
      This is my secret.