So I have decided to post the first chapter of my novel which I have not had the pleasure of being able to name :O. I hope, if anyone has a good idea, they can post it in the forums. Anyway, I hope you enjoy and tell me what you think :D.

  So I guess it's come down to this. Well, whatever. I really don't care. I'll take it, whatever it's worth. Because at least I know...that maybe, even if only a little, I tried. I tried to change what I couldn't change. Even though I knew it was futile in the beginning, maybe I came away with more of an experience than those who didn't try at all. They'd always told me to not even try to change those things that weren't susceptible to change. Obviously they never tried.

  A blustery wind blew the horrid frost through the three layers of my clothing; I hated the cold. I shivered, trying uselessly to wrap my seemingly threadbare jacket closer around me. I swept a lock of orangey-red highlighted brown hair away from my face, feeling my frozen fingers on my burning cheeks, the cold making the blood rush to my face. I shivered again, cursing internally at the frigid wind that descended upon me from the unrelenting sky. It was nearing the end of February, and being closer to the equator, you'd think that it'd be warmer here. Yeah, well, I thought so too. Bit of good that did me.
   I neared the bus stop, scanning the sidewalk for any cars that would decide to jump out at me from nowhere as they sometimes did in the coal-like darkness. Seeing none, I gingerly stepped over puddles of dirt-sodden rainwater and headed toward my fellow busriders. None seemed to be excited about having to brave the winds for longer than I had; the busdriver was late again and the wind seemed to be beating us harder with every minute that passed by.
 Finally, we heard the familiar growl of the bus; it's rattling and popping should have signaled the bus administraters that this old fellow definitely needed to be retired, but with so few busses, that was obviously not an option.
 We climbed aboard, eager to escape the ill-fated wind that battered us mercilessly, even if it meant having to lean up against cold steel.
 I took my seat, noticing that my seat-mate was absent. I shrugged, pulling out my iPod and stuffing the earbuds into my ears, hastening the escape of the bus driver's choice of radio station.
 As we pitched and stopped every few minutes to pick up the rest of the load to be hauled to the highschool, I stared at the nothingness outside my window, glad I hadn't forgotten my music player. The busride was boring enough with it.
 Soon, the sun decided to come out of its lazy reverie and brightened the scenery outside my window. I could actually register what was passing by. We came to an unfamiliar stop, the mellow uniform routine ruined by an even rougher stop than usual. As I looked out of my window to see who our next would-be passenger was, my curiosity stirred. I couldn't get a look at their face, but I knew enough by the outline of the hooded jacket around the coarse body to comprehend that our new passenger was a guy.
 Boring, I thought, returning to my glazed sight-seeing. But I realized we were stopped for longer than it should have taken the guy to find a seat and sit down. I looked toward the aisle to see what the big deal was and there he stood. Just there, standing and staring. At me. I tried to muster up an expression that said "What do you want" and "Please don't sit with me" at the same time, but figured that it was useless. This bus got filled pretty quickly and there was good reason that he had chosen to sit next to me. Those who sat by themselves usually had an unusual and violent aura about them. Damn potheads.
 Seeing that he had gotten my attention, he asked the usual, "Can I sit with you?" in a musky just-got-up kind of voice. I mumbled a, "Sure, go ahead," and moved my backpack onto my lap. I really hated sitting with people I didn't know. I wasn't a usual music player listener that listened to every song on their playlist; I was a constant song changer, switching genres and artists according to my mood and how the previous song had affected what I wanted to listen to. I hated when the bright backlight of my screen lit up the cramped bus seat and alerted my seat mate to whatever I was listening to. I wasn't the mainstream music listener; I ignored language barriers and opened my mind up to whatever song I could relate to, be it rap, rock, techno, et cetera. I always felt like they were constantly staring over my shoulder, judging my music. I acted like I didn't care, and most of the time they really couldn't care less about what I listened to. But it was just an annoying instinct that became triggered by an unfamiliar presence.
 I noticed he pulled out a music player too and hoped that maybe he'd be too immersed in listening to it to pay me any mind. Boy was I wrong. I really need to change that backlight timer on my iPod. Like, really. I changed a song and blam!, there it was, that stupid bright light. And this seat mate did not ignore it, didn't even try.
 "What are you listening to?" He asked softly, his syrupy morning voice fading into what must have been his normal speaking voice.
 Alerted by the fact that I was actually being spoken to on this ghost bus (for in the morning, no one really has enough energy to get up, much less carry on a conversation), I looked up.
 "Japanese rock." I said, trying to end the conversation with that. Maybe he'd think I was weird or something, and leave me alone. But part of me wished for him to be interested. It had been a while since I was able to entice someone into my world of music. I should have been careful of what I had wished for.
 "Oh really? That's cool. I have some of that on my iPod. Do you like Gackt? I'm pretty sure he's popular, you know, if you listen to Japanese music."
 I tried to hide my slack-jaw reaction, but obviously it didn't pass. I saw the corners of his mouth twitch into what would become one of the most annoying smirks.
 "Yeah," he said cooly. "I know all about that stuff."
 I regained whatever was left of my dignity and managed to bite back a stupid reply. "That's nice." I said, just as cooly. If he wanted to play that game, I could play too.
 He seemed amused, his harmlessly innocent eyes sharpening into an uncomfortable gaze that pierced me. An unfamiliar anger stirred in my chest, and I bit back yet another stupid reply. This guy was going to be hard to deal with.
 "Stupid fangirl." He said, sighing and turning his head. I saw his chest shake with silent laughter.
 "Excuse me?" I replied icily. If he was going to be this way, I would abondon all my pretenses of nicety.
 "Hmph. You heard me. Drooling all over your idol, huh? I could see it written all over your face as soon as I said his name."
 So this guy knew how to speak geekfanspeak. Yeah, well, so could I.
 "Just because I listen to a certain artist does not make me a stupid, drooling fangirl. Obviously you didn't get the memo: stars put themselves out there to be liked. It's stupid people like you, who think that since they listened to them first or 'found' them first or just think that whoever likes them is automatically geeky and stupid, that are the epitomy of the obsessive factor. You may show it differently, but the fact that you think that you're 'protecting' your idol by calling everyone else who likes them a 'stupid, drooling fangirl', makes you lower than low. You know so much about him. Are you a freaking fanboy?" By this time, my voice had escalated a little above the song that was playing on the radio, attracting the attention of closer busriders. I shrugged off their quizzical glances, filled with an unidentifiable fury.
 This time he was the one filled with a slack-jaw surprise. I couldn't help but draw up the corners of my mouth in an irritable smile. Look who won now, Mr. Smarty Pants.
 To my surprise though, he laughed. His laugh sounded like a grizzly bear pawing at tree bark. It was disruptive, scratchy, but not all that unpleasant. The kind of laugh you could easily join. Except I didn't want to join him.
 "Guess I misjudged you, Miss Emo."
 "Guess I should have yelled at you more, Mr. Prissy Pants. Piss off."
 He snorted, shrugging and mumbling, "All right, all right. I get it, jeez."
 The rest of the busride, which wasn't very long actually, was incredibly intolerable. I desperately hoped that he would get bored of me or my busmate wasn't too terribly sick tomorrow. Maybe I could avoid him.
 As the bust rolled to a rickety stop in front of the highschool, I stood up, intending to get off as fast as I could.
 He snickered at me, knowing full well that he was sitting on the aisle side and he would be the first to get off. He stood there, to my sheer and utter annoyance, letting everyone get off before him. Before me.
 "Anytime now." I grumbled, shoving him into the aisle ever so slightly.
 "Patience, is a wonderful virtue." He mocked.
 "Not when you're standing in the middle of a highway. I doubt anyone would have the patience to get run over."
 He chuckled, finding many flaws in my retort. "Who would be stupid enough to stand in the middle of the highway?" And with that, he bounded off of the bus, leaving me to try and squeeze my way through the long line that had formed.
 Long strings of profanity crowded my head as I stormed off to meet my friends. I needed to vent, and they would be all too happy to know about my enraged bus ride.
 
 *******
 
  I realized I had fallen asleep on the bench outside of school only after the rumble of the busses taking off woke me up.
 "Oh...my..god!" I ran as fast as I could, hoping the busses would be held up because of a car or something. But the crossing gaurd waved them off swiftly and they left me in the dust.
 Panting and cursing softly, I threw my backpack to the ground and covered my face in my hands. I had no other way of getting home unless I walked. My parents were always tied up at work until seven at night.
 I started making my way to the sidewalk, sighing, and digging into my bag for my cellphone. I'd tell my mother what happened. But she didn't answer, and before I could call my father, my cellphone died.
 "Dammit!" I cried, incredibly frustrated. I stared at the cracked cement beneath my feet, surprised at the dark circles of wetness, realizing they were tears. My head throbbed, and I had an immense urge to sit on the sidewalk and cry, but before shouldering my backpack I pulled out my iPod, and straightened up. It would do no good to cry.
 I'd barely made it around the main building (which was across the street from the ninth grade center, where the busses would pick us up) when I felt a sharp jab on my shoulder. I immediately swerved around, irritated and frustrated and all of the negative -ated's.
 "What do you want?" My voice came out choked, drowned in tears that were unable to leave my eyes as long as I had control.
 It seemed as if he jumped back, he was so startled. I almost laughed. I would have if I hadn't been in such a sour mood. It was bus boy.
 "Sorry." He mumbled. I felt the hot warmth of tears flow down my face, and I realized he was apologizing for bothering me at the wrong time.
 "Don't be," I said, almost nicely. I decided against biting back a reply and said, "You're just going to be a jerk tomorrow anyway. Don't waste your breath." I felt mad at the world. I wanted to make everyone furious, frustrated, bothered, the way I felt. It was a horribly sickening feeling, like a vine wrapping itself too tightly around my chest and pushing away all of my control.
 "Hey," he said, raising his hands innocently. Of what he believed he was innocent of, I would never know. "whatever it is, it wasn't my fault, alright?"
 "That, I know all too well." I said.
 "Alright," he said. "Just so we're clear." He mopped his forehead with the bottom of his soccer shirt. I hadn't realized he was in soccer. I took a good look at him, his athletic build fit nicely into his soccer ensemble. His hair was a deep chestnut brown, streaked with pops of red that glinted in the sharp sunlight. His eyes were the oddest shade of blue-ish green and his skin was tanned by his days in the sun. His sweaty brow furrowed at my speculation.
 "What?" He asked.
 "Didn't realize you were in soccer." I said nonchalantly.
 He chuckled. "Anything else you, ah, noticed?" He grinned at me, his eyebrows waggling so exaggeratedly, I forgot my plight and laughed.
 "Nope," I said, trying to control tears from laughter this time. "there was nothing there to notice." I teased.
 "Gaah!" He elbowed me in the side. I giggled, and stopped myself. This was just so weird.
 He seemed to notice the weirdness too and changed the subject. "So where you headed?"
 "Home." I said, sighing. "I missed the bus."
 He whistled. "Sucks for you."
 I rolled my eyes, the irritation creeping back up on me.
 "Well," he said, his eyes closing as he thought. He had the longest lashes..."My soccer practice ends in a bit, so if you want a ride..."
 My eyes widened at this thought. Why was bus boy being so nice?
 "But you rode the bus today." I said, realizing.
 He smiled. "Yeah, but my brother's in soccer too."
 "Thanks, uh..." we'd never exchanged names.
 "Sean Cofriesi." He offered.
 "That's a nice name," I said, surprised. "I thought your name would be like 'Lyle' or something."
 "That's my brother's name."
 Oops. "Uh..."
 He laughed at the look on my face. "Joking."
 I stuck out my tongue.
 "What's your name?" He asked. We had moved under the shade of the tennis court gates, making our way to the soccer field.
 "Gretchen." I said.
 His eyes widened, and it looked like he would double over in pain and laughter.
 "Are you serious?" He asked, a 'ha' escaping his lips.
 I put my most hurt face on. "Yeah..."
 He immediately rearranged his expression, but I could tell he was restraining himself. "Oh. Um...well, hey there...Gretchen." I heard him disguise a laugh as a cough, and had to hold back my own laughter.
 "Actually, you're saying it wrong." I said, a smile creeping onto my face.
 "Oh?" He said, his eyebrows raising.
 "Yeah. You say it 'Cristal'. 'Cristal Landley'."
 "Nice," he said, turning his back towards me, stretching his arms to the sky. "Damn, it's so hot outside."
 "Got to love Texas weather." I commented. "It's freezing in the morning and blistering hot in the afternoon."
 "Yup." He said, moving closer to the middle of the soccer field. "Like a woman on her period."
 I shoved him and he laughed, running toward his team.
 I stayed behind, unsure of whether to follow him or not. Seeing the rest of the team congregate around the middle, I stuck with my initial instinct to stay away and sat down. The unearthly heat from the sun caused me to have to squint in order to see anything.
 I was so tired, I drifted off into sleep again, the sun warming me into drowsiness.
 
 ***********
 
 When I did wake up, I woke up with a start. Something had grazed the side of my face.
 "What was that?" I gasped, sitting upright. The sky had turned a calm gray, the clouds merging around the retreating sun.
 I saw Sean running toward me, the most confusing expression on his face. I couldn't tell if he was worried or angry.
 "You okay?" He called as he neared.
 "Yeah." I said lamely.
 He nodded, passing me a ways, holding a soccer ball. "This almost hit you in the face." he pointed.
 I laughed. "Good thing it didn't. Are we leaving soon?"
 He shrugged. "Dunno. Coach can be a girl sometimes, you never know if he's gonna make you stay after or not."
 "Like a woman on her period?" I asked, growling.
 "Ye-" He stopped himself. "Sorry." He said.
 "What's with you and being so stereotypical anyhow?" I asked, my voice growing deeper as I got angrier.
 A pained expression crossed his face and he stared up at the sky and closed his eyes. That seemed to be his thinking position.
 "Long story," he whispered.
 My anger melted away and I sighed. "Try to stop." I said.
 He nodded. "Sure, Miss Queen of Sheba."
 I grabbed my bag and threw it at him.
 He laughed and placed it on the grass, walking away.
 "Hey!" I called after him.
 "What?" He asked, a quirky look on his face.
 "It's getting late and my parents are probably worried. Can I borrow your cellphone, 'cause mine died."
 He nodded, walking back. He dug in the bag he had left with me and brought out a cellphone.
 As I reached for it, he pulled it back, winking.
 "I'm so sure your phone died." He teased.
 "What?" I said, not getting it.
 "Bet you just want to input your number on here so I can have an excuse to call you."
 "You should be a writer with all the stupid fantasies you come up with." I smirked, wrenching his phone from his steel grip. "And it's not like you don't want my number anyway." I laughed silently to myself, turning away and dialing my mom's number. I would call her first because I knew how freaked out she got when I didn't get home right away.
 "Hey, mom?"

 ********
 
(THE END OF THE PREVIEW)