Dahlia Martinez. A girl with attitude, wit, and an extreme need for academic validation.
Blake Austin. A compassionate guy who has priorities...mostly.
Home troubles and past issues force Dahlia to a new school for her final year of highschool. S...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Life. I've gotten used to its tendency to be shitty to me. There's no more playing the victim, praying to god that one day everything will be better, none of that. Instead, I put on my sad playlist, which so far has around 214 songs on it, and cry until 2 am.
People think of crying as such a depressing thing, but I think of it as simply a natural part of life. It's way better than having to explain all the unfortunate cards I've been dealt and getting the stupid pity look. God I hate it when people do that.
So I cry. And I pretend like I have not a care in the world. Except I do of course, I'm a total emotional train wreck, but I have good acting skills. There are times I've felt okay to tell people what goes on, and each time it's the same speech.
A speech of me explaining how my asshole of a "dad" left when my mom was pregnant with my second brother. It's awful for my mom I know, which is why I feel bad questioning if I'm allowed to be effected too. When he left, it was like being put into the second parent role. Making food, payments, helping with homework. It was a lot for an 12 year old.
I have to add some sarcasm into the speech when I make it. But truly, it sucks. Of course I don't mention every sad moment that I've gone through, that would just take too long. The point though, is that I'm extremely tired. Working day in and day out to get perfect grades so I can one day get my family out of worry.
My extreme need for academic validation started from the very ripe age of 8. I haven't failed a single assignment, gotten a bad comment from a teacher, and I've kept a Straight A streak since then. I think it's an anxiety thing. My brain tends to wander to the possibility that if I do something wrong, every bad outcome possible will happen. That's usually how it goes.
And now I'm sitting on the brown wood floor in my bedroom. Moving boxes are scattered everywhere. One with clothes, another with textbooks and journals, and even one full of sour candy. My favorite of course.
I'm nervous to move. Well actually, I feel bad about moving. We don't have the money to afford our current house, let alone a brand new one. But my mom made the efforts, because shit hit the fan junior year.
The bullying started in 9th grade. My first year of high school and I was already hating it. Then my grandparents died when I was a sophomore. They were a huge help financially, and after their death, well I think you get the idea.
──────────
Freshman Year
I walked into school with my head low. All of my friends had gone to another high school, leaving me completely alone. First period was English, which I loved just like everything else. When I made it to my classroom, I felt out of place. We could manage to get me a new simple sundress for the first day, but everyone else was seemingly rich. Wearing designers I'd dream of owning, the best shoes there were, and many girls wore diamond earrings. I was okay with my plastic ones until I saw theirs.
