Frost

I.

*DISCLAIMER: none of these aesthetics are mine, I just put them up because I think they're beautiful and fit my theme for this novel*

        The clouds were bleak. Outside, the cold wind whipped violently making loud noises against the glass exit doors. Diana was sitting beside me, taking a long drag of her cigarette and blowing the smoke from her lips. The smell was horrendous. Six months ago I wanted to gag every time she took a cigarette out of her fake Louis Vuitton but since then I've gotten used to Diana, along with her bad habits. 

She took another few drags before putting it out on the bottom stair. We were at the back of Grove Heights high school, in the vacated staircase that nobody dared to walk down. It was our spot, and much of the student body tended to avoid us at all costs. Diana, the smoking rebel with violet hair, who had beauty but a wicked temper. Along with me, the pale lanky new girl that nobody wanted to associate with. Diana didn't seem to care about what the rest of students thought, she would drag me every day during lunch to sit with her as she smoked. She offered once when we first met. I accepted the gesture, hoping that it would bring me a friend, but she laughed in my face as I choked on the nicotine. 

"Stick with me kid, and you'll get better" She'd said, before taking another drag. 

I haven't smoked since. 

It was almost the end of lunch and we were both sitting on the stairs. I was eating a cold ham sandwich, something I grabbed out of my foster parent's fridge. Diana didn't eat much at school, she told me she ate right after school but I didn't believe her too easily. She was very skinny and always made negative comments about her weight. If she didn't dye her hair outrageous colours, she would easily be considered the hottest girl in the school. She was petite, with a pretty heart shaped face and sparkling hazel eyes. She had a few piercings, a septum, nose and tongue. To others she would seem daunting, with dragon tattoos lining her arms and bright violet hair. She was the only person to speak to me six months ago, when I first started at Grove Heights, in a shady part in Chicago. 

It was the third school I transferred to in two years. Becoming known as the new girl wasn't abnormal for me, I was constantly being relocated into different foster homes. I was in a revolving door of families. 

I was currently with the Fishers. They seemed nice enough but we didn't talk much. Mrs. Fisher was a middle-aged woman working in a diner and lived in the worst part of town. Her husband was a dead-beat, who liked whiskey and young blondes, and stayed seated in the same chair beside the television set. I rarely said a word to him, we occasionally glanced at each other in passing, his eyes lingering longer than they should. Helen, Mrs. Fisher, didn't speak to me either, and I didn't mind that. We both knew she took me in for the money.