Lost in My Mind

The Graffiti Club

The Graffiti Club {a story that I never had the inspiration to finish}

- romance, teen fiction

This isn't your average bad boy love story. Why? Well because in this story the “bad” person is the girl. Yeah you heard me. The girl.

Her name is Cara. Cara Evans. Ever since her dad lost his fight with cancer during her first year of high school, she has had a fast downhill ride. Before, Cara was in the right crowd, she hung out with her friends, had good grades, and stayed out of trouble. Not anymore. Fights have broken out. She lost her interest in learning. Cara Evans is now the most feared girl – no, person – at school. Basically, she’s a class A badass.

His name is Drake. Drake Richards. He gets good grades, is captain of the basketball team, looks like a Greek God, and is the most popular guy at school. Oh did I mention that this good boy is also head of student council? When Drake makes a decision to cut the funding for the one thing at school that keeps Cara from dropping out, she furious. 

A punch or two later, Cara finds herself living a new life, but will she find someone she loves in the process? And what happens when Drake gets messed up with Cara’s crowd – also  known as the Graffiti Club?

Author's Note:

So this was my first story, and now looking back on it, I think it sucks. Things move way to fast, the plot is scattered, and the quality is just icky. I wanted people to still be able to see this, so I posted it here.

This is dedicated to Kammi (@berceuses) for the beautiful cover.

Chapter One

Cara’s Point of View

I’m in the bathroom. No, I’m not taking a sh*t. I’m crying. Me, Cara Evans, is crying. This has been happening a lot lately. Everything just reminds me of him. Everything brings back memories. Sometimes, like today, the pain is just too much to handle.

Today it was some bitch bad-mouthing her dad because he didn’t buy her the shiny new car she wanted. She doesn’t know what it’s like not to have a dad to bad-mouth. I wanted to get up in the middle of class and just scream at her for being so selfish. The thing is, I can't get a detention today, and I have places to be. So I did what every teenage girl does when they’re depressed; I asked to use the bathroom.

And here I am.

My sobs echo though the completely tiled room, filling each moment with my despair. There was a puddle of tears at my feet from how much I have been crying. God, I’m such a wimp. It’s been three years, but I still cry at whatever reminds me of my dad. I need to get a grip.

Why him? Why my dad?  Those are the questions I have asked myself over and over since he died. Sure, my dad had smoked a little in his teenage years, but I knew a lot of people who had. They didn’t get diagnosed with lung cancer. So why was my dad? He hadn’t smoked in years when he was diagnosed.

I muffle my sobs with the sleeve of my hoodie as I heard the bathroom door open. Guess who decided she had finished bad-mouthing her dad? The bitch from class. She stares at me, her make-upped face full of shock.

“What do you want?” I hiss at her. Her eyes are covered in a new emotion when she registers who I am, and that emotion is fear.

“N-no-thing, I just came here to use the toilet,” she stammers. When she starts backing towards the door in fear I yell,