The Philosophers' Game

Chapter 1: The Philosophers' Club

Hey, so I got this new story idea...I'd really appreciate you commenting/voting and letting me know your thoughts. Wouldn't want to embarrass myself any more than I already have ;) Thanks. You rock. Chapters 3 and 4 should give you a better idea of how the rest of the book will go.

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Chapter 1: The Philosophers' Club

People say when life gives you lemons, you're supposed to make lemonade. But honestly, I'd always considered that to be a mere platitude used to cheer up the downhearted. After all, without the preferred ratio of ingredients, lemonade still tastes sour.

"We're ten minutes away from our new home, honey. Aren't you excited?" my mom asked, and she turned around in the passenger seat of my dad's Mercedes Benz to flash me a grin that was too large to be taken seriously. I frowned. Obviously her preferences in lemonade and its ingredients were different from mine.

No. No, I wasn't excited. I was nervous, unhappy, despondent, irritated, furious – anything but excited. That's pretty much what you'd expect from a teenager like me, what you'd expect when your parents move you halfway across the country just before your senior year of high school. Forget all your friends, your good (or bad) reputation, even your whole life outside of school. Take all that away, and you've got nothing. Now, some teens would absolutely love this opportunity, would immediately jump at the chance to start over. But not me.

You see, I wasn't just some nerd who got picked on all the time, or the drug addict who always seemed to be high in class, or even one of the invisibles who nobody recognized when flipping through the yearbook. I was Candace Crenshaw, homecoming queen, cheer captain, and girlfriend of the star football player, Colton Race. In short, I was popular. Not the cliché kind of popular – you know, the bratty mean girls – but the genuine kind. The kind who knew how to make friends and keep them. The kind who didn't stab people in the back on a regular basis.

At Rockwell High School in Massachusetts, I was happy, and I didn't think I would ever be happier anywhere else. Let's just put it this way: Ocala, Florida was definitely not calling my name. It was calling my father's name, Casper Crenshaw, saying, "Hey, Mr. Crenshaw! Your blossoming hometown would be the perfect place to set up a new shoe factory! There's still plenty of room!"

Or at least that's what he heard. I, on the other hand, was inclined to disagree.

"Casper, tell your daughter to lighten up a bit," my mom said, now facing my dad again. She let out a heaving sigh, trying to guilt me into saying something nice about our new home, and my dad chuckled.

"You can't blame her for being upset," my father responded diplomatically. "But trust me; Candace will warm up to this place in no time."

He turned up the volume of the radio and started drumming his fingers on the steering wheel – a clear sign that this conversation was over. Rolling my eyes, I swiveled my head toward the window again to watch as we rolled into the city.

Even though it was my father's hometown, I had only ever been there once, when we were looking at open houses. Under any other circumstances, I probably would have liked living there. This wasn't a big city by any means, but it definitely wasn't too small, either. Ocala was built up around the cute downtown area, a large, cobblestone square bordered by family-owned shops and restaurants. Beyond that, there were dozens of other streets lined with houses and stores ranging in colors and ages, a park with a large pond, the elementary school, the middle school, and of course, the high school. The whole town was very green. A lot of trees and flowers lining the roads, which was nice, I guessed. But I still found myself comparing everything to Massachusetts.