I shouldn't have gone out last night.

I can still feel the lashes on my back as I roll over, wide awake starting at the early morning sun rising through the thin curtains. The small alarm clock on my bedside table reads four-twenty AM. I sigh but hold my breath immediately as pain travels across my sides.

Deciding there's no point in lying awake for the next hour, I push myself up slowly feeling the pain cascade across my limbs.

It was my fault, I shouldn't have stayed out last night! I should have just got the groceries and come home. I should have at least text to say I'd be home later, not that it would have mattered- dad would have been just as mad, the only difference being when he got the text he would have been a litre of whisky lighter.

I hobble from my wardrobe, dress in hand to the bathroom and start the shower. I let the bathroom steam up before I step past the sliding doors into the stream and collapse on the floor. I sit there. Silent tears dripping from my eyes combing with the shower water, washing down the drain.

Scolding water trickles across the array of black, purple and green-tinged bruises and slides across the cuts that line my body. Tiredness and disappointment weighs heavy on my skin, my wet hair moulded to my ghostly face.

I miss you, momma, I wish you were still here. I wish you could save me from this.

After a longer shower than intended, I wrap a towel around my sore body and wrap my hair up. I throw on the floral summer dress paired over a long-sleeve T-shirt, a pair of tights and chequered vans. If I look slightly peppier than I feel people might believe it.

With that motto in mind, I add a little extra make up to my horrible washed-out face before bolting towards the door, on the way something wraps around my ankle and I nearly trip over myself.

Managing to stable my crazy ass I turn to examine the culprit.

A gold cheer medal from my last state championship.

I carefully pick up the medal, running my fingers over the imprints on it. It must have fallen out of my old dance bag when I pulled the dress out of the wardrobe.

My heart wrings in pain, I want to cheer. I want to dance.

But I can't.

Searching for the bag blindly I find it half-open at the back of all my clothes. Pulling it closer to me I see the various bits of silver and gold, old dance shoes and a picture of... my mom and my baby sister at one of my dance competitions.

I stopped dancing a few years ago... it's just too painful. It reminds me too much of her and what I lost. the guilt cripples me.

Feeling tears pushing on my lashline I push the bag back into the wardrobe and hastily run downstairs, edging towards the kitchen with hopes my parents aren't in there.

"Don't be late." My dad shouts as I pass the kitchen door, my pulse spiking quickly at his voice.

"I- I- Uh have work... tonight so i-"

He slams his plate down on the table, watching it crack before his darkened eyes look directly at me. I squirm, if I could shed my skin it would be around my feet right now. He edges closer too me until he's in my face.

"Jenny would have been home last night. I want the rent money when you get paid." He sneers shoving past me to climb the stairs.

The only reason he lets me work is so that I can pay extra rent, otherwise, I'd be locked away like rapunzel.

I swallow thickly, opening the door into the fresh September sun. Atlanta is still warm around this kind of year so I opt out of picking up a coat and start my journey to school using my music to block out the events of last night.

I'll never be like Jenny, that's half the reason I have to endure the abuse. Jenny is my parent's late daughter when she passed I presumed adoption would be the next best thing to find a substitute... but I guess little Atlas Grove isn't what they were expecting, I haven't even got their name legally, they were more than happy when I said I wanted to take my mommas maiden name. It's not like they try and hide their embarrassment of me either.

Walking into school my earphones playing 'Alive' by Sia, I'm imagining several choreographed routines I could do to this. That used to be one of my favourite parts of dancing, choreographing and placing to music before I let my feet take over.

Suddenly my earphones are plucked from my ears, the shock rendering me frozen until Brady peers over my shoulder from his six foot three frame.

"Hey Big A." He smiles, leading me off to a section of lockers where Carrie, Vixxie, Ethan and Blaze are stood. The girls greet me when they see me and I tuck the plucked earphones into my bag. "You look cute today, I love that dress!" Brady adds, nodding his head.

"Oh, thanks." I smile slightly, see peppier clothes, peppier outlook.

I can't resist glancing over at Blaze who I catch, not to sutibly, taking the time to scan over my choice of outfit. His arms are crossed over his plain black T-shirt matching the riped black jeans and converse he's wearing. They contrast against the blue lockers he's leaning against, the iced eyes drift up to mine and when they do he pushes off the lockers and joins our little huddle more, his biceps bulging as he uses his strength to move himself.

"Green suits you," He leans in and whispers subtly referring to the green flowers coating the dress, then walks off taking the boys with him. I shake my head at his enigmatic nature.

"See you at lunch," Ethan says to Carrie as they fill the halls, fellow students parting for them to walk down like they're Moses and the red sea.

I manage to make it through the day without causing myself any embarrassment, enduring Brady for four periods and Carries - not so subtle- fawning over Ethan. The guys aren't that bad, they're actually really nice and sweet, Complete idiots mind you but funny idiots who I like being around.

"You are so wrong, Leonardo DiCaprio is way hotter than Shawn Mendes," Brady exclaims as we walk the halls to English. Somehow we'd manage to end up in a heated discussion about who was hotter, DiCaprio or Mendes. Personally, I've never seen why people obsess over Leonardo but Shawn Mendes... please.

"I know I'm gay but I still don't see the appeal about Leo." Vixxie shrugs beside me.

"Neither. I didn't think he was all that when he was young and I don't think he's all that now." I laugh.

"I can't believe you two. I really don't think we can be friends anymore." Brady clutches his heart feining to be sad.

"Nah I agree with you, Bray," Carrie says clutching a book close to her chest as another senior shoves into her. I giggle at the death stare Ethan gives him.

"But Shawn Mendes... he's just so-" I start to fantasise about his dreamy voice and luscious locks when Blaze startles me snaking up beside me.

"Shawn Mendes is what?" He chews looking down at me. Only being able to make shapes with my mouth but no worlds Rutherford helps me out.

"We were discussing who's hotter- DiCaprio or Mendes. It's leaning towards DiCaprio you're the deciding vote."

Blazes' lips upturn into a small grin then scoffs like he's actually evaluating the question.

"Mendes." He finally avails, his eyes smirking down at me. I feel hot under his intense gaze.

"It's his voice, he has the edge," I mumble as we reach the classroom door. We're slightly late back from lunch so there are only the front few rows of chairs still available. I plop down into one of the middle rows, Vixxie next to me.

"I bagsie the seat next to Atlas!" Brady shouts throwing his hand up like he wants to answer a question.

"Uh okay?" Rutherford sends a questing look my way and then to Brady who's still battling through student to reach the spare seat.

"She's really good at English, she got really high grades last year and a better blonde bitch then you fuckers." He turns to lecture Rutherford and I can't help the giggle that escapes my lips, blonde bitch?

"I'm really not that good at en-" I try to reason with Brady but get cut short when Blaze beats him to the seat and falls down, stretching out in the chair, folding his arms behind his head. His head looking rather small in comparison to those arms.

He smiles slightly at me then smirks at Brady whose brows are furrowed in anguish.

'Move Blaze! I bagsied it!" He pouts.

"Just sit in front doofus." Blaze chuckles.

"No! I want to sit next to her!" Brady makes his argument heard around the class and I duck my head slightly, not wanting to be known as part of this quarrel. It's just a godamn desk, I'm not some rare jewel or something.

"Well, I'm sitting next to Blondie so tough luck." He challenges. Brady gives up and huffs down into the chair in front muttering "Some best friend you are." Which makes me giggle even more.

"Jesus, the fuck am I? Chopped liver?" Rutherford exclaims when no one rushes to sit next to him.

Every chance Brady gets he's turning around to annoy me, he really is like a little puppy clawing at my desk, trying to tell me awful dad jokes or just throwing things at Blaze to piss him off.

The English teacher Ms Morgan walks in with a stack of books balancing around in her arms. She instructs for a front-row pupil to hand them out as she sets up her station.

"Welcome back to your senior year, this is obviously a big year but there's a lot of work to be done... starting with one of the greatest novels ever written." A copy of F. Scott Fitzgerald's book The Great Gatsby lands on my desk with a thud. I run my fingers over the cover, I used to love reading this book when I was younger.

"See DiCaprio as Gatsby is fucking hot!" Brady turns around excitable slapping the book, whispering much louder than necessary.

"Something to share Mr Jenkins?" Ms Morgan peers over the class in her authoritative teacher way, eyebrows raised at the golden-headed boy.

"Wel Miss I was making a literary assessment that when DiCaprio portrays the character of Gatsby he's hot," Brady answers with a shrug mocking how most teachers report back about literature, prompting the laughter that's gathered around the room. Ms Morgan presses the book to her temple and sighs.

"Thank you for that Mr Jenkins. Does anyone have anything else they want to say about The Great Gatsby, anything you may know already?" Her eyes drift to me and I internally curse, she'd briefly gone over this with me when I was in freshman year and she knows I've read it a few times, I'd done a review of it as my bloody homework last year. I sigh and raise my hand slowly. I hate talking in class but I don't think there's a way to get out of this one, she keeps glaring at me and students are already looking.

"Ah Miss Grove! I was hoping you'd help us out." She smiles smugly and sits down on the front of her desk, "Please enlighten us!"

"Well, the book is set in the nineteen twenties renaissance period which is full of partying and celebrations, reflecting the change in society after the war. It's built a lot on class and patriarchy. Jay Gatsby's desire to fit into the upper class is reflected in his actions due to the fact he's desperate to achieve this so-called American dream but because of who he is, in consequence, he will never be accepted into the east egg society which is filled with old money wealth because of all the fact he wasn't born into wealth and his profit is very illegitimate- being a bootleger. This means that no matter how hard he tries he will never be able to have his love Dasiy who's married to Tom. From the start of the book, we know Gatsby is a tragic hero and his fatal flaw winds up being his love for a girl he will never have since Daisy can't escape from high society."

I can feel the class all staring at me as I finish my final sentence, immediately recoiling into my seat and staring down at my vans.

"Thank you, Atlas that was a-"

"I have to disagree." Blaze interrupts, still leaning on the back of his chair. I turn my head to find he's already looking at me, "I believe his fatal flaw was the need to be perfect, his need to fit in and achieve the American dream. Daisy is the missing piece in that American dream puzzle. He never loved her... maybe she was just good for a fu-"

"Thank you, Mr Beckett." Ms Morgan quickly interjects as the class start howling and the boys start slapping hands under the table. It seems Blaze is not finished though.

"As for Daisy, Gatsby offered her a way out. She wasn't trapped, she just didn't want to leave her status. She didn't love him either." He finishes. I'm taken aback by the fact he must have studied the book, in great depth it seems, and it's attractive. Jocks are made out to be dumb but the one sat arguing with me is smart, smarter than everyone else thinks. I guess under that intimidating, rude persona he's got substance.

"I don't agree with that. I agree that maybe she didn't love him, he was a revenge plot on Tom or maybe she just wanted to escape from the pressures of being a Buchanan for a while but I disagree at the fact that she was trapped. We can't forget, although we never see the child, Daisy is still a mother and she can't just leave that behind. Without her reputation she has nothing and is likely to be thrown out of society, sure that sounds shallow but she's got so much pressure on her to stay at home and be the perfect housewife whilst Toms out with other women making them is mistresses but that's what was expected in the forties. All women were expected to sit quietly and have dinner on the table when their husbands got home from work or screwing around! How can she escape that life if thas what was expected? She's part of a big family how could she escape the connotations that come with that?" I argue back, I've completely forgotten I'm in a class with others, now in my own world of literature with those ocean blue eyes and scarred cheekbones.

"What about Jordan, she's a woman of the twenties, she's not like Dasiy." Blaze challenges back with a smirk.

"But if you look at the way Fitzgerald describes Jordan through Nicks's narration you can see she's frowned upon for being the woman she is. It was unheard of to see a female in a male-oriented job. If it wasn't for her wealth and name I doubt she'd even be relevant." I huff, planting my hands on my desk and swivelling fully to look at Blaze.

"Doesn't antagonise my point of there was always an escape for Daisy but what about Myrtle too, she escaped with Tom! Dirty-" A cough is heard from Ms Morgan as she anticipates his choice of vocabulary.

"Yes! But only temporarily! She ended up getting-"

"As much as we're thoroughly enticed by this debate, let's not ruin the fun for everyone else who hasn't read it. Yes?" Ms Morgan stops me before I spoil one of the main parts of the plot. In my rising frustration, I'd forgotten the class has been listening in on our rapidly heated debate. Feeling the red creep onto my cheeks and my pulse spike slightly, I huff back into my seat refusing to look at Blaze but I can feel his grin on the side of my neck.

However deep down, as challenging as he was, I actually enjoyed the opposition. Being hella competitive I enjoy the feeling it bought back but even more, I enjoyed seeing that intellectual side of the mystery quarterback.