06+8th+grade+team+FIVE

This is Courtney, Harper, Ariel, and Marissa's wiki space for their story. -All of the ideas and discussion has been moved to the discussion page- WIKI

Synopsis: A quiet and shy girl Claire discovered that the most popular girl in her school, Jazz, is actually homeless. The compassionate Claire gives Jazz food and lodging, and tenatively becomes friends with the fiery Jazz. Jazz's so-called best friend, GINA who wants to be queen bee suspects that Jazz is not all that she seems and see her and Claire's new friendship, she decides to interrogate Claire. Claire breaks down and tells the girl (for two possible reasons, 1) Claire is not at all brave and the girl intimidates her or 2) The girl promises to be friends and accept Claire into the popular group and Claire naively accepts.) When Jazz finds out she is furious with Claire and gets into a fight with Claire, in which she {threatens to run away} <-- Not really sure about that part, it doesn't make a lot of sense but it's my first gut reaction as to what Jazz would do, we can change it later but I think it will work. Their altercation is interrupted with Jazz's father, an alcholic, at the door inquiring about Jazz. Jazz goes white and beggs Claire to hide her, which Claire does. Claire then sees Jazz's father at the door, and he seems nice, but Claire can tell it is all just an act. When she denies any knowledge of Jazz's whereabouts, he starts to get a little threatening, but just then Claire's father comes home and Jazz's father leaves. When Van sees how white and shaken Claire is, Claire spills the whole story to him. {This is where it starts to get a little sketchy for me, I'm not quite sure of the resolution yet.} Claire's Bio: Name: Claire Age: 16 Sex: Female Eye color: Green Hair color: Brown Height: 5’5 Weight: Normal Appearance: Innocent, thin, cute but plain-Jane, minimal Physical defects, abnormalities, birthmarks: None Health: Good Class: Middle Occupation: Student Education: Sophomore in high school Home life: Van is her father, Morgan was her mother. She died when Claire was three but Claire still has fond memories of her. Van is struggling musician in an Irish folk band called The Red-Haired Man. He plays the violin/fiddle. Most of their income comes from playing in weddings in their picturesque Irish-American town, a popular honeymoon and wedding spot. Also plays for starred restaurants in the next big city. Place in community: Claire is quiet and not much of a leader. Religion: Catholic Amusements, hobbies: She likes to scrapbook and press flowers. She does her homework in her spare time, because she isn’t particularly smart and homework and school is an ordeal for her. Moral standards: High, due to her Catholic upbringing Ambitions: None really. Frustrations: She is shy and not very intelligent. Jazz's Bio Name: Jasmine (Jazz) Age: 18 Sex: Female Eye color: Green Hair color: Red Height: 5 ’ 6 Weight: Normal, a little on the low side Appearance: Pretty and popular. The thing that really stands out is her (dyed) bright red hair. Her hair is not red in the sense of hair color red; it is the crayon color red. Physical defects, abnormalities, birthmarks: None. Health: Fine. Class: She used to be upper class when her father was still alive, but her mother squander all the money and they are now lower class. Occupation: Student Education: She ’ s a senior in high school Home life: She had a normal, if spoiled childhood. Her father was a famous architect who married a model. She has an older brother in college. However, when Jazz ’ s family goes on their summer boating trip, the water suddenly turns rough and the boat capsizes with all the family on it. They all get out alive except for Jazz ’ s father. Her mother became depressed and was prescribed antidepressants, which she soon overdosed and became addicted to. She was virtually useless, but the kids had nurses and housekeepers and cooks to take care of them. Eventually Jazz ’ s mother, Abigail, starts trying other drugs like crystal meth. No one really realizes because she spends a lot of time in her room because she is still depressed and everyone thinks that if they leave her alone she will get better. The attention is brought to Abigail ’ s problem when she collapse of overdose and has to go to the hospital. They realize she needs rehab, and she goes through it and promises to the kids that she will not realize and finally be their mother again. This made a profound impression on Jazz because she and her mother had been very close and had missed her very much when Abigail was depressed. Unfortunately, Abigail relapses. When they have to take her to the hospital again, Jazz ’ s faith in her mother and people in general have been shaken. She is in her sophomore year. Her mother gets out of rehab and makes the same promise, but Jazz get furious with her mother because of her mistrust. A large rift forms between them, and Abigail relapses again. By then they have almost no money left, but Jazz ’ s brother, Connor, is safely in college. Jazz ’ s aunt on her father ’ s side, Wanda, has been taking care of Jazz while Abigail is in rehab, but Mary is cruel and hits Jazz. Jazz tried to call social services, but they would not believe her. Eventually, it gets so bad and Jazz realizes that her only option is to run away, which she does. Mary does not care, and just accepts it. Jazz, however, had a lot of money in her bank account, which she used to buy clothes and such to keep up her popularity and look like nothing had happen, and even stayed at a hotel for a while after her running away. However, money soon began to run thin, and she found herself out in the streets in no time. She has resorted to stealing clothes and makeup, and lives in an abandoned warehouse before Claire took her in. Place in community: She is the most popular girl in the school. Religion: None, but a Methodist under duress. Amusements, hobbies: Whatever popular girls like to do. She doesn ’ t really have any not normal hobbies. Moral standards: Rather low. Ambitions: None besides to be the most popular girl in whatever setting she is in. Frustrations: She is homeless, and there are some things she can ’ t steal. If you can't read the font, you can change it. I choose it because it was "Jazz Text" ^^

They know I can hear their whispers. Their hurtful comments penetrate my ears like little daggers. Sure, I may look a little "drab" today but do they have to be so blatant? Their backs are turned towards me only three degrees. Their staring glances overpower the rustle and bustle of class transitions. Nothing seems still besides their perfect seeming elite group, flashing the side of Gina’s new Alice + Olivia sundress belted by the finest Louis Vuitton leather, but of course. But I hold my heart shaped head up and keep walking to class. Pathetically, my life plays out similar to today every day. I keep my eyes glued to the clock counting down the hours during classes, and allow my eyes to sear a hole through my dusty converses during lunch. Finally, the ending bell rang I gathered my books all in a messy pile and dashed out of the worn brick building. I was free; to do what exactly I don’t know. Though school is torture for me, leaving school is usually worse. With no one to hang out with I routinely spend a few minutes brainstorming what I can do for entertainment. Then when I give up (like I always do) I retreat back home to my gorgeous mansion. Try again. I head toward my dualplex in the sketchy part of Cleveland across the street from most of the homeless people. When I finally reach the front door I am welcomed by the sound of my Dad tuning his classic fender guitar. The prized guitar costs enough to pay for a year’s college tuition. This gives an example of his father of year worthy priorities: the Irish band, gin and tonic, and me. I try not to dwell on the negatives the plus side is that at least I’m on the list. I head up the stained carpet stair case, open my squeaky bedroom door and make way into my sanctuary. My bedroom allows me to escape from the cruel and unjust world I dwell in. I bent over slowly pulling out the glitter decorated "dreams" box, the one created by my mother and me when I was only three years old. I have the faintest memory of my mom steadying my hand while decorating with festive sparkles on the lid, my mom sweetly cuddling me and encouraging my quiet giggles. But those sweet moments tend to morph in my strongest memory of hovering over her casket before her lifeless body was lowered into the cold earth. My mom was the strongest women I had ever known battling her severe epilepsy until three days after my fifth birthday party where her disease finally won the battle. The memories of the two of us, better known as the dynamic duo, become fainter with each passing birthday and blur with the passing twelve years’ events. When I cautiously opened the worn lid of the too familiar box, I lifted out the two pictures. The reminders to keep my life filled with hope and loved; with the edges severely worn I smiled at my mom and the love of my life, Ryan. Ryan, with blue eyes that pierce your heart and mend your soul, has been a lovely dream since the first moment we shared playdo in preschool. True, he doesn’t "exactly" know I exist but I would beg to differ. Just the other day when I dropped all of my books he smiled at me and so gorgeously stated, "let me get that for you," and proceeded to pick all of it up for me. Yes that was the first moment we had ever spoken (and since then) the last, but the dream is alive and well. Wait; hold on, the dream was alive and well until it was thoroughly shattered by Jazz. His gorgeous has it all, popular, all-around girlfriend who he has been steady with for the past six months. Ryan is the ultimate dream, and the at times it seems the most unreachable and impossible. Once my notebook paper was thrown to the side of my make shift desk, exhaled slowly and deeply. My homework was finally done; it only occupied four hours of my precious time. Time that I could have spent signing my dad up for Alcohol Anonymous, fully knowing he had no intention of attending, so I sat there in the quite empty house contemplating whether to wait up for my dad to arrive home after his late performance or go to sleep. The second option won unanimously, I was exhausted and fell into a deep sleep the second my head hit the threadbare pillow. "Ring, Ring, Ring," Why me? I drowsily rolled over in my two hundred thread count sheets. Stupid, noisy alarm had to wake me up from my first entertaining dream in month. Ryan had finally realized that I existed and whisked me off my feet flying me to a tropical paradise, though I was a little hesitatant. Then that darn alarm went off crashing me back into the negatives of reality. When I finally manage a 360 and roll out my bed, ending with a classy thump of the hard wood floor.After I recoup and exclaim peer out the frosty window and see Jazz, my (unknown) public nemesis number one. The girl who stole everything from me, what in the world? Confusion washed over me like a huge wave breaking on surf board, where were her parents? Why was she in the slide? It seemed like she had spent several nights in the hard plastic, green slide in the park across the street. How can life be so cruel, and how can I possibly be far removed from the loop to not know this is taking place. I’m such an oblivious fool, the most popular girl in our grade is homeless and I had no idea. Her tear stained cheeks are dirty with the mud from the previous night’s rain. Somehow though in the midst of her hushed appalling life she remains with every hair in place and glowing with her gorgeous radiance. That led me on to the idea, that maybe just maybe I was the only one who knew, her constant composure and poise certainly gave no hints towards her abode. When I finally opened the squeaky door worked up the courage I gave out a huge yell, startling Jazz while inviting her to come inside. The shock and horror on her face assured me of what I already knew, but didn’t stand in the way of Jazz accepting my invitation. Brinnggg!!!! Claire groggily opens her eyes and hits her alarm clock. Seeing the empty sleeping bag on the floor reminds her of the last night’s events. //Wait,// she thought, //Empty sleeping bag//? Where had Jazz gone? Then Claire remembered that school was still going on, even if Claire’s life was messed up. Jazz had probably just gone ahead, so it would not be obvious that she and Claire were staying together. The early hours in the duel complex were usually quiet, with no one leaving their houses until seven o’ clock, the current time. It took all of Claire’s will to get out of bed. She gazed in the mirror. Ugh, she looked horrible. Claire walked down the hall and steps into the only shower in her house. Feeling the hot water run down her body sooths her soul, and she starts to wonder how she got into this mess with Jazz. Now she is responsible for making sure the secret doesn’t leak at school, because the principal would have Jazz in a home immediately. Claire knows Jazz doesn’t want that. She sighs, then precedes on to dry her hair, and jots down the math problems she hasn’t had the time to do. Realizing it’s already 7:30; she jumps in her car and hurriedly drives to school. Luckily, she rushes into homeroom just as the bell rings. The daily announcements come on, and Claire slowly drifts to sleep. “Claire! Claire, wake up!” Claire looked up to see Jazz standing over her. “You’re going to be late for your next class! What’s a student like you doing asleep? Never mind, it’s dangerous for us to be seen talking. Go!” Jazz quickly hurried away, laughing. //Just trying to keep up her image//, Claire reminded herself. //It’s not a big deal. Just ignore her.// She groggily walked out of the room and headed to Biology. Of course, she was late, but luckily slipped in without the teacher, Ms. Fish seeing her. Her lab partner, Natalie, gave her a look that said //Where have you been?// Claire mouthed, “Later.” She never gained focus on the lesson, and was soon asleep. The bell woke her up. Claire sighed, then glanced up at the clock, only to find that Gina was obscuring her view. What did Gina want with her? She had never associated with her before, only to make fun of her. Gina leaned in until her face was only inches away from Claire’s. She sneered and whispered in an evil way, “I saw you and Jazz this morning. What were you guys talking about? Tell me, or this gets exposed to the whole school.” Gina held up a small black journal. Claire’s journal. No! “Hey! Give that back!” Claire exclaimed. “No unless you tell me,” Gina stared her down and opened the journal. “Fine!” Claire sobbed. She could not believe Gina had gotten to her like this. Claire was done always been put down. Jazz hadn’t been nice to her either, that snob!! “Jazz is homeless, okay! She’s living with me for the time being! Just leave me alone!” Claire snatched the journal out of Gina’s hand and ran sobbing out of the room. She slammed into something, no someone. Claire screamed. She grabbed onto the person she had ran into as fell down. Wait. Why were they still falling? Then Claire remembered the stairs that went the basement. They must have fallen through them! She held on for dear life, as shocking pain flew throughout her body. Finally there was a bang as they hit the floor. She couldn’t move, or feel. Then she realized what she was looking at. Ryan’s perfect body was laying next to her. Oh my gosh. RYAN???? He was splayed at an awkward angle and she knew something horrible was wrong with him. She had to get out of there. But it was too late. Ryan’s eyes flickered and he groaned. Then he saw Claire. “You?” he asked. “Why me? What’s your problem with me? And to think I actually thought you were a nice kid! Guess action speak louder than words!” Ryan was shaking his head. With much pain, Claire raised herself up. “No,” She desperately said, “No that’s not me. Not me. Not me.” She walked up the stairs. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Claire could never show her face again.

A cold, grey fog hung over the town, mirroring Claire’s mood as she went outside to go water the plants. She couldn’t tell if the stinging in her eyes was due to the salty air or the memories of yesterday. The echoes of Ryan’s words reverberated in her head, bringing tears to her eyes once again. Inside, Jazz was still asleep. Claire looked through the cabinets and found only oatmeal. She remembered that her father had left some money on the dining room table, and that gave her comfort. She always took reassurance in the fact that her father was not a belligerent drunkard, but only a desperate alcoholic musician that spends most of his time and money in seedy dockside pubs. He really wasn’t such a bad person. Jazz came stumbling into the kitchen dressed in a pair of Claire’s pajamas. “Do you like oatmeal….?” Claire asked as Jazz fell into a dining room chair. Jazz frowned. “Never had it. The only thing we had at my house was Pop-Tarts, if that.” “Oh. Well, oatmeal doesn’t taste like Pop-Tarts.” “That was lame.” Jazz observed, throwing her arm over the back of the chair to look at Claire as she started the oatmeal. Jazz wasn’t fond of silence, so she broke it in the delightedly determined way she broke most things. “Don’t you have any magazines or anything? //Cosmopolitan//? //Glamour//? You’ve got to have something.” Claire left the kitchen and shuffled through the mess of papers on the dining room table. She held up a musician’s trade magazine hopefully. “//Ceol//? What the heck does that mean?” “It means music in Gaelic. Do you not want to read it?” Claire asked nervously. Jazz took the magazine from Claire and looked at it. “Don’t think so.” She said, holding it upside down with one finger. “Is this //all// you have?” “We have some paperbacks somewhere…” Claire said, looking through the mess on the table. The microwave dinged. Claire would have preferred to breakfast in silence, but Jazz was not the most complying companion. She prattled on endlessly about boys and clothes, makeup and gossip, making Claire infinitely uncomfortable. “And Gina, she goes up to Taylor and goes ‘I don’t like your attitude---and your dress. Get out, you ugly freak!’ And then Taylor starts crying, and all her mascara runs, it was hilarious—“ There was a polite rapping on the door. Jazz leaned back on her chair to look out the window. From her vantage point, she could see the person knocking. All of the blood drained from her face with the sound that water makes going noisily down a drain. She leapt off her chair and crawled under the table. “Hide me! Don’t tell him I’m here!” She whispered urgently, her voice rasping from her constricted throat. The knocking came again, this time with a called “Hello?” Claire steeled herself and opened the door to a tall man with shockingly blonde hair. He smiled a dazzlingly polite smile. “Hello. I’m James Elkworth. Do you know where a certain Jasmine Stockholm can be found? I’m her uncle, and my wife and I have been looking for her quite desperately. She seems to have run away, poor girl, but she has recently come into an inheritance from her grandfather. We have reports that she has been seen in this area, and her poor distraught aunt and I are worried sick. She has red hair and is about five and a half feet. If you see her, can you please call me?” James said, the sunlight glinting painfully off his super-white teeth, handing Claire a card, and waving goodbye. Claire closed the door in relief, slumping against it. “What happened?” Jazz said in a stage whisper, nearly sending Claire up to the ceiling. “Don’t //scare// me like that!” She said. Claire was shaking all over. Jazz snatched the business card out of Claire’s hand. “Johnny, huh? I knew that dirty little aunt of mine would recruit him…” “He said he was your uncle,” Claire said weakly. Suddenly she felt very tired. “My //uncle//? Wanda got him to //marry// her? Geeze, he must be stupider than I originally thought.” “He said you had come into an inheritance from your grandfather.” Claire said, pulling her knees up to her chest. “Pfft. Inheritance my foot. My grandfather’s been dead for eight years. He probably thinks that I might come back if there was something in it for me. Ha, stupid!” Jazz said triumphantly, shooting her fists into the air. “Yeah….but your uncle said that someone had spotted you here somewhere…” Claire pointed out. “Mmmm…yeah…but who could have spotted me? Who knows that I’m here?” Jazz said, putting one glossy red thumbnail against her chin. Claire’s stomach sank like a drop from Kingda Ka. She tasted bile in her throat, as the memories surged upward out of her consciousness like a jet of water, no matter how hard she tried to push it down, it still surfaced. She couldn’t bear the shame. Claire glanced at Jazz, who was still thinking. She could almost see the smoke coming out of Jazz’s ears, steaming her sterling silver hoop earrings. Jazz glanced over and immediately caught Claire’s mood. Before she could ask, Claire whispered, “I have something to tell you…” I tried to upload the file, but I'm not sure if it worked. “And this is not a good idea.” Dad said. “Why?” I protested. “How old are you?” “16.” I couldn’t believe he forgot again. “So close to an adult, you shouldn’t make stupid mistakes.” Jazz looked at us. She didn’t know what we were fighting about. Actually, neither did we. It was an old habit we slipped back into whenever he came home. “You’re a good example, then.” We stared at each other. I chewed on my lip. He scuffed his foot on the floor. “You can’t bring whoever you want into my house.” I didn’t say anything for a while; just let my glare tell him how much I disapproved of that statement. He couldn’t kick her out, I wouldn’t let him. I didn’t know who that man was, but that didn’t mean Jazz was any less my responsibility. My dad sighed. He stopped arguing with me and left again. Probably off to the pub, which wasn’t surprising at all. “Was that your dad?” Jazz asked. I realized I hadn’t actually told her about him yet. I said something about Jack Daniels, and she seemed to understand that I didn’t want to talk about it much. “So, who was that man?” “What man?” She avoided my eyes. “You know who I’m talking about.” “That was my dad.” So we shared something else. Fathers we didn’t particularly want to talk to or about. “What was he doing here?” “How should I know? I wanted to take out a restraining order on him last year, but then they asked for an address and I just ran. The police officer had too many donuts.” Jazz smirked at the memory. “He was easy to get away from.”