We moved around a lot, too much.
The shine of my highly respected and decorated military dad’s badge wore off
after I became heavy baggage.
I was the new girl thirteen times in two years and every time I had to tape up
another box I grew more resentful. Forced to forget everyone I fell in love
with, laughed with and bonded with.
For a certain price you could unburden yourself from your hormonal teen at
Arcadia Prep too.
Purple hair, a don’t care attitude and my Doc Martens all screamed leave me
alone, fending off any new relationships.
I vowed to keep my heart safe this time, locking it away right under my anger
but he knew exactly where I hid the spare key – in his mysterious eyes the
minute ours locked.
I was stuck – the essence of a God in some kind of limbo of high school.
I was meant for more than this.
Being king here meant nothing.
Arcadia Prep wasn’t for the weak. The expectations, the pressure, the standards,
the success and privilege smug on everyone’s face wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea.
I thrived in chaos.
The new girl was not my cup of tea.
She stomped her Doc Martens all over my tradition, rules and my reign.
We all have secrets. Mine were paper weighted down by my heavy crown.
Her violet eyes and her abrupt attitude spewed sass all over my black on black.
She didn’t faze me until I realized she was after my crown…
long before I reached the door alerting me someone was trespassing. Quietly I
stood in the doorway searching the room for culprit when I should have guessed.
on the surfaces as her curiosity took it all in. There was no way to warn
people that I was in a dangerously ruthless mood, to warn her.
graduate from new girl to felon if
you don’t start following the rules.”
something about the casual attitude around the word felon made it seem like she
knew trouble better than I did.
that, wasn’t worth the t-shirt or the keychain.”
the chair I put there years ago now, tired of getting drunk and doing the same
shit. I rather do it alone then with people I hardly like. That’s why I come
here to hide during parties.
gloss over me and her face whines at the cut on my lip. I almost thought she
physically got hurt, too bad suffering isn’t transferable.
happened to you?”
real concern, in all it’s displaced glory. Stern, demanding, even judgement –
your business, but I finally got what I deserved for my mouth.”
walked right over to me standing between my legs and leaned down to get a
better look. Her deep blues rimmed with violet to match her hair, reminded me
of the sky when it got tie-dyed right
before sundown, as she inspected my wound that stopped hurting the more I
pushed the beer bottle to my lips over and over.
golden hour before the all the colors turned black and nothing was covered in
the pretty filter. That summed up Arianna.
doesn’t make it hurt less.”
scuffed, half snorted with laughter like I wasn’t being serious. I was in a
despicable and semi-diabolical mood hellbent on the two B’s that teenagers
values. Beers and Babes. The third B (bongs) was out since I couldn’t get
caught with shit in my system during a pee test.
bad looking if I looked past her immature tantrum leading to her purple hair.
Her skin shimmered like it was actually happy and her lips were almost always
smiling. In this moment she was half goddess, but I couldn’t forget she was
always half Hell.
her thigh so she knew I was serious even though I was slumped down and
We hate each other remember?”
grew up in Florida scribbling down stories from a very young age. These stories
were really just wavy lines filling the paper, but she knew each word, each
emotion, each character’s name, and there was no tricking her into forgetting
what each line signified. Just like her unconventional way of writing as a
toddler Elena is setting her own rules and just telling stories.Much like her debut novel, The Best Years, life certainly imitated art.
Transplanting from the South to the East Coast, Elena currently lives in
Connecticut with her soon to be husband, reformed bad boy.
Find her on her social media through Twitter at @elenamonroe, Instagram at
@elenamonroewrites, Facebook at @elenamonroewrites, and more!