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Normal Read Online Danielle Pearl

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Read Online Books/Novels:

Normal (Something More #1)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Danielle Pearl

Language:
English
ISBN/ ASIN:
B00MN075MG
Book Information:

It’s the kind of situation most people would dread. Starting at a new high school, in the middle of my senior year, in a new town, in a new state. I know no one. No one knows me. That’s what I’m counting on.

A year ago, Aurora “Rory” Pine was just a normal teenage girl – just as sweet and naive as the fairy tale princess she was named after.

But this isn’t a year ago.

Rory is broken, and now suffering from a debilitating anxiety disorder, wrought with precarious triggers, she moves across the country to escape the source of her troubles. Her plan is anonymity, but that’s easier said than achieved for the new girl having a panic episode outside of calculus. The worst part? There’s a witness – and a gorgeous one at that.

Sam is a walking trigger for Rory. Incredibly handsome, built like the star athlete he obviously is, and undoubtedly popular, Sam outwardly represents everything Rory despises about high school. But as the fates keep throwing them together, a connection sparks that neither ever expected, and certainly couldn’t ignore.

But Sam has issues too, and Rory’s past won’t just stay in the damned past. When friendship evolves into something deeper, can a girl utterly destroyed by the worst kind of betrayal and a boy battling demons of his own ever have a normal relationship? Is that even what they want? Find out in NORMAL, a gritty story of trust and abuse, heartbreak and salvation, and if they’re lucky – love. This is not a flowery romance – not for the faint of heart.

Books in Series:

Something More Series by Danielle Pearl

Books by Author:

Danielle Pearl Books

CHAPTER ONE

Present Day

It’s the kind of situation most people would dread. Starting at a new high school, in the middle of my senior year, in a new town, in a new state. I know no one. No one knows me. That’s what I’m counting on.

It’s not like it is in the movies. You know – where you walk into the building in slow motion and every unfamiliar head turns in your direction, some internal radar having announced an outsider in their midst. Or maybe it is like that in some schools, in small towns anyway. I suppose it would have been like that in my old hometown in northern Florida. Not the part of Florida with Mickey Mouse, or retired grandparents, or even the part with the spring breakers. Or parts with spring breakers. I grew up in the part that could just have easily been in Alabama, or South Carolina. A small, southern town in Baker County where everyone has known everyone since birth, and their parents, and their parents. Linton, Florida is where my father is from, but thankfully not my Mom.

Mom grew up here – Port Woodmere, in Long Island, New York. Not exactly the big city, but thirty miles is close enough, and the three hundred or so in my new senior class certainly cast a beautiful shadow on the fifty two of my former class. Total population of my new high school? One thousand, three hundred and nineteen.

Perfect.

The first thing I notice is the way people are dressed. Back home, my jeans and gray tee shirt would have blended into the rest of the student body like a uniform. My favorite black motorcycle boots in place of sneakers are the only thing that would’ve stood out, if anything.

Here, although all the guys are in jeans, they’re certainly not the kind they wear back home, but the three hundred dollar kind. The girls are mostly in skirts, or even dresses, and they look even more expensive. It doesn’t bother me though. My outfit was chosen with care for one single purpose. Not to be in, not to fit in, or to impress the in crowd. I don’t want to be “in” anything except invisible. And it appears that I am.

I keep my head down as I navigate my way to the main office, just in case someone does notice me as a new girl. As someone who doesn’t belong.

Someone who doesn’t belong anywhere anymore.

The receptionist is typing away on her keyboard looking disinterested in her task, and doesn’t even look up as I approach. I stand there a few moments waiting for some acknowledgment, some can I help you, or even a glance. Nothing. For a second I wonder if I actually am invisible after all. I clear my throat.

I’m rewarded with a raised eyebrow and an impatient glare in response. At least it’s an acknowledgment.

“Um, hi,” I stammer. I hand her the form I was told to bring today.

“Oh, a transfer,” the receptionist, whose name plate reads “Ms. Sussman”, mumbles unimpressed. “Aurora Pine,” she reads from my form.

“Rory,” I murmur automatically, and she gives me a look.

Right. She doesn’t care about my preferred nickname. She’s an administrator I’m likely never to interact with again. Especially if I plan to remain invisible.

Ms. Sussman continues to click away at her keyboard until something spits out of the printer behind her. She hands it to me, along with a few other sheets of paper which I realize are a Student Handbook and a map of the school, and wishes me luck.

How big is this school that I need a freaking map, I wonder. My old school was a box. Two floors, four hallways each, all surrounding a courtyard. Definitely no map necessary.

This building is enormous. The kind you see on television. Red brick, white columns, even a freaking bell tower. The one thing both schools have in common, of course, are the athletics fields. Especially the football field. It’s naked of its white painted yard lines and numbers since it’s February, but it’s clear that significant funds have been invested in this part of the grounds.

I was under the impression that high schools up north didn’t make the same kind of fuss over football that they did back home. I’d hoped anyway. I shudder. I hate football players. I hate the sport, hate the people that play the sport, the people that watch it… the people who are convinced it’s the most important damned thing in the world.

I sigh and open the map, trying to find Hall 6 in Wing B. Could this have been organized any more poorly? I quickly realize that there is an older part of the building – the part with the red brick facade, and a newer part. Clearly the old building wasn’t big enough to accommodate the student population and sometime in the eighties – judging from the unsightly architecture – they expanded it. Unfortunately it doesn’t seem as if they bothered to take the layout of the old structure into any kind of account when they drew the plans for the extension. The two parts of the building don’t seem to have anything to do with one another, besides the fact that they’re attached, of course.


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