The Tramp Next Door

By. WhiT9217

"You've got this silly way of keeping me on the edge of my seat."

-TAKING BACK SUNDAY

CHAPTER ONE

I groaned, irritated.

This place had nothing to offer me. I mean, New Mexico? Please. I would have stayed in New York any day. I understood that my parents wanted to be closer to our family, but whatever. I still couldn't understand their attraction towards those ignorant imbeciles. Fact: my family annoyed the living hell out of me. Fiction: I loved them. Ha! Right... so they thought! They pressured me into things I didn't want to do, such as, flying to New Mexico. It was damn obvious that New Mexico was a piece of shit. When I thought of the place, I thought of poor, homeless kids, wandering around in the desert. Then again, I wasn't exactly open-minded, 24-7.

We had finally gotten off the plane. Now this ride was longer then I would've expected. I entertained myself with dumb ass magazines about celebrities that nobody cared about. I mean, seriously, I didn't care about Jen and John. Okay, they were living together, and he was working out for her. Awesome, but how does that relate to my life? I think the paparazzi need a life; stalking celebrities really is not a living. They shouldn't get money for that. Then there were those stupid show hosts that made up rumors that weren't even true! The more they harass people, the less people want to become famous. I wouldn't want my neighbors spying on me and taking pictures of me. I'd rather be shot in the head.

I was in the backseat—big surprise, there. My two, ignorant parents sat in the front, chatting on about how they adored the disgustingly orange climate. I mean, seriously? I grimaced at the desert around me. How was this diverting? The most excitement that could happen now is if a wildcat randomly emerged from that cactus over there and attacked our car. Then, maybe we would be delayed from getting to Albuquerque on time—resulting in a much happier Gabriella.

God knows why my parents named me Gabriella. They expected me to be the perfect, prissy, open-minded woman that my mother is. I easily turned into Gabby, but I still hated that name. It sounded so bubbly, so outgoing, as if I was optimistic. Optimists bothered me, they miffed me. I could not stand them. I mean, how annoying is it, listening to one squawk on about how beautiful the day was? Honestly, most days are shitty, because eventually something bad happens. Ever hear the tale from the bible? Eve ate the apple, remember? So basically, we're supposed to be demons, we're supposed to make mistakes, we're supposed to live with shitty days. We aren't Jesus, for crying out loud! People acted as if they were trying to be faultless. That is impossible.

The air was steamy, humid at its best. Why would my family pick the hottest climate in the world to live? Oh, I have no idea. Seriously, my parents never heard of air conditioning, ever. We always had the windows down. I mean, even when we took a trip to Alaska, last February, they had the windows down! Not only did they enjoy making me ill, they enjoyed being perturbing. Wouldn't you get angry with your parents if they were immune to climate changes, if they were unaware of weather alternation? Yes.

"We're almost there, Gabby!" My dad, well, you could tell he was my dad—minus the wrinkles.

I owned up to my luscious raven-colored hair and matching dark eyes. I was half Filipino because of my mother, so my skin had a nice glow to it. However, I also shared the same nose as her—balky and immense in size. This annoyed me from time to time. I had a thin body, which helped with guys, and I never gained weight. I guess high metabolism? My father was Irish and Native American. He shared that frustrating, nerve-wracking, optimism that I was just complaining about. Everything was cheerful, everybody was happy, and everywhere things were perfect - despite the fact that he was living a lie. Yet, my mother was basically the same way.

My mother had a map in her hands, and was giving my dad directions every minute. I actually detested when they had a map. My parents couldn't read maps for anything, and we'd always end up lost. After being lost for hours, we'd eventually find our way. But usually, it took about two hours for my dad just to figure out where we were. My mom always got him confused.

We arrived around sunset. And let me tell you, the sunset at Albuquerque was not that ravishing. I understand, it was in a desert, so it must have been, since the colors match, orange and orange . . . um no. It bored me to death. And I didn't appreciate the fact that cactus' were growing only a few miles from my house. The house was decent, I mean, wasn't something I'd favor, particularly. We were in a neighborhood. You could easily notice the mountains from our house, which was... scenic, I guess if you were into that stuff. The houses were cute—mostly white, the windows seemed wooden. The roofs looked expensive, high-dollar material most likely. My parents weren't extremely wealthy—but we were well off, I'd guess. We had the ugliest plants growing in the yard though. It made me want to vomit. And the fact that we'd have to deal with pesky neighbors—that pissed me off even more.

"We're here." They announced, as if I was oblivious to notice that at first.

I made a snorting sound, grabbing my bags out from the trunk of our silver Kia Rondo. Yeah, decent car, too bad my parents trashed it completely.

They got out admiring the house, grinning at each other with such affectionate glances that it made me ill. I had to make a run for the door, secretively absorbing my surroundings. There hadn't been much excitement in the neighborhood, whatsoever. Yes, we were packed with next-door neighbors, which churned my stomach. I've never been that bad with dealing with people - as long as they weren't affluent, arrogant, or bubbly. Yeah, I'll admit; rich kids piss me off. It was amazing if you could find a rich kid that didn't have his or her nose up his or her ass - ridiculous. Get over yourself. It was your parent's fortune, not yours, dickhead.

After the oohs and ahh's and kisses and hugs, my parents made a dart for the door, looking more ecstatic then ever. I suppressed the urge to make a fake puking sound as they opened the door. My dad, in his modest buttoned-up white shirt and slacks, took a step in the house, sighing in satisfaction. I'm serious. My mother wore a long, multi-colored dress. She stepped in beside him, smiling with elation. "Oh, honey, it's beautiful!"

I only frowned—never amused, or erratically enthralled by the place. Upon arriving, the ceilings were high, and there was a large, spiral staircase that was pure wooden. This house had been passed onto my parents after my great grandparents died. Of course, my other grandparents were dead, so we got lucky. And as ill-fated as we usually were, we got the luck this time—my great grandparents were filthy rich. I don't know why I wasn't more exultant towards the masterpiece that was now our home. I really had no idea. It seemed flawless—without any imperfections, whatsoever. Everything seemed to shine; it was spacious and gorgeous. It was like something I'd see on television.

They were ranting on about how comely it was, as I proceeded upstairs, in search of my new bedroom. I gasped in astonishment when finding it. It was obviously mine, being a tad smaller then the master, but I still found it simply dazzling. (And trust me; I don't use that word often, at all). I couldn't stop smiling as I twirled around, feeling as if I was in a castle. The walls were a simple, clean white, but the size was formidable—something I could have only dreamed of. The bed was even agreeably large, the old, ancient wooden bed. I couldn't help but stare in wonder, imagining my grandmother growing up in such an extraordinary house with her parents. I found a primeval mirror located at one of the corners of the room. I took a small glance at my long, dim locks, matching eyes. I wore a pair of tight, black jeans, that hugged my behind, and a matching tank top that rode above my bellybutton. I enjoyed dressing in meager clothing—wanting to emphasize my figure. I nodded, appropriately, and then went towards my window.

The landscapes were lush—fountains, pure green. I wondered if I was even in a desert for a second, before looking beyond the house, noticing the mountains in front of me. The house next to me had a similar landscape, with a matching roof. It seemed equal in size, but maybe a tad thinner. It seemed adequate with beauty and space, though. The entire neighborhood had the same kind of atmosphere. I heard voices echoing outside. The window had been opened. Figures that my great grandparents left their windows open—that's where my parents got their dumb ass habits from.

I wondered what school would be like, and I cringed slightly. I hoped that the people wouldn't be the opposite of me—enthusiastic, eager, and friendly. I hated those kinds of people. I figured most of the people in this neighborhood were filthy rich, and I knew I'd have a problem with the majority of them. I shrugged off the idea, deciding to discover the house more. I realized later that the bathroom was large—with a jetted tub, something I've always wanted. I mean, how cool is that, a practical Jacuzzi in your bathroom? I was dying to take a bubble bath, and it was stupid.

Everything seemed a bit old-fashioned—especially the kitchen. The dining room was pure medieval ages, but it seemed homey, comforting in every way. Photos of my ancestors hung all over the walls, statues and expensive objects everywhere. I was lucky, that's what it was.

I ignored my parents as they reminded me that I had to go to my new school tomorrow, and trotted outside, more specifically, gazing over my surroundings, again. Maybe I was like a curious puppy dog or something; I had no idea why I was so enticed about stupid mountains. Eh, whatever.

"I'm not fucking going." I bellowed, the incendiary only becoming stronger within me.

Yet, my mother was persistent, not putting her foot down. "Gabriella Anita Montez, you are going to school today."

Damn it. I couldn't smooth talk my way out of this one, either. My father had already left for his new job, in which he got from his 'family connections' – yeah, whatever.

I wore a skirt that rid up to the top of my thigh, careless to the reaction I'd make in Albuquerque's school of hell. Okay, it was called East High, but I wasn't really excited at all. I was more dreading it then anything. I also ended up lacing up a tank top that was this angelic white. I wasn't the type of girl to wear white, but it seemed okay. I pulled off the classic 'bad school girl' look, easily. But I was anything but orgiastic to this day. Truthfully, I wanted to go back to that amazing bed and sleep longer, cuddled up in a ball, next to my cat, Mittens.

Yeah, I had a cat, too. We had to put him in the box on the way here. Trust me that was not encouraging— he meowed and bitched the entire way. My parents said that Mittens and I were similar in many ways. Pffft. . . Kind of were.

I wore these boots; they were those kinds of boots that allured guys back in NY. They were pure black, stretching from my toes to my knees. I went for a more unique look then anything, but I figured that there had to be some hot guys here in Albuquerque . . . hmm, maybe.

My mother had already gotten my schedule and locker number and everything. What a planner. Ha. If only I could be more like my mother. I was the least bit from organized.

I slung this gigantic bag over my shoulder, almost fainting at the weight of it. It was probably bigger then me, considering I was a petite, weary little thing. It would have helped if I was just a tad tall. I mean, I was so bitty compared to those tall, leggy girls on television. You'd have to look down to talk to me—this was something I disliked about myself.

I spun my combination, swiftly, remembering the rules of school. I mean, this my junior year, I had to know what I was doing. The halls were a red and white, the term "East High Wildcats" written all over the place. I snorted in resentment—how lame could they be?

I had Drama Arts first hour. I would be idiotic enough to sign up for such a class. I assumed I was okay with acting, but it wasn't particularly my interest. I'd never want to become someone like Angelina Jolie, and have paparazzi swarming around my windows all the time. Then again, I've mentioned this before, haven't I?

The kids seemed . . . well, good. And I mean good. They all seemed so well-behaved and modest, as if they had no problems whatsoever. They were all cool, laid back type of people. They all looked the same, really. It was kind of disturbing, a bunch of clones, and all goody two shoes.

And I was doomed with the Drama teacher, assigning partners the very first day of class. I mean, okay, he obviously noticed I was new, and I didn't know anyone, plus the bizarre expression on my face should have proven easily that I was not enjoying this. He was rubbing everything in for the worst.

Students departed from their seats, finding their best friends, shrieking with excitement and friendliness. Everybody seemed to forget that it was eight o'clock in the morning, I guess. I sat there, motionless, looking angry and infuriated. I didn't expect someone to actually waste time being my partner—I really didn't care if I had a partner. I was okay with sitting here, just not giving a shit.

"Hey? You wanna be partners?" It figures some fool would have the nerve to actually ask.

I found myself glancing into two hazel eyes.

"You're fucking me." I retorted, dryly, raising an eyebrow of disbelief.

The guy seemed shocked to my comment, "Uh. . . not at the moment, but later, if you really want. . ."

What a dumb ass. "That's disgusting; do you talk to your mother with that mouth?" I asked, sarcastically.

"I'm Jason." He blurted out, practically grabbing my hand, forcefully.

I continued staring at him with distaste. "Do you usually make stupid comments like that?"

"Yes, I um, do. I apologize, miss. You're the new girl, right?" Jason seemed to lack a few brain cells—but he wasn't that mindless, I'd guess.

He had long, chestnut-colored hair that swept over his forehead, appreciatively. His eyes seemed to match his hair, excepting reflecting a more hazel color then anything. He had a full, slightly plump face, that hadn't lost its baby fat just yet, and slight stubble. He wasn't too bad—he just wasn't exactly attractive.

Back at my old school, the majority of guys were similar to me—and we got it on easily. I wasn't used to being in relationships; actually, I was more used to playing the field—tackling guys, then breaking their hearts.

"My name is Gabriella." I spat at him, emphasizing the syllables. "You call me Gabby."

"So you, eh, like to talk, hmm?" Jason seemed obtuse in every way possible.

"Actually, sometimes parents make mistakes and name their kids with names that make no sense." I rolled my eyes. "Shouldn't you be associating with somebody who's more, like, you?"

"What do you erm, classify me as, Miss Gabby?" He's clearly pissing me off.

"I classify you as an idiot." I mumbled, tapping my pencil across the desk, impatiently.

"Thanks." He seemed hurt by this comment, as he looked away.

I was only amused by his sensitivity. "So what's this dumb ass project we're doing, Jay?" I inquired, giving him a nickname already, for no reason whatsoever.

"Eh, I'm not sure." This Jason, he really is clueless, isn't he?

"Weren't you paying attention?"

"Your beauty hypnotized me."

"You're not smooth." I assured him; he only looked embarrassed at my comment.

"Okay, okay, I'm done being an idiot." He promised, sighing. "We make up a silent movie."

"Fascinating, here's your paper, and your pencil, get 'er done, Jay." I handed him a piece of notebook paper and a pencil.

He only stared at the two, and then looked back at me, blankly. "Um, wouldn't you like to help?"

"I'll pass, but thanks for asking." I answered, nonchalantly.

He didn't really question my surrender; he only began jolting down things onto the piece of paper, frantically, as if he was going to die in the amount of minutes. Okay, I chuckled at this, because it was erratic how someone seemed so vulnerable to do things for other people, especially people he didn't know. I kind of liked him already—he could do my work for me.

"Do you know anybody at this school?" He asked, while in his frenzy of writing.

"I moved here from NYC." I didn't give him a smile.

"Ah, so you're brand spakin' new, eh?" He really was annoying.

"Jay? Could you do me a favor and not speak like a jackass just this once?" I suggested, rubbing my temple.

"Erm. . . sorry." He apologized.

"Is everybody around here so. . . dull?" I asked, glancing to all the modest clones.

"Dull? How are we dull?" He seemed interested, not writing anymore.

"You all look the same—and your men aren't even sexy." I couldn't help but blurt out.

"I work out everyday!" He exclaimed, offended. "Girls here like basketball players."

"Eww – I thought basketball was reserved for like. . . MJ and Denis Rodman." I mumbled, monotonously.

"It's different here." He admitted a dazed look on his face. "I can't get a word in with girls 'cause of some of those guys."

"Well with that mouth, I could see why." I grumbled, rolling my eyes.

It wasn't a surprise that fun with Jason came to an end very quickly. The bell for second hour rang like a fly in my ear—a very large fly that was buzzing like a lunatic. Jason had practically finished up a paper on a silent movie. I found him very useful, actually.

I sped to my locker, not wanting to be late for second hour. I already had my books issued, and Intermediate Writing was something I wasn't looking forward to. I was never good with writing—it just didn't suit me at all. I waltzed in, taking a seat at the very corner of the room, away from all the clones that were piling up in seats at the front. The class seemed to be dull for the most part, so far. The teacher had a friendly face, but I knew that could only lead to one thing; optimism. I groaned to myself, avoiding the awkward stares that people threw at me.

I was pretty bored, flickering small pieces of paper off of my desk (paper that I ripped out of my notebook; I was super bored, okay?!), when they strolled in. It wasn't like I was the only one to notice them, because it seemed like everybody else's eyes peeked up also. They walked in, nothing but beauty and mystery regressing from them. They were loud and were high-fiving each other with excitement. I flicked back my hair, noticing one of their eyes scanning over the people in the classroom.

There were three of them; the one to the left of the group was cute, in an innocent, 'jock' type of way. He had massive tawny-colored locks, he was African American, and he had chocolate-brown eyes. He wore a hoodie that said 'East High Wildcats', with matching ruby-red, long, baggy shorts. The one standing in the middle of the group was probably the most attractive with his brunette hair and ocean-blue eyes. He had a cute face, reminded me of a little boy, lacking the childish features. He had a muscular body that seemed just right, a t-shirt that said 'East High Wildcats' on it, with a pair of matching red sweatpants. And the one to the far right had golden-blonde hair, sapphire-colored eyes. He wore a random navy-blue t-shirt and a pair of jeans. He seemed a bit offbeat compared to the others.

They walked down the rows of desks, grinning presumptuously. I had to stop myself from kicking my desk. They were stuck-up, and hot. Fuck jocks. I groaned, even louder this time. I noticed the few girls in front of me turned around and glared at me, annoyed by my constant grumbling.

"Is there a problem?" I asked, deciding to make amusement out of this.

One of the girls, a girl with flaxen-colored hair and azure-colored eyes, turned to me, looking obnoxiously over baked and pissed off. "Um, yes, if you would please refrain from making animal sounds, we might be able to get on with our work."

"Ha, you aren't even doing any work, you dumb bitch." I retorted, casually, snickering at her.

"Excuse me?" The girl seemed pissed off by my comment. "You didn't just call me that."

"Possibly did. You should consider tanning too—that spray tan really doesn't do well for your face." I couldn't help but laugh at the befuddled expression on her face—the furrowing of her eyebrows.

"Who the hell are you?" The brunette next to her questioned, looking more angry then the blonde.

"Gabriella Anita Montez—but to you, that's Gabby." I answered, in pure mockery of my name.

She sat back in her seat, defeated, as I cackled to myself. If all girls were like this at this girl, this would definitely be an interesting day.

I had the first lunch of the day—10:30, lunch A, as they would say. I didn't want to go to lunch and sit alone like a loser, that wasn't my type of fun. But I decided to take a swat at it anyways, grabbing my books and heading directly for the cafeteria. I plopped down in a lonesome corner, glancing around at the abnormally clone-like figures around me. I officially disliked this school. The people seemed stuck-up, annoying, and very moody. And then there were some, like Jason, who were just. . . ugh. Dumb.

Lunch ended quickly, and my next hour happened to be nothing better then Art class—or more specifically; 3D Art. I rolled my eyes while entering, I despised art, and I was horrifying at it. I would need help in this class.

It seemed like mostly freshmen in the class. I swallowed, glancing at the void seats. I only found one that looked decent enough to sit in, and it was next to a boy—a very attractive, sexy, alluring boy. It was that boy from Intermediate Writing—the one with the brunette hair and ocean blue eyes.

Damn, and Art just got a hell lot better.

END OF CHAPTER.

Okay so totally new take. I hope you don't mind Gabriella actually having a personality here. In HSM, she was just kind of average, quiet, yet kindhearted, now she's a bitch, she's a whore, and she is honest and sarcastic. : P. I know it seems a bit cliché, but it seems nobody else has done this before. So I thought I'd take a swat. ;) . Please be kind and review. Give me your opinions. It's hard to imagine Gabby as a bad ass but try your hardest. Just think of Vanessa Hudgens as a bad girl. That's more possible, I think. Zac finds her sexy. Okay, I'm done. Leave a review!

-Whitney.