The Secret Life of Ava French - Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

"Hey, Ava," comes the call of a familiar voice that sends shivers up my spine. I ignore it and keep walking, kicking a rock away from my path with my sneakers. My head is bent low, my hands shoved in my pockets, as I quicken my pace to avoid the feet slapping on the pavement behind me.

Usually, there was a big difference between opposite sex bullies. Boys were rougher, usually the ones to beat up on smaller boys. Sometimes, they were big and tough-looking, other times they were smaller but were rich enough to pay off a couple of hoodlums to do their work for them so that they didn't have to get their hands dirty. Girls, on the other hand, were usually sneaky about how they got around bringing others down. Their weapon was their words. You know girls - gossip, drama, being judged based on your looks, your body, and what you wore that day. Girls are always placed somewhere in the pack of social status. Either you were an alpha, a beta, a subordinate, or an omega. Girls are like wolves, you know?

I can't say the same for Samantha Newman. In eighth grade at Cedar Hills Middle School, there were two alphas. There was Veronica Stenberg, the popular drama queen, and there was Sam, who could pass as a female body builder. Even the male bully, John Turner, was scared of her. Nobody wanted to get in the path of those two massive fists or those elephant legs.

But sometimes, you didn't have a choice. Especially if you were me, Ava Grace French. I was sort of small for my age, and skinny too. I had long, curly light brown hair, coffee brown eyes, and tan skin. All of my friends say I'm pretty, but honestly I don't see it. I'm little and my looks make me seem younger. I always have been like that, and I probably always will be. Little people usually are the ones singled out as the weak because those bigger than them have an advantage.

That's exactly why Sam Newman picks on me. I already deal with Veronica enough to emotionally and mentally hurt me, but Sam puts the physical wounds in the pile.

I keep walking, but the steps behind me turn into a sprint, so I pick up the pace, my face scrunched in determination. If there's one thing I'm good at besides academics its running. I considered joining the cross country or track team this year, but Sam had joined both so I chickened out. At least I can run faster and longer than she can. I could already hear her tiring out, but still catching up to me.

Suddenly, I know I'm in deep trouble. Her hand comes out, thrusts against my shoulders and knocks me to the ground. I skid a few inches on the cement sidewalk. My elbows and knees are already scraped up and bleeding through my jeans and shirt.

Wincing with pain, I flip around fast, my face clashing with Sam's fist. Blood spurts out of my nose like a geyser, and I put my hands up to hold it to avoid getting it all down my shirt. I back up into a telephone pole as Sam comes at me again. I am in no condition to get up and run. My legs and arms are shaking too much.

"Are you going to cry?" Sam asks with fake sympathy, making a mock pouty face. "Is the little girl going to cry?"

Along with the fear and sadness inside of me, and the hot tears that threaten to escape my eyes, I feel anger. An anger I haven't felt for a long time. Before long, I'm shaking with that anger, and it covers me head to toe in numbness. I can't move. I can feel my ears burning, so my face must be red. The tears are flowing, but it's because I'm so angry, not because I'm sad anymore. In fact, I can't feel the pain in my nose, elbows, or knees.

I blink, and the next thing I know, Sam is lying on the ground holding her crotch, screaming in pain. I see that my foot is just coming back to tuck back underneath me. My hands come away from my nose in shock, smearing blood all over the sidewalk. I think I just kicked Samantha Newman, and I think I just kicked her good.

Scared for my life, I grab my book bag, and heave myself off the ground. I'm too scared to say or do anything snarky to Sam for fear of her getting up and chasing me again, so I run off, hardly able to believe what I just did to her. I don't even know where the courage came from to kick Samantha Newman, but the only thing I was thinking of is how I was going to get it tomorrow at school. I'd probably have to have a face transplant or something.

The walk home is long, and running with two skinned knees proves very difficult, but I make it. Slowly, I push open the door to my uncle's home, hoping he's not there so I can hide the fact that I just got beat up.

"Ava, aren't you going to say hello?" comes the familiar British accent I've known for a very long time. I know it more than I know my parents' voices, which sometimes depresses me.

Keeping my head down, and feeling my ears grow hot in shame, I simply nod and stand frozen in the door way. "Hello Uncle Matt," I say quietly.

As I shuffle towards the stairs that lead up to my room, I feel a firm hand on my shoulder. "Why don't you explain why your nose is dripping blood all over the floor. Oh, and those blood stains on your knees and elbows too."

Turning around I face my uncle, who tilts my chin up. Right. I should've remembered to do that to stop the bleeding in my nose. I frown at him, feeling the tears returning to my eyes but I blink them away. "Can't I wash up first? I'm not sure I'm quite ready to talk about it yet."

Uncle Matt sighs and leads me over to the dining room table, where he discards my book bag from my back and plops me in a chair like a little kid. I squirm. I hate being treated like I'm younger because I already look like I'm eleven rather than fourteen.

"Shoot," he says simply. I know I'm not going to get to wash all the blood off of me first.

I hate admitting that I've been beat on. He probably knows quite well who did it anyways. I've come home like this several times throughout the school year. "Sam Newman," I tell him, feeling my ears heat up in anger again. "She pushed me on the ground and punched my nose."

"Ava-" he starts, but I cut him off.

Tears are streaming down my cheeks. All of the tears I've held in. I hate crying, especially in front of my rough and tough uncle who doesn't seem to be scared of anything or anyone. "I know it. I'm small. I'm little. I look a lot younger than I really am. I get good grades. I'm the omega of the eighth grade. I get verbally and physically abused every day. I don't need any lectures from you about how kids like Samantha and Veronica pick on kids like me. Okay? I get it."

Uncle Matt looks slightly taken aback. My words were a bit harsher than I expected, and I realized I was yelling at him. I'd never dared to yell at him before. I was just so frustrated. He was always just telling me to buck up. He never sympathized me. He never did anything but sit back and let me deal with a problem I couldn't fix.

I know mom and dad would've done something. Called the school or got the principal involved. Maybe even called Samantha's parents and talked it over with them. Maybe they'd pull me out of school and we could move to some remote island in the Caribbean and I wouldn't have to deal with living in Virginia where all of the kids who hated me lived.

I know I was just dreaming though. My parents were always away. They'd been to just about every country in the whole world. France, Germany, England, Japan, China, you name it and they've probably been there. They're away for months at a time. The only time I get to see them is my birthday, and Christmas. If I want to talk to them, I just have to wait until they Skype me until then.

My parents have never really told me much about themselves. I don't know where they are going when they are on big trips. They only tell me where they have been and never what they did there. I don't know what they do for a job, but it obviously pays good money because they own three huge houses that could pass for mansions, one of which my uncle and I are living in now. I don't think I even know their birthdays. The only thing I know about them is that their names are Edward and Violet French and that both of their fathers were generals in the United States army. Other than that, I know absolutely nothing about them.

"Please, just listen," Uncle Matt is saying calmly, but I get up out of the dining room chair and stalk up the steps to my room.

"I'm going to clean up, leave me alone."

"Ava, I'd like to teach you how to defend yourself. I think it's high time you learned a little bit about martial arts," my uncle calls after me, making me freeze in my place.