GRANDMA'S HOUSE was a study of crystal and glass and contained 1,153 unicorns. I knew, because I counted one drizzly, dreary Thanksgiving when we were stuck inside waiting for the world's slowest turkey to brown. Horned beasts of crystal, glass, china, wood- she called them her "babies" and treasured them more than her dwindling life savings. (Dwindling mainly due to her unicorn habit. You wouldn't believe the prices of these things from the Frack-lin Mint.) Whenever we'd come over, she'd sit me down and show me her favorites.
She had a lot of favorites.
That was fine and tolerable when we lived an hour away and saw her once a year. Over the river and through the woods and all that. But now we were living with her. In her museum like house. Surrounded by unicorns.
I suppose my story isn't unique. After all, half of marriages end in divorce, or so they say. Maybe I should count my blessings that Mom and Dad stuck it out as long as they did. Still, having to vacate our über-hip Back Bay Boston brownstone, leave my private school and friends behind, and move to Unicorn Land-all in the middle of my sophomore year-was a bit much.
But I had no choice. Mom and Dad weren't speaking, unless they were yelling. Neither one could afford the mortgage on the brownstone, so they smacked down a For Sale sign and split-Dad to a smaller apartment down the street and Mom, me, and my eight-year-ole sister, Emily, to New Hampshire. To Grandmother's house we go.
I can't even begin to tell you how painful that last day at my old school was. Saying good-bye to all my beloved teachers, promising my friends I'd IM and text at every possible second, cleaning out my locker, and tearing down the My Chemical Romance poster I'd stuck on the inside door on the first day of the school year. I'd been so full of hopes and dreams for the year back then. I was going to join the art club, write for the school paper, and, of course, make Ashley's older brother, David Silverman, my boyfriend. (Okay, the last one was a long shot, but you couldn't blame a girl for being goal oriented, could you?) It was going to be the best year ever.
Now, four months later, it was gearing up to be the worst.
"Maddy! You'd better get down here or you'll miss the bus!" Grandma called from downs, bringing me back to my hellish reality, aka my first day at Hannah Dustin High School. There were prisoners on death row more excited about their pending visit with the electric chair than I was about my enrollment.
I mean, hello! First off, there was a bus. An actual bus to take me from my middle-of-nowhere Grandma's house to my still-middle-of-nowhere school. Back home, I always walked. Met my friends at Dunkin' Donuts for French crullers and coffee, then giggled and gossiped all the way to the campus of Boston Academy. Now I'd actually have to board a smelly, fume-filled, environment-destroying bus to get to school. At least I was getting my license in a few weeks when I turned sixteen. Though my chances of getting Grandma to lend me the car were slim to none.
My call buzzed, scattering all thoughts of transportation. I glanced down to see the text. From Caitlin.

GOOD LUCK ON FIRST DAY!

I smiled, feeling a tiny bit better. At least I had my friends. Sure, they were farther away from me now, but they still cared. I punched in Caitlin's number.
"Hey, girl," I said into the phone after she answered.
"Oh, hey, Mads, how's it going? How're the' burbs? They arrest you for not wearing Gap yet? Turn your mom into a Stepford wife?" Caitlin had a habit of asking at least four questions in the same breath, making it impossible to answer any of them.
"Hardy-har-har," I replied. "You are too funny."
"Whatevah. at least I'm not funny-looking."
"Haven't looked in the mirror lately, have you?" I asked, with mock sympathy p.
"I'm looking now, bay-bee. And I'm looking fine. DAMN fine."
I grinned, picturing my best friend dancing i. front of the mirror as she was known to do, flaunting all that God had given her to anyone who cared to look. Caitlin was born without and insecurity gene. She died her hair pink and pierced her own nose in seventh grade. Her mother was totally cool with it, too, saying that girls needed to express themselves early in life so they could blossom into healthy, self-sufficient women who didn't need a man to complete them. (Caitlin's mother was also divorced-after her husband ran off to Vegas with his secretary. Some believed she was still a bit bitter about the whole thing.)
Hmm. Maybe my divorced mom would now let me explore the Manic Panic hair color rainbow, too. It'd be so cool to get some pink streaks in my hair. One time Caitlin and I went to Harvard Square after school and got the clip-on kind. Mon nearly had a heart attack until she found out that weren't real.

*Okayyyy, lets stop here. If you guys like this book, then I'll update for the rest of the book. But it'd take a lot of times. So maybe if I can -> 1 chapter/day ( If the chapter it long than maybe NO:v
Luv guys*