Write about "a different kind of hero."
If you were to ask me about young Darcy St. James, don't think I wouldn't hesitate to tell you my opinion on the topic. The honest truth was that Darcy was a conniving witch who did whatever was necessary to get her way. She cussed too much, had the temper of a two-year-old, and drank like a sailor. Though the truth of the matter is, that I loved her.
I suppose I should begin where all stories do. It was the beginning of eighth grade and I had not seen Darcy since I was nine years old. She was sent away from the suburban community of Oakview to live with her grandmother in New York, while her father served time in prison. Since that brief time we considered ourselves the best of friends, I had moved on with my life. She hadn't even crossed my mind in the past year. That is probably why my first day of the new school year was such a surprise.
I walked briskly up to the top of the school stairs feeling more sure of myself than I had the year before. Everything was going great, but just as my clean new shoes hit the warm concrete, I froze. My eyes had caught the sight of someone I used to know all too well. From that moment on, I knew nothing would ever be the same.
My first reaction was to run as fast as I could, but I...
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