story in the works

when i was a little girl my father told me i should follow my dreams regardless the cost, if only i really knew what he was talking about. He wanted me to go to school, become some big fancy laywer or doctor. A "somebody" he liked to call it. Well that just wasnt for me i was a rebellious teenage girl by the name of lola stepper. i craved attention and danger, the thrills of life. how could i help it i was 16. i was pretty (or so the boys told me), and fun. well my fantasies in life were to travel and meet people, to get to that place in life where i automatically knew was where i belonged. i loved the fast lane.
Well to say the least my father hated my lifestyle choice and fantasies, my grades were slipping and not everyone loved me where we lived so dad jumped at the opportunity when it came to move with his work,(he worked in selling computer programming software). imagine my suprise when he told me we were moving from the bright and sunny Florida to the wet and dreary Oregon. He told me "it was a good opportunity to meet new people." Which on one hand was true, plus i did like to travel, but had no say in the matter!
it all happened so fast i dont even remember the plane ride. next thing i knew we were driving up to this little house with light green walls and a dark blue door with a pickett fence and beat up tin mailbox. This was to be called home, on a street named OceanEnd ave. the neighborhood was decent, only the fact was we didnt have to many teenagers living on the block as far as a could tell. but plenty of little kids, at least that means i have a good summer job lined up (that is counting i havent ran away by then).
I got to live upstairs in the attic of a 3 bedroom house. my dad George got to sleep in the room next to the kitchenette plus living room, then upstairs we had the guest room (which i found dumb we didnt even have any friends).