Son of a Pitch Entry: Reruns of My Life

Title: Reruns of My Life
Category and Genre: YA Contemporary Romance
Word Count: 100,000

Query:
Seventeen-year-old Agnes is legally dead. After a severe beating from her mother, she faked her own suicide... four years ago. Now, under a new name and with an adopted family, Agnes, now Blaire, returns to her hometown to face her past and the one person who gave her the will to keep living; her best friend Parker.
Her biological father returns when the police inform him that she still lives, but Agnes struggles to reconcile the real him with the lies her mother brainwashed her to believe, especially since he has a "replacement" daughter with his new wife.
But Parker believes she's dead and, after Agnes' significant physical changes, he sees similarities to the girl he once knew, but that's all. Although, other people are starting to piece things together, especially because she bears a strong resemblance to her mother when she was Agnes' age. Each time someone questions her, the trauma from her mother's abuse sets off flashbacks and panic attacks.
Agnes knows she has to tell Parker the truth soon before he realizes or someone else tells him, but the more she falls in love with him, the harder the truth is to reveal. She broke him once, the truth might just make it permanent.

First 250 Words:
Four years. Although the time seemed like an eternity, it didn’t feel long enough. How could these people all be the same when I had changed so dramatically?

Although now at high school, the same girls were the pretty popular girls, the same girls were the cheerleaders, some more loose, others more uptight. The jocks were their same stupid selves, just… more. They still stared at girls’ chests, they still tried to get glimpses up their skirts or down their shirts.

As I passed through the main gate, their gazes followed me, the new girl. The guys assessing how worth their time I might be, the girls trying to decide whether they should be my frenemies or an open foe.

I held my chin up and kept walking. If the past four years taught me nothing else, it taught me how to be tough. They never knew a tough version of me.

With a class list in hand, I headed toward the senior lockers. The same groups remained intact; the nerds, the druggies, the outdated skaters, the arty kids, the wholesome head-in-the-sand kids. I recognized every single one, and none of them had changed their groups. They were all set in their ways, and their ways worked for them. I couldn’t blame them for that. But I’d never been part of any of those groups. I never fit their molds.

A slight twinge of fear struck me as I opened my locker. What if someone did recognize me? What would they say?