White Gold

By E. F. Griffin

Trinity Clarkson is poor and white, but she’s definitely not trash. The seventeen-year-old blonde surfer has been fighting against the hateful, malicious stereotype since birth.

She knows it’s not a crime being born without money, yet everyone in town treats her like garbage. She knows it’s not illegal being broke, but try telling that to the good folks of White Gold County.

They’d just laugh in her face.

The predominately upper class small community cannot resist gossiping about a bunch of illiterate, highly-sexed felons whose sole purpose in life is to drink cheap alcohol, make beautiful babies and get arrested.

Trinity is tired of defending her reputation. The Clarkson clans aren’t perfect, but they are family. They are the people that she loves and wants to protect, yet how can she do so when their actions are far worse than the local rumors?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gore Publications
• Release date: Jul 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370453528

Book preview

Table of Content

Title Page

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Epilogue

References

Copyright Elizabeth Griffin

All rights reserved

Published 2017

www.elizabethgriffin.net

[e-mail]

Copy Right 2017

Gore Publications

P. O. Box 43561

Philadelphia, PA 19106-3561

Cover Design

Derrick H. Gore

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without permission from author.

Printed In The United States of America

Prologue

"I won't let them treat me like poor white trash," I yell the declaration into the roaring, crashing waves as an icy ocean knocks me back and forth.

Its immense power threatens to topple me.

I feel myself being pulled downward. It is as though the angry body of water wants to drag me to its bottom and use me to sweep the floor clean of settled debris.

I do not panic. I know this ocean. I have been its playmate since I was a child.

The dark waters blanket me with hypo thermal temperatures that seem to shock my nervous system into action.

I fiercely stroke the waters in a rotating right/left action as I plow through its strong currents.

I love swimming in frigid waters.

It clears the mind, cleanses the heart and restores the soul. I cannot think of a better way to purge the human body of the earthly demons that plague its conscience.

And, I should know.

My mother tried to kill me when I was five. The memories haunt me. They cannot be erased by time. She was clinically diagnosed as a schizophrenic which means nothing to a little girl watching the police take her mother away in a patrol car.

I've been dealing with the tortured memories of that incident as well as my family's very destructive history since I was old enough to talk and understand the English language— put more bluntly—

I belong to the Clarkson clan who are a bunch of troubled souls.

I think of them as a chaotic-screwed-up mess of folks who claim me and my siblings as their own.

Some luck I got, huh? I hit the damn lottery when I got born into this family.

It is, now, sometime pass midnight and I refuse to go home. The thought of walking into a house full of relatives mixed in with random people bothers me. I can only imagine what will greet me when I open that front door.

A-friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend will need a place to crash. Or a cousin member who recently got released from jail will expect to be put up for the night which will eventually turn into a week, and then a month. Or somebody will be having unprotected sex in the upstairs closet...

For once, I'd like to enter that living room without encountering a party. Country music is always the first thing that greets me at the door.

It is usually followed by an argument of some kind which is coming from the kitchen.

Of course, nobody cooked dinner. They never do. I get most of my nutrition from stolen granola bars, and protein drinks.

There is also another reason why I won't go home just yet. I got into a fight at school yesterday. It was for defending my baby sister, Brynn.

Most of the girls at her school hate her guts. They are mean and just plain jealous beyond belief.

Brynn is a wild-child, an immature kid in a woman's body. Most boys want to sleep with her despite her age and plenty of girls wish her dead because of her beauty.

The bathroom brawl is instantly pushed from my head as I catch sight of a perfect wave.

The images of me physically assaulting three teenage girls with my fist and feet flee my head as I forget about how they lured my younger sister into an empty stall and beat the living crap out of her.

Life lesson one.

They will never do that again. I am stronger and more physically fit than any stupid 8th grader.

I hit those girls with everything that I had each time I heard them call Brynn white beach trash, but that was hours ago.

School is out, Brynn is