Fear.

Neither the friendliest of emotions nor the one I most frequently experience, but it was there, solid and strong, wrapped more tightly around me than my sheets. As soon as that thought crossed my mind, it felt as if the 200-thread count was intent on strangling me and I hurriedly jumped out of bed, away from the clinging sheets.

Of course I quickly remembered why it was unwise to hop so animatedly out of bed when I promptly fell into an intimate position with my carpet, tripped by the very fabric I'd been trying to free myself from. I breathed deeply to let the panic fade, not ready to get up just yet. When my breathing regulated, I slowly pushed myself up from the floor and proceeded to sink into my morning routine. My actions were slow and deliberate, but that was the side effect of shoving my dream out of my mind. I preferred not to think about certain things if I didn't have to.

After about ten more minutes of morning typicality, I was in the kitchen, grabbing s'mores poptarts from the toaster on my way out the door. I frowned as I locked the door behind me one last time, giving the faded wallpaper and beige furniture one last, reminiscent glance.

It's never easy to move away from home, especially when doing so involves entering a new school district. But Sister Dearest had said it would stop the nightmares if only I would move away from what is, to my "Young, impressionable eyes," a "crime scene". Sister Dearest happens to be a Psych major and likes to pretend she already has her Master's Degree in Psychology.

I sighed, looking away from the living room I had grown up in. Today would be my first day at my new school; hopefully I could stay low-key and not be made a spectacle of on my first day. Step one: drive to school. I set my poptarts down on the black roof of my beautiful red-bodied Camaro and shuffled through my shoulder bag, searching madly for the directions to school that Sister Dearest had oh-so-lovingly printed off for me. I found the papers, silently thanking the creators of online road maps for their generosity. I slipped my bag into the back seat as I climbed into the driver's side. Step one-A: put the directions in proper order. I looked briefly at each page I'd taken out of my bag and noticed that the directions on top were the ones to my new apartment with a note from my sister attached.

"I know you'll want your own set of keys, but I can't get a new key minted until tomorrow. Be home by 3:00 PM if you want me to be able to let you in before I have my evening class.

Love ya!

-Ayame

P.S. Don't forget to hand in your health forms"

I put that set of directions aside and skimmed through the directions to Fire High, home of the Red Wave, whose mascot was a stick of cinnamon. Yes, I am still getting over the fact that the school's team name was the Red Wave. Not to mention that the mascot most certainly did not look like a cinnamon stick. It looks more like a pedophilic cross of a tree and an alien, with a little bit of almond mixed in. And it looks terrible in photographs, if the internet is any judge. I heard that the mascot gives off a wonderful cinnamon odor though.

Step one-B: exit the driveway without backing into any of assortment of boxes lying around. I shifted the car into gear, feeling Gala sputter in her disuse. I frowned, she might need a tune-up; I felt bad for neglecting her for so long. I patted her dashboard consolingly, promising an oil change and car wash, pleased to hear Galadriel's engine purring in seeming agreement. I backed up slowly, turned the car, narrowly avoiding a particularly precarious stack of cardboard containers, and headed down the driveway. As I turned onto my road, Pleasant View, I heard an odd clunk. I was puzzled as to the source until I realized I'd failed step two: eat a good breakfast.

Damn poptarts…

I sighed, fed up with waiting for step three: deliver health forms. Who knew that so many people went to the nurse's office in the morning? All I wanted was to drop off my health forms. This was the second big wait because I'd started out handing them in to the principle, and was subsequently told how to find the nurse's office so I could hand my forms in to the nurse. Maybe if I stopped thinking of things in steps, it would help. I'll try that out, because I'll just end up losing count.

Just then, a school bell rang, effectively scaring me into dropping my forms. By the time I'd picked them all up, all of the other students were gone from the nurse's office. I smiled, and handed the nurse my papers. She gave me a pass to get to my class so that my teacher would know why I was late. On my way out of the nurse's office, I noticed for the first time a row of small beds tucked by the windows. Out of curiosity's sake, I walked closer, wanting to know if the beds were actually comfortable. I was late for class anyway.

I sat down on one bed, deciding that while the mattress wasn't very comfortable, the blankets were softer than I expected and the pillows were at 4-star hotel quality. I noticed someone was actually using the bed to my right, although they weren't awake. I guess the beds were good enough to fall asleep in if you needed somewhere to crash.

However, looking over at the someone to my right, I saw deep pulses of hair that swooped down to caress his face more gently than sunlight envelopes a flower petal. His nose jutted to form an aristocratic line pointing to the blanket that covered his mouth. A hand poked out from beneath that same blanket, sporting the slim fingers of one accustomed to playing piano or painting. An artist's fingers.

Not wanting to be around for the awkward greeting were he to wake up, I drank in one last glimpse and scurried off to my new educating facility and the possible friends occupying it.