I: Jesus, She's A Teacher?

-x-

"Still tailoring that gown of yours, Your Highness?"

"Just a sec. I'll be out in a jiffy," I shouted back. I was currently applying mascara while watching the battle ensue between a plaid low cut Armani dress and a sleeveless olive green Gucci jumpsuit when Permy came banging on my closet door. Honestly, that girl needs to chill. It's not like we're going to be late or anything, I think. My deliberation ended as I finished putting on lipgloss and I settled for a peach-colored maxi, one of my mother's designs.

"Your 'sec' ended ages ago," Permy hissed as she burst into the room. "Mikan Yukihira, move your ass if you don't want to get stuck in traffic." She took me by the wrist and literally dragged me out. Luckily for me, I managed to grab a pair of sandals before she whisked me away. By golly. My hair's not done yet! I complained about my tresses all the way to the limo, annoying the hell out of her.

She rolled her eyes at me and told me to just let my hair down. "Believe me, you look prettier that way," she said as we got into the vehicle. I stopped my ponytail-tying attempts and proceeded to brushing my hair, eyes still resting on the girl beside me. Strangely enough, Permy's outfit was rather tame, I mean not as...flamboyant as her other ensembles. "Ever so fashion-forward, Permy," I commented on her leopard print garment. She rewarded me with a smile and a flip of the perms that dangled on each side of her face.

My best friend is an aspiring fashion designer and well, an avid fan of my mother. While being one with no stomach for publicity and the limelight, Mom isn't the slightest bit bothered by the attention she was receiving from Sumire. Apparently, Permy's got 'raw talent' and an 'admirable eccentricity,' which Mom approves of and applauds. I'm quite glad the Yukihira matriarch isn't pressuring me to follow in her footsteps; Dad isn't forcing me to be like him, either. My parents have instilled in my mind that I pursue what I truly desire. "Your father and I don't want you to live your life halfheartedly," she said during that career day back in high school.

The limo came to a halt. "Out, out. Chop chop! Hurry, the Freshman Assembly's about to start," Permy pushed me out of the car. I stepped on the hem of my skirt and almost ripped the dress and she just laughed. "Trust Mikan to forever be a klutz." I playfully punched her arm. We slung our bags over our shoulders and made our way to the auditorium.

"Dear freshmen," bellowed the cheerful emcee. I couldn't quite discern his gender due to his hair length and the excessive ruffles decorating his maroon pantsuit. "You bid farewell to the drama that was high school, and now are about to enter a whole new world. They say high school's the best years of one's student life." A dramatic pause and a quick wink to no one in particular. That action, along with his frivolous garb, made me formulate two postulates: a) This person was an attention-craving, crossdressing flirt; and b) He was hands down gay.

Permy nudged my rib. Judging from her expression, she must have been trying to decipher the person on stage. "He's so totally gay," she whispered in my ear. I giggled in agreement.

"I beg to differ," he continued. Permy and I scoffed at what seemed to be his denial of our accusation. "College is more challenging, more demanding, but definitely interesting. If you please, you may think of it as trying on a new pair of pants. Or purchasing a new gadget. Welcome and embrace it, just as it does you. I do wish all of you a happy and fulfilling stay here. Again, welcome to Alice University."

The audience applauded. Suddenly, the lights went out and fog engulfed the venue. An ominous hum erupted from the speakers, completely scaring the bejesus outta me. If there's one thing that terrifies me the most, it's eerie, disturbing noises in the darkness.

"And now," the gay emcee's voice boomed, "to close this opening ceremony, Alice University presents...Renegade!"

A familiar, catchy tune started playing and LED fixtures illuminated the stage, their lights changing from red to blue, to purple, to green, then back. From out of nowhere, three masked figures appeared on the elevated platform. Ten more entered the spotlight, five from either side of the stage, each one rolling, cartwheeling, or backflipping, plainly avoiding any conventional form of locomotion. I was unconsciously tapping my foot on the floor. At my peripherals, I can see Permy bobbing her head in sync to the beat. We were squeezing each other's hands and I could tell that she was really excited. I was, too.

On the stage, the guy in the red and black mask, whom I assumed to be the leader/front man or something, moved toward the curtains. He performed a series of somersaults, twirling gracefully in the air before landing perfectly in the middle of the dancers' circular formation. They scattered like pins struck by a bowling ball.

Then there's that screechy noise you hear when the DJ does his thing with the discs. The tempo is much faster now. Contorting and bending like that, the dancers almost seemed boneless. I cringed inwardly but am impressed by the sight. I admired their flexibility, that complete control over their bodies. I was so caught up in my amazement I didn't realize their performance was over. As soon as the music died, the members of Renegade tore the masks off their faces and tossed them to the audience. The crowd was ballistic. Claps, whistles, howls, screams, and all vocal expressions of shock and awe echoed throughout the auditorium. It was deafening.

"Oh my—sweet niblets! Mikan, Mikan, ohmyfuckinggod." Permy grabbed my shoulders and shook me as though her life depended on it. "Is this for real? Or did the valkyries swoop down and take me to Valhalla?"

I had to agree with her. They were dropdead gorgeous. Okay, maybe not all of them. "Relax, Permy. We are, unfortunately, stuck on earth," I replied.

Under normal lighting, I can clearly see their clean-shaven faces and well-toned bodies. Each of them were good-looking in their own right; some had pale skin, others slightly tan, and two were chocolate brown. Their eye colors were as diverse as their hair's. A few had specific defining features, such as moles, a star tattoo, close-set eyes, thick eyebrows, prominent cheek bones, and a high, narrow nose that screamed 'downright Caucasian.' What really caught my attention was a pair of crimson eyes, which so happened to belong to the leader/front man. They were burning, gleaming like polished jewels. You know those huge, shiny red buttons that you're never, ever supposed to press, regardless of the circumstances? I suddenly felt like that dimwitted DeeDee from Dexter's Laboratory. Not wanting to be misunderstood as some kind of stalker or fan girl, I broke my stare. Perhaps a little too late. Before I took my eyes off him, I glimpsed him smirking. AT ME.

"Hel-loooo. Earth to Mikan." It took me a few moments to notice Permy's hand in front of my face. She snapped her fingers. "Mikan Yukihara, are you with me? Come on, everybody's leaving," she beckoned.

"Holy crap. Let's go." In haste, I followed Permy towards the exit. We had to trudge through scraps of paper (probably remnants of banners, courtesy of die-hard fans), food wrappers, and styrofoam cups. How infuriating. Is it too much trouble to dispose of your garbage properly?

We were blinking rapidly when we got out. I should've brought my shades, I mused as Permy slid Dior aviators over her eyes. She threw me a quizzical look, most likely noticing me squinting at the sudden brightness. "That reminds me," she began. "Earlier, you were stuck in some kind of trance."

"Uh...what—yeah, I guess. Sleep deprivation, probably."

Her lips curved into a sly grin. "Pish posh. It was him, wasn't it? You were having a staring contest with that Renegade guy," she teased.

"Well, red is not exactly a common eye color. I was curious. Can't you give your inquisitive friend a break?"

"All right, I rest my case. Why are you blushing?"

I was flushing hotly. Why indeed? "That's not it. Too much rouge thanks to your interruption this morning," I shot back, ignoring the heat on my cheeks.

"Dearie, your face could put his blood red rubies to shame. You're redder than the reddest of red MAC lipsticks."

"Oh stop. Aren't we late or something? You'll be nagging me about it for the next 12 hours if you incur tardiness on your first day at uni."

To that, she grinned yet again, but didn't push the issue anymore. After a few more minutes, we parted ways; she to the Fine Arts building, and myself to the Institute of Mathematics. The knowledge of not attending classes with my best friend saddened me greatly, but it was inevitable. Our degree curricula were very different, although we may opt to take the same General Education courses, if only to be together. I sighed. At least our breaktimes coincided and we could still hang out.

A good ten yards stretched between me and the Mathematics building. I glanced at my watch, and slackened my pace. I fished my planner out of my bag and scanned my schedule. Preoccupied by the numbers and letters on the paper, I found myself colliding with a black-clothed figure and falling to the ground.

"I'm really sorry. I wasn't paying attention to where I was going."

"Clearly," the stranger drawled. "Make good use of the benefits of bipedalism; look forward when you walk." She extended a pale hand, which I gladly accepted. As I regained my posture, my eyes trailed up her arm and unto her face. A doll. That was the first word that came to mind. Short, jet-black locks barely sweeping past her shoulders framed her elegant visage. Her creamy white skin was flawless, smooth like alabaster, although I dare not touch. Imagine how awkward that would be. She had a shapely jaw and slightly protruding cheek bones, which in my opinion, would become more noticeable if she were to smile. However, smile she did not. Her inscrutable countenance which was the epitome of indifference, combined with the earlier-mentioned facial features further enhanced her resemblance to those porcelain figurines.

Here I am again observing peculiar pupils. What is with these people and their eye colors? Hers were a shade of purple, somewhat flitting between lavender and grey. They were far from warm and welcoming, but they harbored no resentment or anger. Empty. Cold. Apart from their color, those particular qualities, if anything, intrigued me even more. As if she weren't already mysterious to begin with.

I wondered how long I have been staring at her. "Again, I apologize." I bend into a right angle, conveniently avoiding that chilling gaze.

"Lift your head up." And without another word, she walked away.

What a strange girl. I dusted off my skirt, still pondering those cold amethyst orbs that burned themselves into my memory. I finally reached my destination. I occupied a seat two rows away from the teacher's table and adjacent to the window. Students began filling the other desks. Two minutes later, a tall, slender man entered. He introduced himself as Professor Jinno. He certainly looked the part of your average strict but brilliant terror professor, with his choice of clothing, thinly-rimmed spectacles, and a magic wand-like pointer. He turned out just as I have expected. We had a brief review on the Cartesian coordinate system before proceeding to the lesson proper. A grueling homework on polynomials was the icing on the cake. Many of my classmates were grumbling after Professor Jinno dismissed us.

Next was Political Science. I had to take a ten-minute stroll to get to this class, as the building was quite far. When I got there, the teacher was already seated at his table. He was fiddling with his Blackberry, obviously irritated, if the twist of his mouth was anything to go by. His manner of dressing baffled me a bit, but then again, to each his own. I snickered at the thought of me becoming a fashion critic. Permy would have appreciated the amount of leather that the man was sporting. Leather trenchcoat, leather gloves, and leather high-heeled shoes. I wasn't sure about his trousers. If the violet-eyed woman I bumped into was pale, this fellow was ghastly. Also, I think he wore more makeup than I did.

"Political Science 117: Political Analysis. I am Professor Rei Serio," announced the professor. His voice was...how do I put this? Silky? Seductive? I hated to admit it but it was pleasing to the ears. "It has come to my understanding that not everyone in this class is a Political Science major. Nevertheless, I guarantee that taking this course is worthwhile. Nobara, if you please," he called out to an unseen person. A woman with icy blue hair and eyes stepped into the room.

"This is my TA, Nobara Ibaragi," Professor Serio gestured at the woman. "As you all know, she will be facilitating this course in my absence. Should you have any inquiries regarding the discussion, you may direct them to her. She is very capable educator, despite her age." The TA bowed meekly and handed the professor a thick envelope. Before anything else, we had a pop quiz regarding the government and politics of Japan. For the love of god. History was never my cup of tea. Too many dates, places, people, events, and other things of the past. Too much information.

"...clans, namely Fujiwara, Shouda, Imai, Hyuuga, Yukihira, and Hijiri." I wasn't really minding the content of his discussion, blissfully tuning in to that sinful baritone of his. That was until he eyed me while mentioning my surname. He droned on monopolistic capitalism, the unbridgeable gap between the wealthy and the impoverished, and the prideful indifference of the elite. Conspiracies. The new order. So he has a problem with influential families interacting? The way I see it, we're simply supporting one another, bonds not limited to business arrangements. Case in point, Permy and myself. Speaking of which, I could hardly wait for this class to end so I could eat lunch with my best friend. Another painful half hour of pointed words and glares and I was finally out of that torture chamber he calls 'class.'

At the cafeteria, Permy merely laughed at my misfortune. "His pants were probably leather, too," she pointed out. "I suppose that deathly pale complexion may explain it, I mean, he's probably sick or something. Leather is an excellent protective covering against cold temperatures."

I swallowed another spoonful of my parmigiana. "Really now? Some resentful gothic/emo guy despises your best friend for being a Yukihira, and your primary concern is whether or not his pants were made of cattle hide?"

"For all we know, it could've been crocodile skin." She chuckled and took a bite of her Panini. "Jealousy," she spoke in a more serious tone. "It's only natural for one to envy those leading successful lives, especially if that person's plans didn't pan out the way he originally intended them to."

"True that. So how was the first half of your first day?"

"It was splendid. Earlier, in art class, we were each assigned a partner. Instructions were to create a portrait of our partners using any medium of our choosing. I went with charcoal."

"Okay? And…?"

"I got paired up with a prince."

"What?"

"Remember Renegade from the Freshman Assembly?" I nodded. "He's one of them. Blonde, blue eyes, half-French."

"Ooh, the one with the artfully-sculpted nose?"

"That's the one. I told him the exact same thing. He thanked me for the compliment and said he inherited it from his mother."

"Did you successfully mimic his chiseled features with your charcoal?"

"Is that a rhetorical question?"

"Heh. Overconfident Picasso wannabe." I chucked a jellybean at her nose.

She stuck her tongue out. "He called my drawing phenomenal. He was a decent artist himself. He illustrated me in beeswax."

"Hmm. Sounds narcissistic."

"I'll have you swallowing those words when I introduce him. He's very gentlemanly."

"I look forward to that." I smirked. "So what's his name? How far have you gotten? Did he ask you out? Details, Permy, details."

I swore she did an eyeroll, but I was too happy and thrilled to care. "Hold your horses, sweetie. We exchanged phone numbers. Name's Luca Nogi. And…oh. He just shot me a text," she pushed her phone across the table to show me, "asking if I'd be willing to…share...a coffee with him some time?"

"That sounds great! What are you gonna tell him? You're not going to decline, are you? Wait, why do I even bother asking? Of course you're not. You're SO going out with him."

"It's only coffee. Better not get our hopes up." She says that but her appearance told me otherwise; she was all mushy and giddy on the inside. The smile creeping up my face can no longer be stifled. "Gosh, stop raising my expectations. I might end up getting disappointed," she added.

I downed the last of my strawberry milkshake. "Just tell me if he pulls something funny. Or even tries. Prince or Renegade or whatever, he can't hurt you. He can't make you cry, or mistreat you in any way. I won't allow it."

She clucked her tongue. "Mikan, you're overthinking. Again, it's only coffee. No need to make mountains out of molehills."

"Aye aye, cap'n."

"Shall we get going then? It's already a quarter hour to one, and the School of Architecture is miles away."

I was alone again. I consulted my schedule. Economics. Holy guacamole. The blasted building is located on the opposite side of the university! I cursed silently as I thumbed through the pamphlet that was issued to me during the assembly this morning. Apparently, Alice University has a high-speed railway system that spans its entire 4751 acre property. They also had tubes. There were at least twenty different bus lines meticulously laid down in a circuitous manner. All these series of transportation routes could rival the convoluted lines on the road maps of Japan. Expect nothing less from the country's premiere university. To be able to afford such structures and services, this institution must have some massive benefactors.

I boarded the train at 12:51 and got off at Station 6, situated right across the School of Economics. With a total disregard for my clothing and slightly tousled hair, I broke into a sprint, seeing that I had only two minutes before the clock struck one. My breathing became labored by the time I hopped into the elevator. The doors slammed shut with a quarter yard of my dress stuck between them. Great. I totally needed that.

The passengers cast their eyes upon the panting girl whose lower half remained attached to the metal doors, a.k.a. me. Some were obviously trying to suppress their laughter. A few spoke in hushed tones, whispering along the lines of 'Is she okay,' 'What is wrong with her,' and 'She's probably a freshman.' God why. I must have looked completely and utterly ridiculous. I abandoned all efforts to yank the fabric from the cursed slabs of metal and waited for the doors to open on the fifth floor.

I scurried toward the assigned classroom, which thankfully contained no more than five students. Choosing a seat at the back of the classroom, I deposited my belongings and sped to the restroom with my personal effects kit.

I frowned at my disheveled appearance. My nape and forehead were drenched in perspiration. My auburn hair was a cornfield after a hurricane. "What a day," I sighed at my reflection. I dabbed my face with Kleenex, stripping it of all makeup and sweat and other entities that stuck to it. Screw foundation and eye shadow. I'm going au naturel. I hurriedly ran the comb through my hair. Yup, I think I'm good. I smiled at the woman in the mirror and strutted back to class.

The number of students increased by a factor of five, I gleaned as I made my way to the room. I shifted my gaze to my aching feet. Ah, blisters. And bam! I slammed into yet another person's frame. How ditzy of me. I guess I truly am the klutz Permy claims me to be.

"You must find the ground very fascinating." That cold, bored voice. It was the porcelain doll at the Math building!

Another mental stream of expletives. She helped me to my feet. AGAIN. Embarrassed as I may have been, I had the courage to raise my head and level my eyes with hers. Her face was expressionless as usual, her exquisite features still as marble. I didn't notice during our first collision that she was wearing black leather overalls that stretched down to her ankles, a garment I recognized to be one of my mother's pieces. She towered almost a foot over me thanks to her Louboutin booties. She's probably 5'6" or something, so even without the heels, she was still taller than I am.

"I'm really sorry. Again. I should've heeded your advice. I'm sorry."

She remained silent and gave me a slight nod. I retreated to the classroom, unwilling to risk humiliating myself in front of her for the third time. I thought I'd never cross paths with her again. Wrong.

Heads spun and murmurs erupted as Amethsyt Eyes graced the door.

"Oi, isn't that—"

"Yeah, the young genius-slash-inventor."

"She's gonna be our classmate?"

"Eh? Isn't she done with school?"

She stood in front of the whiteboard and cleared her throat, causing the room to go silent. "Good afternoon. I see most of you already know who I am. For those unaware, I am Hotaru Imai, your instructor for Macroeconomics."