Title: Be My Escape

Rating: PG-ish

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Rob Thomas, CW, and whoever else are in full rights of this amazing show. I do not own the quotes or songs. I do however own a few characters and a goldfish named House.

Summary: The story is in the future-almost 20 years-and takes place after the events of S2. The rest, well read and find out. Reviews are necessarry since this is my first attempt at VM fanfic.

NEW YORK CITY

"It is a pity we cannot escape life when we are young." Mark Twain. This is the moment I would escape, the moment in which I would take my car, my possessions, and find eternal youth in the sky scrapers of New York. But, as I speak, I am placing the last of my possessions-my library of books- into five or six boxes to be sent across the country to the strange and dissatisfying land of California. Neptune, California- a town without a middle class. I am being ripped from my closest friends, Manhattan, and ferry boats to be forced into a society of OC-wanna-bes. I'd rather drink battery acid than move to the illustrious mansion awaiting us in the 09 district. I just don't understand why they can't let me stay here with Lalie and George. The Chandras love me! They wouldn't mind if I merely took up residence in their guest suite. Or the Connelly's, how about them? They have not only a high rise but a house onthe Island. I'm sure they can spare the room. If I stayed I could continue going to St. Andrew's for the next three years and then move straight to NYU with Lalie and George- like we always planned. I'd study criminal justice and journalism, Lalie would find her place in fashion design at Parson's and George would delve into architecture at NYU Design School. We'd remain friends and buy a So Ho loft to live in; where we'd have kick ass parties, amazing stories, and change the world.

This was my argument to my mother and father. My mother is a professional housewife or domestic caregiver. She has my schedule, my two brothers' (Fritz and Brock) schedules, and her schedule--- synchronized in a militant fashion. I blame my grandfather, an admiral in the Navy for her obsessive tendencies and being completely anal when it comes to cleanliness. She's an expert at dinner parties, bake sales, and mothering. (Smothering in most cases…) She did not fall for my expertly planned agenda on how and why I should be able to retain residence in New York. I think she wants me to come only for the fact if I stayed here she'd have to reorganize all our schedules and she'd have to pick up Fritz and Brock from karate and violin lessons and miss her "martini dates."

My father is a lawyer. There is no end to laws, and no end to the execution of them. Mark Twain That perhaps describes my father the best- the executioner of laws. He's not a fancy litigator or defense attorney but he has been for several years now the District Attorney for the city of New York, which buys a certain cache'. He stays busy in courts and finds little spare time for us, his family. I once overheard my mother say, "We're his mistress, and the law his wife. We will always come second." And second we came when he was offered the position of a judge in Neptune, California. I wondered if he would miss the drama of the courtroom as only found by being a lawyer, but I think he's ready to slow down and position himself for a job in the Supreme Court. I appealed to my father in a strict facts based argument. I had counter-arguments prepared. I was ready. However, the judge complex set in early and he was neither willing nor able to hear my plea. His word was final- I would be going to Neptune with them.

Here I am packing boxes, while the movers come and take them away. I move a set of keys through my hand. I look at the beautiful silver Tiffany's key ring inscribed with my name- January Grant­- attached to three keys. The first is to our new home. The second is to our old home. The third, a gift and bribe, is to my new car, a brand new Hummer. I look at the key ring and it gleams from the sun peaking through the blinds and I know if I had wanted to stay I could have---I had the ace in the hole, so to speak. I had the biggest secret that could clinch my deal but I couldn't do it. Not to them because till three years ago they were my parents- the mom and dad who raised and I'm sure loved me in their own way. I had made the decision to remain January Grant and never tell them what I knew- I was adopted. I wasn't their daughter. I belonged to someone else.

NEPTUNE, CALIFORNIA

Dante believed there were several circles of hell. Each circle fit the crime to which the offender had committed. Each punishment or each circle was more gruesome and unholy than the one before. The last circle was reserved for the traitors and betrayers and held unfathomable atrocities for those whom it claimed. As I stood in the attendance office of Neptune High School I wondered which crime have I committed that has landed me in this circle of hell- what have I done to deserve this? Why God why, I thought bitterly.

"Miss Grant, Vice Prinicipal Fennel will see you now." The old curmudgeon secretary informs me. She proves my theory that Neptune is the earthly visitation of Hades as her smile reminds me of the three-headed dog that guards the gates.

I and my messenger bag meander into the office which is unlike anything I had expected. My last VP was straight from Vice-Principals R-Us. He had the corny posters, cheesy awards, and enough platitudes to handle everything from syphilis to tardiness. He had a comb over that always reminded me of Donald Trump- almost as if they had gone to the same barber. He was nice. He was putty in my hands. Mr. Fennel's office had shelves of basketball trophies, fraternity memorabilia, and what had caught my attention the most: three amazing photographs of Mr. Fennell and a beautiful baby boy. The color and the lighting and angle of the photographs were a signature---they were Veronica M. photographs. I had been to her show in the gallery that Mrs. Chandra owned. I was captivated by the subjects and the view of the photographer. Mrs. Chandra told me Veronica M. had pioneered the art of photography called "stolen moments," a style that is highly reminiscent of private investigation photography. My favorite photograph in the collection was a photograph of grave with three people near it but not touching it. The three young people were spaced so meticulously you'd think they were placed, but the emotion in their faces told me otherwise. That photograph doesn't hang in a gallery anymore but in my new bedroom. The Chandras had given the photograph to me as a birthday present.

"Achem…"

Sit down, my reflex told me. I had gazed long enough. I sat down in an overstuffed chair across the light wooden desk of the cougher, Vice-Principal Fennell. He was of medium height; 5'9 give or take an inch, dark colored skin, with neat and short braids. His glasses were reading glasses which meant he was 35, maybe 36 judging by the slight wrinkles on his forehead. His build suggested that he was a coach and judging by the trophies, he is a basketball coach. Statistics for African-American males in their mid-thirties with a family and working in the school system meant he probably grew-up in Neptune. He was at ease with his position and leaned back in his black leather swivel chair which tells me that he is the "eyes and ears" of Neptune and very little gets past him. My file lay open on his desk and I imagine he thinks he knows quite a bit about me. Before he can cough again, I intend to set him straight.

"Vice Principal Fennell, let's not bother with the small talk or boring get to know you games. My name is January Grant and I was raised in New York City. I am a sophomore and if you've read my record you know I am an exceptional student. For the past ten years I have attended St. Andrews Prep where I was president of my class, Student Honor Leader, Governor's School Attendant in the field of journalism and involved in over ten clubs and organizations throughout the school year and summer. While you might assume because I have moved into what I am to understand is the elitist 09 district I will be a pain in your ass, let me assure you likewise. My father was the District Attorney of New York till he became a judge. His father was a senator and his step-mother a school principal. My paternal grandmother was a detective for the NYPD- the first woman detective- and my step-grandfather was editor of the New York Times. My mother is over-involved and will be at every function and PTA meeting. Her parents were both in the Navy, my grandfather an Admiral- till he retired three years ago. If you think there is a chance in hell they would let me get away with anything- one toe over the line- you'd be wrong. I plan to make it through the next three years by doing what I have to get by and then returning to New York as soon as I possibly can. Then I plan to study criminal justice and journalism and work myself into a position of head crime reporter for a big time newspaper or news program. And then maybe someday when I am recognized for all my hard work and dedication, I might give a shout out to this school as long as it doesn't get in the way of everything I have just stated."

Wallace Fennell could do nothing but grin. He'd had his share of new '09ers- most of whom partied too much, studied too little and still pulled the same crap they did when he went here. January Grant did NOT fit that mold. She pretty much broke the damn mold, as far as he could tell. He had been worried when he first read her transcript he would be dealing with the next Shelley Pomeroy. He could just see the anal tendencies and holier-than-thou attitude seeping through every activity listed on her transcripts. He looked again at the file and read between the lines; the lines said this girl wasn't on top because she was popular but because no one dared mess with her. Her appearance ratified that assumption. She was petite, with cropped blonde hair with dark brown highlights. She wore a blazer, a classic band tee shirt, with jeans that were worn and ratted. She carried with her a pink messenger bag with the large patch that read, "SAVE THE HUMANS" safety pinned on. Her monologue had shocked him at first but relaxed any worry that had crept in. Strangely, one more look at the girl and he was reminded of another girl; who carried the same attitude and bravado. He shook his head and took off his glasses, a clear sign, he was ready to deal. "All right, Miss Grant. Here's what I can offer you…" He placed his arms on the table and looked her directly in the eye- no mess'n with this one, "I'll let you by for the next three years. I'll let you choose your classes, your locker, and ignore your lack of school spirit or pride. All of this on one condition… you said you want to be a crime journalist. You want to work for the big time and here is where you can help Neptune and we can help you. Our school paper over the past 15 years has won national awards and accolades. Some of our pieces have even made it into major papers here in California like the L.A. Press. We need new blood on the paper. Our stories and our reporters are not up to the standard I've come to expect. You join the paper, and I will guarantee you the editor spot senior year and that the paper will help you into any school of your choice."

The school paper? I thought about it. I'd done a little homework and the VP wasn't lying- the paper had street cred, at least three former editors were working for ABC, two former writers were working for USA Today, and one writer had even managed a Pulitzer. All I had to do was write the stories I had been writing and take the paper back to the top and in exchange I'd make it through here with recommendations and praise without having to actually be a part of this soap opera. Mr. Fennell caught the glimmer in my eye- the glimmer my father says is the "determined Grant gene"- and he held out his hand. I took mine and placed it in his and grasped it. "Deal."

"Have you seen her?"

"Nooooo…have you?"

"You're referring to the new girl right?"

"Who else, moron? She just moved down the street from us."

"What do you know about her?"

"Not much. Dad is a big shiny new judge. He was the D.A. for New York City. Mom is a housewife; desperate most likely. Although, rumor has it she's New York royalty. Her uncle was mayor or governor. She also attended school with Tom Hanks' kids and went to summer camp with Hillfiger's sons. Oh and she drives a brand new HUMMER-blue."

"Did you stalk her?"

Allyson Bishop, rolled her eyes at Hannah Kane's comment as Hannah sat down at the lunch table. Already seated were Hannah's younger brother Scott, the twins Meredith and Michael Casablancas, and Gavin Vandergraff. These were the new '09ers. They were the richest and most envied kids at Neptune High. They could also be the cruelest when crossed. They had grown-up together in the same pampered and luxurious lifestyle their parents had afforded them. They were bred to be the best and nothing less. Their neighborhood was gated and any newcomer was subject to lengthy examination if they were to "really be" let in.

"Look that's her…"

All eyes focused on me as I walked to the tables, the brilliant carved and memorialized lunch tables given to the school to improve the overall esthetic. I searched for an empty one and sat down. I felt like a cow at a 4-H show being judged and oogled by judges with critical eyes. I did not care to be equated with meat anymore than I care to be one of the "cool kids" who lived in my "hood." Honestly, I don't care. I pulled out my lunch, homemade sushi and miso soup and my can of diet pop. I also pulled out my rugged copy of The Portable Dorothy Parker and began to read. I defied them to bother me as I read and ate. I was the new girl but I am determined not to be the next victim of this high society b.s.

"Guys rarely make passes at girls who wear glasses."

I have to admit I was a little startled when I set my book down to find a boy sitting across from me; albeit a very cute boy who had just sat across from me. If I remember correctly, he is in my second period chemistry class and his name begins with an S. Stan. Saul. Scooter. Scott! That was it- Scott Kane. Kane as not in the Biblical kind but as in the heir to a multi-billion dollar fortune courtesy of his grandfather- software impresario Jake Kane. I knew more than that- Jake Kane was the father of Lilly Kane, the infamous murdered student of Neptune High. Lilly Kane, most likely Scott's deceased aunt, was brutally beaten to death by Aaron Echolls, a former-action movie star who was shot to death in his son's apartment. Lilly Kane had a brother, Duncan Kane. Duncan was the prodigal son and his homecoming story was plastered all over the news. One year after returning to his parents he inherited the Kane Company when his father and mother died in airplane crash. Duncan Kane and his wife, Nichole, a former Australian actress and their two children settled into the Kane Estate and reaped the benefits of Kennedy-esque family era. "I'm surprised Mr. Kane that you would bother yourself with the works of Dorothy Parker."

"So you know who I am?"

I placed my book down, downed my last tuna roll and looked directly at him. I had made myself clear to the VP and it was time to make myself clear to the "kids." "You are Scott Kane, son of Duncan and Nichole Kane. Your mother is Australian and your sister is your half-sister. Her name is Hannah and she is three years older than you. You are the grandson to Jake and Celeste Kane, who lost their daughter Lilly in a murder-scandal that took place right here at Neptune High. Your friends all live in the 09 district and have their daddies to thank for their BMWs, mansions, and general laziness. Well, except for the twins there- Casablacas owe their fortune to their mother who works for you father and was the developer of a new software security system that placed Kane Corporation back into the "big leagues." You are a jock, all-around American kid, and generally nice guy. All traits you probably inherited from your father, who is your best friend." I paused- mostly for dramatic effect and then to let the knowledge seep in. "Listen, I don't like to party. I prefer alternative and angry-girl rock to boy bands and pop sensations. I never drove a car till this year. I miss New York and yeah, for the most part, I think I am smarter and better than you and your friends because I am not a snob or bully. I don't want to sit at your table or become BFFs with all of you. I want to get through the next 3 years and return back to civilization in New York."

Scott's eyes fell a bit, and his first gleaming luster dimmed. I had been incredibly rude. My mother said my attitude was my fatal flaw. I preferred to think of it as my defense weapon against those who wanted me to be something I would never be. My defense weapon till I could obtain truth and control of a situation. I was determined not to become a member of society here because if I did- it meant that I was no longer me and I was letting go of what little I could still hold. I could dive into the long and bitter monologue about how I found out I was adopted and what the knowledge did to me; but what is the point? What I know is that I am adopted and my birth parents or mother or whoever went to extraordinary lengths to make sure I would never come looking. I became resolute that if they didn't want to know me – why would I ever want to know them? Scott nodded a simple nod of understanding and returned to his "crew." This would be the point where I was sorry but I wasn't. Not yet, not till fourth period and I realized that I would be in newspaper class with all of them and like it or not- I'd have to descend from my moral superiority and play nice.