Chapter One

Stupid People

"Hey, kid, get off the street!" I snap at a scrawny boy. Honestly, don't kids have common sense at all? Streets mean cars, and cars mean accidents. They're so damn stupid! You're not supposed to chase your ball on a busy street no matter how much it means to you (and no matter how much it dried up your piggy bank).

The kid looks at me as if I am going to bite his head off, then scampers back to the sidewalk. Well, that's more I like it. I look at him sharply (he squeaks and pales), then turn and enter my dad's studio. A popular and well-liked one, I must say. My dad's reputation as a martial arts expert is extremely good.

"I'm here," I announce, throwing my shoulder bag aside. I check my reflection in the mirror. Good. My hair isn't messed up. I know how much that girl always stares and admires it. What is her name again? I know it's something like Laura or Laney…

"You're late," Nina says, looking up from her desk.

I scowl. "I am aware of that, thank you."

She rolls her eyes. "Just hurry up," she snaps. "The class has already started. And it's a big one, so your father needs a lot of assistance."

"All right," I mutter, and make my way to the gym. Once I am there, I see more people than usual, watching my dad fight with Carlos, one of the instructors. Obviously Dad wins in the end, and everyone cheers and applauds like some awestruck audience. I roll my eyes and approach them haughtily.

Dad catches sight of me and raises an eyebrow. "Ah, Breann. How nice of you to come," he says.

They all turn simultaneously and look at me. The new students look curious, while the old students look petrified. I raise my eyebrow at all of them (it's always fun to intimidate people in their mere blue belts or whatnot), then shrug at my dad.

"Traffic," I say dully, even though it's not true.

"All right," he replies. "You take the ones with yellow belt and below."

Great. Stuck with the beginners. I resist the urge to groan out loud. I do succeed, though I know the look on my face is not of delight. I see my students exchange pure looks of terror, which gives me some pleasure. It's always fun to be the superior one.

"Form a line quickly," I bark. They literally jump and scurry to their places. They do it in no time at all, but that is a small accomplishment, so I don't bother complimenting them.

A couple of minutes later (and many stingy remarks later), I am about to lose my sanity. Why can't the moves stick in their idiotic brains? They are so simple! And why did my good ol' father assign me with these…these…simpletons? He knows better than to assign me with anyone below brown belt.

From the corner of my eye, I notice that girl, that Laura or Laney girl, staring at me again. I turn abruptly, and she jumps and blushes furiously as I gaze sharply at her.

"What can I do for you, Laura?" I say impatiently.

"Loreen," she whispers.

"Loreen," I correct myself irritably, "can I help you with something?"

She shakes her head. "N-no."

"Then go back and practice."

She nods vigorously. "O-okay."

I wish I could tell you that the rest of the two hours flew by quickly, but they didn't. They felt long and dull and tiresome. I was jumping with joy when it was over. Well, not really, but you know what I mean. The only fun moment was when I fought Greg (one of the instructors) for the demonstration and beat the crap out of him. A good thing, too. Maybe now that pervert will learn to stop with his…advances.

Dad and I drove home in our own cars. When we reached home, I began to cook dinner (of course I would be the one doing it: the only thing Dad can do is boil water). After doing so, I set the table quickly and announced that dinner was ready. Then the whole family came and sat in their respective seats. And when I say whole family, I mean my dad and me.

"Why did you assign me with the beginners today?" I say bitterly during the meal.

Dad, chewing thoughtfully, shrugs and says, "I decided it was time."

I raise an eyebrow. "Time for what?" I demand.

"Time for you to learn how to be patient," he replies. "And friendly. Not to mention humble."

I stare disbelievingly at him. Then I lose all composure. "Patient?! Friendly?! Humble?!" I screech, ignoring his wince. "I am patient, friendly, and humble!"

He looks at me in a funny way, as if he finds my comment (naivety, maybe) rather amusing. "No, you're not," he replies. "You're impatient, rude, and arrogant."

"Who says?" I say with a fierce glare.

"Everybody."

"Oh, shut up! They don't know a thing about me!"

"That's exactly what I mean, Breann. You have an attitude," he says sternly. "You have to change if you want people to at least tolerate you. For God's sake, you're already nineteen!"

I hurl my napkin on the table and glare at him. "Whatever," I say venomously. I then leave the table with my meal unfinished. He can clean up himself, for all I care.

Fuming, I march to my bedroom and slam the door shut. How dare he tell me I have an attitude! I do not have an attitude! What a scumbag! Still fuming, I stomp over to my bathroom, turn on the faucet, and splash icy water on my face. It feels refreshing, since I am literally boiling.

After drying my face, I look at my reflection.

Ugh. Sometimes being so damn pretty is such a curse. I won't deny that I'm pretty. Do you even know how many guys check me out wherever I go? Countless. It can be frustrating sometimes, you know. Why won't they get it through their thick skulls? I AM NOT INTERESTED. I have been with many guys, and I have come to the conclusion that no one is good enough for me. They're all jerks. I am too good for them.

I pick up my brush and begin my daily activity of doing 100 strokes. My hair is one of my best features. It's long and wavy, but not frizzy. (Me, with frizzy hair? Heh. I don't think so.) It's the colour of autumn. Everybody loves my hair.

My eyes…now they are my best features. They are an icy, icy blue. I love staring people down with them, because they never fail to intimidate. Ever. And I don't think they will ever fail, thank you very much. My eyes have this…sharpness in them.

After scrutinizing every bit of myself in the mirror and deeming myself unchanged (no wrinkles, blemishes, and whatnot), I go back into my room, pop in Fellowship of the Ring, and plop down on my bed.

I snort derisively when the gorgeous Arwen appears to save Frodo. "What a part stealer."

I roll my eyes when Legolas shoots an orc right on the forehead. "I can do better that."

I scoff when Galadriel descends down the stairs. "I am soooo prettier than her."

I sneer when Boromir has trouble fighting the orcs. "Come on, it's just a couple of measly orcs. I can crush them without getting scathed."

In general, I think all three movies are good. (If they aren't, I wouldn't bother watching them, would I?) I like the story. And I also like watching the battle scenes and criticizing moves. There are a lot of faults, of course. After all, they're only actors. They're not supposed to know real martial arts.

The books are good as well. Sometimes they have too much detail, but they're still good. And for the love of God, why was Arwen given the part of rescuing Frodo? I cannot believe Glorfindel was left out! Even Asfaloth was given to Arwen!

I can soooo kick Arwen's ass.

I enter my dad's studio earlier than usual the next day. I slip in quietly, which makes all the difference.

Because it doesn't alert Nina of my presence, who is talking about me.

"Can you believe that Breann girl?" she whispers. "She is so arrogant! Her head is so big that she should have trouble walking through a doorway. She struts around as if she owns the place."

"Well, she kind of does," someone whispers back. "Her dad owns this studio."

Well, if it isn't oh-so-lovable Saige. Saige, whose black belt is two degrees below mine. Saige, who is taking up Law. Saige, who is Little Miss Oh-Look-At-Me-I'm-Super-Perfect-I-Look-For-The-Good-In-Everybody-I'm-Never-Angry-Because-I'm-Very-Soft-Hearted-I'm-So-Approachable-Because-I'm-Super-Friendly. Ugh, I hate her. Her and her stupidly silky black hair. Her and her oh-so-gorgeous amber eyes. Yes, that's right. Amber. A-M-B-E-R. Never heard of it? Well, you have now. And yes, it's a very rare eye colour.

And she acts like she's sooooo angelic. Everybody looooves Saige. Everybody looks up to dear old Saige. Have you ever gotten angry at Saige? Of course not. There's no such thing. Because she's so damn sweet.

"We shouldn't be talking about other people like this," she whispers with that adorable voice of hers.

See what I mean? I snort quietly and roll my eyes.

"You're too good sometimes, Saige," Nina replies scathingly. "You can't talk trash about anybody. Well, I can. Breann's a mega bitch. Enough said. She thinks she's so pretty. She always looks at anything that shows her reflection. Hell, I even saw her looking at herself with the back of a spoon once."

I frown. What the hell is wrong with that? I needed to see if my hair was okay.

"Well," Saige says uncomfortably, "she is pretty."

"Not that pretty," Nina retorts. "You're way prettier than her, Saige. Way prettier. She's nothing compared to you."

I clench my fists unconsciously. How DARE she? What is wrong with Nina's damn lunatic brain? I would beat her up if I hadn't sworn to my dad thirteen years ago that I'd only use my skills for self-defense. Ugh! Bee-oooootch.

She's just jealous. She just wants to look like me, that's all. Her and her dull green eyes and oily mud-brown hair. Yes…she's jealous. I'm a perfect ten compared to her.

I step in and announce my presence. Both girls whirl around, looking like deer caught in the headlights. Saige blushes quickly and murmurs a silent hello. Nina just stares at me with those dull green eyes of hers. I raise an eyebrow and gaze sharply at her, with every intention to make her feel inferior.

Which works. She pales slightly and casts her eyes down.

I fling my bag aside violently—both cringe a bit—and make my way to the gym.

I was doing an intense and complicated exercise in the gym when Saige approached me, clearly looking nervous. I ignore her completely and continue doing my exercise pattern.

"Um…Breann?"

Swish swish whoosh swish. Isn't she scared that I'll stab her with one of the knives I'm waving dangerously around?

"Breann? Can I please talk to you for a minute?"

Oh, well, since she said the magic word…yes, note the sarcasm.

"Breann, please. Can we talk?"

Won't this girl take a damn hint?! She seems so set on having a stupid conversation! She obviously won't be going away soon, so I answer her, though grudgingly.

"What?" I say irritably, not stopping the exercise.

"I need to talk to you. Can we go out for some…coffee…maybe?"

I stop my workout and wheel around. "What?" I ask sharply. No, she did not just invite me for coffee as if we are…friends. Just…no.

She shifts nervously from one foot to the other. "Coffee," she says. "Let's go out for coffee."

Okay, she did, apparently.

"Why?" I ask flatly.

"Please," she says, with a beseeching expression in those oh-so-gorgeous amber eyes of hers. "It won't take long."

"Fine," I reply roughly. "Two minutes. That's it."

Her eyes literally brighten up. "All right!" she says giddily. (Is it really possible to have that much happiness in one person? There's so much of it that it's actually depressing. If that makes sense.) "Two minutes will be just fine."

I roll my eyes and brush past her. She follows. We enter the coat room and don our winter coats. (Hers is a long and sophisticated one with fur around the neck. It doesn't surprise me. And the fur is obviously fake. This is Saige we are talking about.) I finish first; I go out and cross the street without waiting for her. After all, she knows the way.

When she entered the coffee shop, I was already seated at one of the black circular tables, with my arms and legs crossed. I nod curtly when she takes the seat across from me.

"Hi," she says with a smile.

I shoot her a steely look and say nothing. Her smile falters a bit, but it stays. Bravo. I mentally applaud her for being unwilling to show that she is frightened. Too few people can do that.

"So…what kind of coffee do you want?" she says, shifting awkwardly.

"I already ordered," I answer listlessly.

"Oh." She shifts again. "Okay. Anyway, I…um…wanted to talk to you about what happened."

I narrow my eyes at her. "What are you talking about?"

"Earlier today, when you overheard Nina and me talking…"

"Forget it," I cut in, looking at her stonily. "I don't care about what people think of me."

"But I want to apologize," she replies. "It was wrong of us to talk about you like that. I'm sorry, Breann."

I lean back and stare at her coolly. She fidgets, but maintains eye contact with me, unlike most people, who would have bowed their head by now. I smirk. "Let me guess," I say sardonically. "You're apologizing to me because you can't bear having this feeling of guilt inside you, knowing that you have done something wrong and could have possibly hurt someone's feelings."

She looks confused by my sour comment. "Well…um…yes…"

I smile dryly. Saige, Saige, Saige. Saige Henderson. Saige the Angel. Always doing the right thing. Can't bear the thought of being one to cause papin.

I lean forward. "Look, Saige," I begin through gritted teeth, "I—"

"Laaadiesssss," interrupts a shrill yet manly voice, "a word with you…?"

Saige and I turn simultaneously. We see a man standing before us, grinning like a total idiot. He is swaying a bit from side to side (what a psycho), and is wearing a grimy brown trench coat with large rips and holes on it. A dirty beard is hiding his thin, tanned face. How revolting! Why was he allowed to enter this clean and sophisticated coffee shop?

Saige is obviously looking at him in a kind way. "Can we help you?" she says with that disgustingly sweet voice of hers.

His grin grows wider, revealing his crooked yellow teeth. "I have something for you both," he says, bowing deeply.

I scowl and pointedly edge away from him. He doesn't notice.

Saige looks at him interestedly. "What is it?"

The man laughs an insane laugh, digs his filthy hand in his filthy pocket, and produces something from it. Smiling toothily, he holds out his closed hand, making me back away even more. I glare at him, which he doesn't notice.

When he opened his hand, I was surprised to find what was inside.

Two silver rings. Two beautiful silver rings. The moment I saw them, they reminded me of that ring Aragorn always wore, except these rings had a diamond-like stone. The resemblance, however, was incredible.

"Wow," Saige says breathlessly. "They're beautiful."

"They're for you two," the man says giddily. I look intently at him, suspicion evident on my face. Is he drunk? Is he high? It does seem like it. Why on earth would he give something so beautiful? Wait a minute…

"They're stolen," I say flatly.

The man starts, then scowls at me. "Nooooope." He shakes his head vigorously. "Nopee nope nope. Not stolen."

"Then where did you get them?"

"From the ground," he replies simply.

I look at him disgustedly. "He's high, Saige," I tell my quiet companion. "He's not making any sense."

"I am making peeeeerfect sense!" he retorts. He stumbles a bit, but regains footing. "I digged this out of the ground! From Europe. Aren't you proud of me?"

Before I could word out my sarcastic reply, a tall man wearing a green apron approaches the table. A stern and disapproving look is on his face. "Sir," he says to our ragged guest, "I'm afraid you're going to have to leave this place. Now."

Our dear old guest scowls. "But I don't wanna leave," he whines.

Tall Man reaches out and grasps him firmly by the arm. "I'll show you out," he says gruffly, and begins to drag our guest outside.

"Nooooo!" he cries. "I don't wanna leeeeaaave!" His eyes look glazed as Tall Man shows him out the door. And when his eyes suddenly meet mine, something flashes in them, and he shouts, "Here, girl! Catch!"

He throws the rings. I catch them out of impulse. The gemstones are very smooth and shiny, and when they are held up in the light, the colours of the rainbow sparkle. They are so…so…mesmerizing.

When I look back up, he is no longer in sight.

"Well," Saige says, breaking the silence, "that was…odd."

"I don't understand why he wants us to have these," I say, looking down at the rings.

Saige leans forward. "They're beautiful," she murmurs, gazing dazedly at them. "They look like Aragorn's ring."

I shoot her a piercing look. "You've seen Lord of the Rings?"

She smiles. "Seen and read."

I raise an eyebrow, then shrug. "Here," I say coldly, "one is for you. Apparently."

She nods and accepts it in a numb state. She plays with it and whispers, "I don't understand why…"

"I know," I cut in impatiently. "It doesn't make sense, but frankly, I don't care any more. Bye." I stand up abruptly and begin to make my way to the exit.

"Breann…wait!"

I turn back around. "As I said before, Saige," I say frostily, "your apology is completely unnecessary. I meant what I said. I don't care about what people think of me."

I shoot her an icy look, then walk away, ignoring the stares people are giving me.

After doing my 100 strokes, I prepare for bed. Since it is laundry day the next day, most of my good clothes are in the hamper. Therefore, I have to settle with wearing the hideous flannel pajamas Aunt Celeste gave me three years ago: bright green with wide orange stripes. Ugh. I think she's colour blind.

I'm still not talking to my dad, and I don't care. He's a jerk, anyway. For all I care, he can go and leave me alone forever. I'd be better off without him.

I go to my bathroom and put on a dark green overnight facial mask. (So what if I obsess over my skin?) Then I go back to my room and put on my very warm purple socks with Tigger on them. It's always cold in my room during the night.

As I am brushing my hair one last time by my vanity table, the silver ring catches my eye. I pick it up and stare at it closely. What makes it so hypnotizing? Is it the glint of the oval gemstone? No…it's not just that. There's something about the ring in general…

I slip it on. The ring fits perfectly on my index finger. I hold up my hand and admire it. It isextremely beautiful, actually. The most beautiful ring I have ever laid my eyes on. And it's so…ancient-looking, which adds more to its wonder.

I slip under my covers, still wearing the ring. For some reason, I don't want to take it off. I feel as if it belongs on my finger. I wonder if Saige feels the same way…?

Saige the Glorious Angel. Dear ol' gorgeous Saige, whose natural beauty, many people say, portrays thevery meaning ofelegance. Saige, who stupid guys stare dreamily at whenever they enter the studio. Saige, who (others say) would have been a perfect representation of an Elf in the Lord of the Rings movies.

I roll my eyes and shake all thoughts of her out of my head.

I fall asleep in no time at all. Because of this, I do not see the gemstone of my ring start to radiate beams of white-gold light…