I hate Morgead Blackthorn, I hate him, I hate him... but I think I'm falling in love with him. The complication? He's my teacher! Add in a jealous ex and a long-hidden family secret, and you've got yourself one difficult life. AH, AU.

I don't own Night World, but I own this story line. And myself (I decided to put myself as a minor recurring character in here).

Chapter 1

"Homework?"

"Done."

Okay. Maybe it wasn't. But in what parallel universe would I need to know about quadratic and linear simultaneous equations? It wasn't as if I couldn't do it, the fact that my IQ was probably higher than Einstein's meant that I caught on quickly. Most lessons were spent staring out of the window. Well, except for English. That was usually spent staring at the teacher.

Morgead Blackthorn. Looked way too young to be a teacher, and was the most gorgeous thing in the world. And I'm not prone to exaggeration. Obviously.

But, of course, every single girl is crazily in love with him. And because I'm not exactly popular, he never really pays that much attention to me. Teachers love the populars. Drives me up the wall. He lets them get away with anything.

And in the English lesson the next day, that was displayed as prominently as ever.

"Get your feet off the table, Jezebel. And stop rocking back on your chair! You'll crack your head open."

I laugh. Might as well have some fun with it. "Oh, well people really would miss me, wouldn't they?" I look around to see most of the populars rocking back on their chairs. "And you're not telling them to stop because no-one would care if they cracked their heads open." I gesture to the rows of plastic, painted people, and they glare at me in unison. I smirk. Stupid sheep.

The girl sitting next to me – Julie or something – snickers. Blackthorn closes his eyes and turns away. "Detention," is the only word he says.

He says that to me more than any other word.

"Can't wait," I muttered sarcastically. He shoots me an annoyed look and I smile innocently. "What were we supposed to do?" I ask the girl next to me. I sneak a glance at her book to check her name. Julia. Ah, so close.

"Umm... something to do with books?"

We exchange a blank glance.

"But I suppose that's a given," she continues. "I'm not sure... Dominika!" she whispers over her shoulder to a girl behind us. "What are we supposed to be doing?"

"You think I pay attention to what he says?"

Julia smirks. "No. I sure as heck don't. And to think that I want to do this damn subject at uni."

We still don't know what we're meant to be doing at the end of the lesson, but oh well. Maths now. Time to bluff my way out of not doing the work.

Luckily (or not luckily, depending on the situation) I am pretty sure that Mr Randall has a slight crush on me. Gross, I know, but it is common knowledge that he's a pervert. It's just that the other teachers don't see it. They never do. I sit in the chair nearest to the door and make sure I smile sweetly at him as he comes in, standing up respectfully (yes, we have to stand up when a teacher comes in. Bloody stupid, it is).

Thankfully it works, and he doesn't give me a detention for not doing the homework. And therefore I don't have two detentions on my first day back after half term.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. I don't exactly have friends at school to make it interesting and every day seems to be the same as the last. It isn't long before I'm opening the door, shouting a quick hello to my parents, and rushing upstairs to my room to get changed for band practice.

My band is my true love. We're not exactly amazing, but interest has been building and we're starting to get gigs every fortnight or so. It had been my dream from a young age to be the girl singer in a boy band, and that actually worked out pretty well. I sing, and sometimes play piano, whilst Val is on drums, Pierce is on bass and Hugh is on guitar.

It was only a few weeks until my parents would buy me a motorbike, so I have to cycle there (which I find really embarrassing. Bikes are either for kids or strange people who put their shopping in the little basket at the front). 'There' being Val's garage. He moved out about a year ago and so we practiced at his. My parents didn't exactly enjoy my music, and Hugh and Pierce don't have a garage.

I don't bother knocking when I get there, just get the key which is hidden under the plant pot and let myself in, shouting, "I'm here!" as I close the door behind me.

I'm greeted by a very excitable 10 year old girl, Hugh's sister Thistle, who jumps up and hugs me, yelling "Jez!" I laugh at her and pick out some leaves from her fine blonde hair.

"Did you go off into the woods again?"

She grins angelically at me. But don't let that fool you. She can be a right little demon when she wants to. "You know I love the woods."

"Climbed a tree, didn't you?"

"Yep. Twenty metres high! I only stopped because Hugh threatened to call mum." She pouts. "That wasn't fair. But come on. The rest of them are already here."

She drags me into the garage, where the rest of my dysfunctional, but loveable band was setting up, including Val's girlfriend, Raven.

"Woo, Jez finally made it!" Val whoops, hitting the cymbal.

I do a little twirl. "Yes, you can stop your crying, for the ruler of this band is finally here!"

"Who keeps the beat?"

"You do. But who would come watch some random dude banging some drums? They come for me," I say.

We have this argument often, which means that the others are already rolling their eyes and moving towards their instruments to tune up. I grin at Val before starting to warm up my voice.

I'd always enjoyed singing, and I definitely wasn't bad at it, though I was no proficient.

The practice went quickly, of course, and before I knew it we were switching off the microphones and amps, and I had to go home. And do homework. Of course.

So instead I took the long route back, which included quite a few sharp descents. This was the only time I enjoyed riding my bike.

Due to the extended route, it was already dark when I pulled up in the driveway and had to wrestle the stupid bike into the shed. I could see the light coming from the living room and sighed. Best not to let my parents see me, so I drop down in a crouch and open the back door silently to enter the kitchen.

"What are you doing?"

I jump before rolling my eyes. Claire. She was here way more than I wanted her to be, and it seemed like the only reason she came over was to pick at my non-existent *cough* faults. I straighten and fix her with a glare.

"No, seriously. Why were you walking like that? You'll hurt your back."

See what I mean? Wrapping up everything in nice words, when she really wants to say something along the lines of, 'You're an idiot! –walk properly!'

"I thought I was going to be alone. What are you doing here anyway?" I say, getting an apple from the fruit bowl.

"Came to see my family."

I make a big show of looking around. "Where are they then?"

"You're family, aren't you?"

Urgh. I turn away, muttering, "Wish we weren't," as I walk towards the stairs. I ignore her sigh and duck down again.

"Jezebel!"

Oh crap. Busted. I stand up swiftly, summon my brightest smile. "Yes, daddy?"

He frowns at me. "Don't 'daddy' me."

"Why not? You are my daddy, aren't you?"

"You didn't call again, Jez."

I drop my head. "It's just that we have a gig coming up."

"And you're putting the band before school."

I widen my eyes at him, which are precisely the same as my mother's and say, "But that's only for now. I'm still on track. I promise! I got full marks in some maths stuff today."

"And how about science?"

I can't help but roll my eyes. Just because he lectures biochemistry at some random university, he thinks I should be some amazing scientist. Really not my kind of thing.

"Jezebel. Science is important!"

I sigh and duck my head again. "I'm keeping on top of it."

"And what about English?" This from mum. She believes I should be some kind of whizz at English just because she happens to be an author.

I give a short laugh. "Not so much. You know Blackthorn hates me. Why don't you ever ask me how my music lessons are going?"

"Because you're a natural, and there's not that much chance that you will make it enough to pay for bills."

I put my hand against my throat and gasp dramatically. "Your underconfidence in me astounds me to the core."

"I don't think 'underconfidence' is a word."

"It is in my world!" I retort childishly before rushing upstairs.

I spend quite a while debating on whether I should do what I want (guitar) or what I should (revision). My obedient streak wins out, finally, and I switch on my computer whilst looking through some harder maths stuff.

Like always, I leave my English homework for last. It's some essay on Of Mice and Men, and I write the bare minimum. It still takes me about an hour, though, and it's way past 11 when I finally can go to bed.

I have actually completely finished this story (in 8 days. It's a record), so I'll be updating every Tuesday without fail to give people a chance to review (twenty weeks! Or twenty-one if I do the epilogue). And DO review, otherwise I'll discontinue it and just keep it for myself.