A/N: Hey, hey, hey! This is My Forgotten Dream, with something new for the Heartland section. Ever head of a joint story? Well, ilovetk and I decided to create our own. So here's how it works. I will be working on Ty's POV while ilovetk will be working on Amy's. We have no clue what either of us are writing. When the chapters are posted, we must go off of the former chapter to write one of our own. The fun thing about it is, we've both got completely different writing styles, character personalities, and ideas of how we want this story to go. Now, ilovetk, show me what you've got!

It's Always 'To Be Continued'

Summary: Young Amy Fleming is new to Jefferson. She knows no one but her grandfather and the horses on their horse farm, Heartland. Ty Baldwin, on the other had, knows practically everyone in the small horse town - but, do any of them know him? He's the outcast among the outcasts and there's always room for change. When assumptions are made and danger strikes, will they make it through Ty's senior year with both their heads? Slightly AU/OOC. Joint story between My Forgotten Dream and ilovetk.

Chapter One

I Hate These Socks

Ty Baldwin's POV:

I stared blankly across the room. I had zoned out a few minutes ago. The teacher had been blabbing on and on about the physics involved in the levitation of a magnet over a high-temperature superconductor. To me, that was easier than typical seventh grade algebra. The simplicity of it did little to boggle my mind.

My eyelids drooped slightly as I gazed into space. I'm positive my eyes had glazed over as my mind wandered over an array of thoughts. The first one that came to mind was a question I seemed to ask myself quite often.

Why am I here? The answer you ask? Ha. I still hadn't figured that out yet. The people surrounding me… most of them thought the same thing from time to time when it came to the hell most people liked to call high school. But, when they asked themselves that question, they had logical alternatives. I, on the other had, had none.

I was, what you call, a leper. I was usually avoided, ignored, and stared at like my cranium had tripled in size and split down the center to reveal a tiny mythical unicorn of some sort.

I don't know why. It obviously wasn't my inexistent charm or good looks. My wavy, deep brown hair wasn't something marveled at, nor were my large, green eyes. My strong jaw line and high cheekbones weren't as amazing as the ones you found on the jocks running around with their fingers stuffed where the sun don't shine. My typical every-day attire didn't make me look any better, either. My tin rimmed glasses, khaki pants, button down shirt, and bright green high top converse didn't draw me much attention.

Speaking of my bright green converse, I had realized my eyes were now drawn to my large sneakers. The white rubber side wall was dirtied and worn from use. I had been labeled 'fag' for wearing them, but I couldn't care less. They are men's shoes, but simply because they're neon green and they look like limes, they are for gay guys.

If I weren't already completely out of it, I would have snorted and scuffed me shoe along the ground before my cramped desk.

"Mr. Baldwin?" My head snapped up from where my forehead rested upon the heel of my hand to look towards the voice that called my name. I realized quite suddenly that I had been scratching stick-figure fight scenes all over my notebook for nearly an hour now.

Ms. Achers was standing before my desk, her tiny anorexic frame hunched over my lab desk, looking down at my beautiful art work. I started at her, not giving a damn about my glasses that slipped over my nostrils after being disheveled by my sudden, jerky movements.

"Yes, ma'am?" I asked. My deep voice rumbled quietly past my slightly parted lips as I continued to stare at her. I had a way of making a fool of myself in front of the class and most of the student population.

Ms. Achers still looked over my carelessly drawn pictures a displeased frown forming on her lips. One had formed on my own mere second before as I took in the awkward position. I was slumped over my notebook still, my long arms planted on either side of the young, redhead teacher. Too make it all the worse, she stood between my outstretched legs that nearly doubled the length of the suddenly very short desk.

I swallowed past the lump that had grown within my threat and straitened up so our heads were no longer nearly touching. My fingers pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose as I cleared my throat.

The too-young-to-look-like-a-teacher female returned to her full height as she looked at me with her eyebrow raised. "Well, Ty, would you mind staying after class to teach me how to draw such beautiful stick figures?"

I blinked and slowly nodded my head. It wasn't as if I had much of anything better to do. Not that being yelled at by someone who I could easily toss a good ten yards was any better than wasting the rest of my senior year hiding in the library.

I lifted my gaze from the small woman and glanced around the room. Most of the class was mentally drawing me a dunce hat and laughing. Most of them knew nothing about me and what I did in my spare time. One a few knew anything about me. Then again, all they remember is little, odd-ball Ty from elementary school.

Junior high and brought upon a feeling of lonesomeness, which I soon embraced. I had always been quiet, but it had developed into a new extreme by the time I reached the eighth grade. I enjoyed the silence and solitude of the quiet, nearly vacant library.

It didn't take long for the gossip among those of a new school to start. People found it odd that I rarely participated, yet got some of the highest grades. They also found some dirty things to say about me about two weeks in to my freshman year. I realized one day when I found an upside down triangle and male reproduction organs drawn across my locker in sharpie, that one of the many theories they had was homosexuality…

After spending several lunches scrubbing my locker clean, I had picked up on another set of newly formulated stories. My favorite one had to have been the one that said I came from California after I had raped several girls. Fortunately, I knew that it wasn't true. Unfortunately, I couldn't talk to most of the believers without being screamed at, kicked, or slapped.

The shrill ring of the bell made me look up at the clock hanging on the wall. The alarm was merely the signal that nutrition had started. I had twenty minutes before I had to slink off to my creative writing class.

As the other students flooded from the class room, I received a few hard smacks upon my back as others muttered 'stupid', 'looser', 'crack head', and such.

I looked towards Ms. Achers who move towards the door of the adjoining office. She waved me over before disappearing into the small room. I sighed and hefted my backpack from the ground. The backs of my legs forced the stool back as I stood up to my full height. Six foot two was pretty impressive compared to a good majority of the tiny freshmen that had begun last semester.

I shuffled over to the office that had become oddly familiar over the past few months. I had spent near hours locked up in the room, trying to weasel my way out of explaining why I'm so anti-social, why I can't get along with anyone in class, or why I lack the ability to pay attention.

I doubt Ms. Achers enjoyed this constant questioning any more than I did. After refusing repeatedly to consult one of the school's counselors, she had taken it into her own hands.

"So, Ty, why were you ignoring the lesson today?" My expressive eyes became hooded as the lids sagged slightly. I collapsed onto the small love seat stuffed into the corner of the cramped room, glancing at her. She stood behind her desk with a cup of coffee, and from the looks of it, that had been sitting there all morning.

I shrugged my broad shoulders as I settled into the all too small piece of furniture. "I'm just tired." I answered. I was horrible at lying and she already knew that. The way my eyes flickered when I lied often gave me away, not that I minded.

I looked up at the wall, staring back at the angry chimp wearing glasses and wielding a ruler. The furry creature glared at me with an unexplained fervor. My eyes were too lazy to focus upon the script on the poster.

Ms. Achers cleared her throat from somewhere beside me. I turned my head so my eyes could meet hers. She was turned away from me, shuffling through the papers on her large maple-wood desk. "Well, Mr. Baldwin, seeing that you're lacking enthusiasm today," She turned around and held out a school schedule chart. I looked at her questioningly as I pinched the corner of the paper between my fingers and slipped it from her hand. "why not put on some school spirit and show a new student around. Her name's Amy Fleming. Sure, she's a lower class man, but would it kill you to actually make a friend for once?"

My free hand pushed my glasses up to the top of my head as I read the paper. "Yes, yes it would," I mumbled absently as I read over the paper. Ms. Acher's words rung in my head as I looked over the schedule. We share creative writing.

I looked up from the paper at the teacher standing before me. "She's a tenth grader. She has classes on the opposite side of the school. How am I supposed to make that trip?" My questioning tone was flat, though that's usually how I spoke. It often sounded odd hearing my own voice speak so many sentences in one sitting.

"That's up to you, Mister Baldwin. Don't ruin the first day back for both you and Miss Fleming." Ms. Achers spun on her heel and moved through the door way. "C'mon, Mister Baldwin! Amy mustn't be late to her next class!"

I sighed and pushed myself up from the old couch. I pulled my heavy-weight winter coat up from the back of the couch. My grey field jacket slipped over my broad shoulders as I shrugged it on. The winter snow fall had picked up the night before, leaving me dressed in layers of clothing. My brother had forced me to put of knee high socks before I left the house. I never knew someone so careless and irresponsible can actually care enough to force me to put on thick, wooly argyle socks. Ugh, I hate these socks.

He acted more like my mother than my actual mother had. I had slung one strap of my backpack over my shoulder as I had left the miniature office, leaving my fingers to work on the zipper and buttons.

I stopped dead in my tracks as I laid my eyes upon Miss Fleming. Dear Lord… I blinked my eyes several times as I let my bright eyes drink her in. I dug furiously for my composure behind the practically impenetrable mask that had become my expression many years ago. Beautiful.

A/N My Forgotten Dream: Whoa! Three and a half pages! Cool. XP Any who, like it, love it, hate it? Tell me. I know it's not much, but I wrote this while blabbing away with Ms. Ilovetk. Blame it on her friend, James.