The first thing I notice when I wake up is the burning. The searing pain on the small of my back that has no relief. Not even when a cool draft of air from the noisy fan above me hits me like a train. I sit up, rubbing the incinerating spot were the scar is.

The burn mark runs a good three inches along my spine, stopping at my hips. It reminds me of that night; the reason why I burn here when there's no fire that can touch me. Screaming, shouting, and utter chaos are all the remains of a fading memory. A memory enhanced by my rather gruesome nightmares. For the past three nights, ever since my fourteenth birthday, they've gotten ten times worse, and a thousand times more realistic.

I rub my head, already feeling the intense migraine that's about to come. I take reluctant glance at my alarm clock. 4:23 A.M. and no turning back. I groan, getting up from the uncomfortable but familiar dorm bed; tossing the grey sheets back on their iron headboard. The bars looking suspiciously close to a prison cell.

This whole school is a glorified prison cell, I think to myself while trudging over to the bathroom. I take one look in the mirror and instantly regret it. My black hair; mangled and frizzy, has been unleashed from its ponytail and runs free. My bright sky blue eyes are swollen and red from exhaustion, and dark black circles under my eyes stick out plain and clear on my fair complexion. I splash some water on my face to see if I can erase some of my limited-sleep symptoms. I brush my teeth and then exit.

Quietly as I can, I open the rundown old dresser and pull out my uniform; the irritating steel-colored wool sweater and calf-length black skirt are overkill even in November, but policy is policy, and unless I want to find another school, I can't break another one.

"Same grey sweater, same grey life," I say to myself, just like every other morning.

I tip-toe quietly to the other two bunks, checking to make sure that they're asleep. The girl my age sits on top, her mud-colored hair turned my way, her rat-like face in the other direction. Her, I don't care about. But the little blonde girl on the bottom is my only reason for not getting myself expelled. I'm her protector, in a way.

Her name is Calpernia Dalton, but I like to call her Callie. Being about twelve years old, she still had the innocence of one many years younger. All because of the fact that I went soft. I took it upon myself seven years ago to protect her from all of the hardships that I had known, or that I would come to know.

I had found her, you see, wandering around by the school's rusty old swing set. No family, no numbers, no information, other than a name that wasn't even valid by the U.S. government. So it was then and there that I decided that this blonde-haired, ever-changing kaleidoscope eyed girl would be my responsibility.

I sit there for a moment, and then brush some hair that fell onto her face away. She's the closest thing I'd ever had to a family. I too, was an unknown orphan. They couldn't find anything on my parents, or where I had lived. I was too young to remember much about them. For all I know, they died in the fire that took my home. Like my scar; the memory is seared into me. No matter how hard I try, I can't forget it. The strange thing is that I can never remember any more of it. I shake my head, trying to think of anything else. I don't want to upset myself before I leave the dorm. I make a path for the door, leaving Callie behind. I almost reach the door hinge when I hear someone clear their throat behind me. I let out a frustrated sigh. My moving around must have woken up one of my roommates, and by the tone of address I am willing to go out on a limb and say it wasn't Callie.

"Where do you think you're going Mules?" says the rat-faced girl.

"For the last time Lori," I reply, "My name is Romulus. Romulus Grace. It's not that hard to remember, but I guess having actual brain cells might help."

"Do you actually think I care? I asked you where you were going," she snaps. I turn around to look at her. Scrawny and shorter than me, she poses no physical threat. I consider picking a fight, but my already looming expulsion hangs in the balance.

"I was going to the library. Thought maybe I'd get to study before Mr. Brunner's Latin exam. Freshen up on my dead languages beforehand."

"That's a lie," Lori says matter- of-factly. "You're a liar Mules. Everyone at Grovewood knows it. You can't read; you have some kind of mental disease which makes you more of an idiot then you already are."

I tighten my jaw. I'm not an idiot. I just don't see things the way everyone else does. Words and numbers switch up on me. I can't control it. Only when Mr. Brunner brings out and writes in the classic Latin alphabet can I really, truly read.

I turn the knob on the door.

"If you walk out of here Mules, you're expelled," taunts Lori. She's right. Students at Grovewood are not permitted to be out between the hours of 8 P.M. and 6 A.M.

I bite my lip, close my eyes, and almost walk out when I hear a soft voice from behind Lori.

"Romulus?" Calls Callie.

Both Lori and I turn around to see the small, wiry frame exit the lower bunk. She walks toward us with slow careful steps. Grabbing onto my arm, she beckons me to the window by the other side of the room. Motioning for Lori to follow, we all crowd around the window, gazing across at the sunrise. Beautiful as it is, with its crimson fire and pale yellow radiance, I could honestly care less. However, I see the point of Callie's action. She was trying to diffuse the tension and give me a chance to slip out, unnoticed by Lori. I take a daring glance at the clock again, this time the numbers reading a friendly 6:03. I look over at Lori and Callie; Lori is transfixed by the rising sun, and Callie looks back and gives me a quick smile and nod as I mouth my thanks. Treading lightly, I finally exit the dreary dorm.

-RG-

Free at last, I bolt out of the old mossy brick building, down the dirt paths and out to the lake where I sit down and just enjoy freedom. Free air, free relaxation and free life. Free, Free, Free. Three words I wish I heard more often. Most always, it's no, no, no, why, why, why, how, how, how. Limitations, restrictions and order. It seems I've always been part of a matched set.

But now, as I sit and gaze upon this hidden treasure on the campus of boredom, I can't help but imagine a world where everything is just so original and unique; every person and thing has a purpose and a new idea… If only I had a place like that. A place where I belong and fit in. A place where there are other people like me. People who want to get out and live, and aren't afraid to be themselves. I can't imagine a place like that truly exists; not with the pain and the sorrow I've been through. I dip my hand in the clear, glassy water of the lake; hoping maybe to wash off some of feelings that leave me raw to this day.

I'm slowly drifting off into that place where nostalgia and nightmares meet when the bell for breakfast rings loud, obnoxious and clear across all four corners of the school. I curse under my breath as I scramble to head for the main building where the mess hall is. Like always, I'm off to a horrible start as I scale the hill just above the lake to see an army of kids, ages ranging from eight to eighteen, disappear into a large stone building covered in vines. 'Suggero Perpetuum' or 'Forever The Providers' reads the inscription carved into the entrance. Absolutely accurate, seeing the only thing truly provided was detentions and punishments. I fast-walk my way into the crowd of silent students as they make their way down the checkered hall. It is a straight but long walk to the Mess Hall, and as we pass I can't help but observe all of the adornments on the walls. Bulletin boards full of assignment lists and 'encouraging' posters are in front of every door. Detention lists are posted on every hall. Trash bins overflow with failed grades and in class drawings. An overwhelming feeling of dismay and brokenness hangs in the lifeless air.

As the large masses of students enter the Mess Hall, a quiet conversation begins to spark. This is really the only place we can sit and talk freely. Doing so in class is met with an office referral and a detention, and not all students have the same free period.

I walk across the room to find a seat by Callie. She, as usual, is sitting with Ansley and Kelli. This would be a great thing, if Ansley and Kelli weren't in the third grade. I take my place by Callie as she braids Kelli's hair.

"I already got your food," says Callie. "I didn't think that you'd get here on time. I figured that you went to the lake."

"I did," I respond, taking a spoonful of bland cereal.

She nods, finishing Kelli's hair and moving on to do Ansley's.

"I can't believe that no one else goes there. It's such a pretty spot," she continues.

I shrug, I don't really have a reply.

"I suppose it's because I go there all the time," I joke. "I like the calmness and the quiet. That's what I enjoy about being alone." At this, Callie frowns.

"You should really broaden your horizon. Hanging around a twelve year old can't be entertaining," Callie says. She stops doing Ansley' braid and turns to face me.

"We need to find you some friends your age," she finishes, a hilariously serious look crossing her face. I smile; this look she is giving me is nothing new.

"Says the girl sitting with a bunch of eight year-olds," I tease.

Callie purses he lips at my humor and goes back to braiding Ansley's hair. "What about Bradley Baumer? I see the way he looks at you. He's practically in love with you."

Just out of curiosity, I look over my shoulder and catch Bradley looking at me from his table. He blushes, and looks down at his shoes. I smile to myself, not used to this kind of attention. I turn my head back to Callie and see her face adorning a pleased smirk.

"He's not my first pick," I say, a flustered expression on my face. Sure, he's not horrible looking; but I just don't want the constant reminder of someone else's emotion. I don't want to get close to people too fast. My walls are strong and high, and no outsiders are allowed in.

"It was just a suggestion," says Callie, putting her hands in the air in defense. "Nonetheless, maybe you should consider him. He might just be a candidate for your date to the Moonlight Dance."

I let out an irritated sigh. The Moonlight Dance is held every year for eighth grade and up. It replaced prom for the older kids, and is just an event for the rest of us. Most girls get really excited because make-up isn't traditionally allowed at school. The dance is the only place where it can be worn without consequence. Public Displays of Affection aren't banned as well, but I honestly could care less. I have much more important things to focus on than a love life.

"To be honest Cal; I wasn't even considering going," I say. "Besides, it's tomorrow. I can't get a dress and all of the other knick-knacks by then."

Callie breathes in deeply out of frustration.

"Fine. I just thought that it might be good for you," she says.

"Relax, Callie. It's just a stupid dance. It's not like an army is going to march right into it and demand supremacy," I tease. She finishes Ansley's hair and reaches into a large patchwork bag. She removes my things, retrieved by her from the dorm, from its depths.

"I think that's just about everything," she informs. I take another glance at the bag. It seems familiar, and I'm curious as to its origins.

"Where did you get that bag?" I ask. Callie looks down at it.

"This? You mean you don't remember?" she inquires, a smile playing on her lips. I shake my head, wracking my brain for possible answers.

Calpernia stashes some of her outlying papers into the miss-matched scraps that form the large sack.

"It was a birthday present," she continues, "From you. You made it in Mr. Bacharach's Home Skills Class."

Taking the corner of the bag between my fingers, I grimace at the memory of that class.

"I remember now," I say, "I can't believe you kept that, after all this time."

She shrugs, collecting the last of her things.

"Well, believe it Rom. I'll see you later; I've got to get to class."

"I should probably shove off too. See you free period; the usual place," I call, watching Callie wave to me as she exits the Mess Hall.

-RG-

Math with Mrs. Dodds is boring as usual. She explains some geometric theory that I refuse to even comprehend. In my boredom, I begin tapping my pencil on the desk, earning me a reprimanding from Lilly Bullins, who sits behind me.

"Would you stop that? Jesus... some of us actually want to learn, freckle-face."

I grit my teeth at the comment. My face doesn't have that many freckles; nonetheless, I'm extremely on edge for the ones that are splashed across my nose. I stop tapping my pencil and decide to survey the room. Lori and her two ugly-as-can-be friends Esther and Madison sit in the very back, giggling and passing notes. Ty and Mandy Cohen sit across from them, their sullen eyes looking like those of a Tim Burton character. Kelli's older brother Ross sits at the front, taking notes frivolously. But of course; my eyes wander and fixate on a face that looked at me every day.

Bradley sits right in front of me, and for a moment I consider what Callie said:

'I see the way he looks at you. He's practically in love.'

I begin to wonder. Feeling lucky; I pull out a sheet of spare paper. I begin writing, but suddenly draw a blank. What do I say?

I try the classic 'damsel in distress' sub-motive as I write.

Hey, do you get this math thing at all? I'm a little short on smarts when it comes to this stuff.

Satisfied, I slip the paper onto his desk. Almost immediately, he sees it and begins to read. Due to nerves, it seems like hours until I finally sense the paper back on my desk.

I agree; this geometry unit isn't the most interesting. Right now Dodds is going over the Pythagorean Theorem. The equation is just A squared + B squared = C squared.

Well, at least I learned something. I can see that this conversation has already hit a dead end. I glance at the clock; fifteen more minutes before free period.

Thanks, I write; simply to close the dialogue. I send it across, already considering dropping the whole 'friends my age' idea.

I can see him writing his reply; no problem. Short, sweet, to the point, and over. Suddenly, I hear his pencil start moving at a rapid pace. Eager to know the words being quickly scribbled down, I attempt to lean my way into seeing his message. At fear of falling, I withdraw from this notion. I get back into normal positioning and wait for him to pass it back to me. Yet another interlude of time passes before he hands it to me. Frantically opening it, I discover a long, rather adorable letter for me.

Romulus, I was wondering if you had a date to the dance. I know it isn't really your thing; I've heard Calpernia Dalton talking to my brother about that. Not that intentionally I watched her… I just so happened to be passing by and was looking for J. C. Anyhow; I just wanted to see if you would want to go with me. I can't really think of another girl who could stand on her own like you can, and just thought that maybe it'd be nice if you could get just one night off. We'd go just as friends, if that'd make you more comfortable. Hang out, have a few laughs; something I think you do more often than the rest of this school of idiots suspects. You're special, Romulus. I hope you know that.

Shocked at first, it takes me a minute to process my current events. A boy just asked me out! This is so uncommon for me; I don't even know what to do. Therefore, I discard the question of what I would do. What would Callie do?

She would probably start screaming aloud in joy. Although I won't do this, I can't help feeling that part of me that says yes, yes, yes! On the other hand, I'm just so unsure and nervous; my mind screams no, no, no! I look at the clock. Seconds until the bell rings. Ten, nine, eight, seven-

My head is reeling. I have to choose now.

Five, four, three, two-

I scramble to get my reply self-confirmed. The bell tolls and he turns to face me.

"So… Have you decided?" he asks.

I close my eyes, and say a word that even shocks myself.

-RG-

I'm practically flying with the speed I'm running. Dodging students left and right, I managed to make my way to the outer fields of the campus. There, as always, I find a rundown playground. None of the little kids come here, what with the shiny new set much closer to their classes. I'm a little winded when I reach my destination; I've never been much of a runner. I collapse on the soft grass; too overwhelmed to walk another step.

"Looks like someone's a little too old to run from class to class," says nearby voice.

I lift my head to see Callie, casually sitting on a rusty old swing-set surrounded by dirt and weeds. She's reading a book; Pride and Prejudice.

"Looks like someone's a little old to be on a playground," I retort.

She sets down her book and proceeds to role her eyes.

"Ever the sarcastic one, Gracie," She says.

I pick myself up off the ground, dusting my uniform. I glide over to sit on the rubber seat of one of the swings.

"So, I took your advice."

"How so, Romulus?"

"I talked to Bradley today," I say.

Callie's eyes go wide in excitement.

"You did?"

"Uh-huh," I reply casually, setting my things down for extra effect. "You'll never guess who just got a date for the Moonlight Dance."

Callie jumps straight up, a look of utmost excitement shining in her smile.

"Yes, that's right; Bradley is taking Lori Fredrickson to the dance," I say, diffusing Callie's excitement. She slumps back down into the rubber seat.

"Thanks a lot, Gracie. You got me all excited for a moment, and then you dropped a bomb out of nowhere. Real classy," she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I thought we both agreed that I was the sarcastic one," I tease. "Anyways, he asked me, I panicked and told him that I had a study session with Mr. Brunner. And the rest is history."

Callie rubs the sides of her face in frustration.

"I thought we agreed that you needed a break from watching over me."

I snort and roll my eyes.

"Oh really, because you're just so independent, aren't you."

"Yeah, actually; I am," spits Callie, "but you wouldn't know that because you always act like I'm a two-year-old."

Now I'm getting angry. She doesn't even know what's out there. She can't possibly understand the sacrifices that I've personally made so that she wouldn't end up an outcast like me.

"Callie, you're being irrational. I didn't like him that way. I'm not going to get his hopes up just to crush him later. But you just had to spin this whole thing into an independence campaign for you."

Now it's Callie's turn to get mad.

"It's not even about that. It's about the fact that you don't think you need anybody. Well, I hate to be the one to break it to you Romulus; but you can't just be alone all of your life. The fact that when someone genuinely cares about you, and you just shut them out is ridiculous."

"That's what's kept you from ending up like me; when I shut out everything that could've hurt you," I yell.

"No. You're wrong," she says, calmly as possible. "What's kept me different from you is my words. My sentences have saved you and me on more than one occasion. So next time you want you play you're little protector card; just know that I own half the credit for you even being here. Face it Grace; I don't need you."

I've had enough. I begin to walk away, determined to get in trouble. Now that Callie doesn't need me; I have legitimately no reason to stay here. I'm about five paces away when I hear a strange whirring sound from behind. I stop in my tracks, just long enough to hear the screech of metal on metal. I pivot quickly and see that the seat on which Callie sat has been cut straight off the chain. I see her lying down, and start to panic. She's already up, though, by the time I get there.

"What the heck was that?" I scream, checking a dazed Callie to see if she got hurt.

"You tell me you don't need me and then try to get yourself killed?"

She' still trying to recover when she points off into the long grass.

"Out of nowhere," she says. "He came out of nowhere. He- He threw that thing and it cut straight through iron."

I look out into the direction she was pointing.

"Stay here, Cal. I've got to see something."

And with that, I start off into the maze of long grass.

-RG-

By the time I find the object that cut through the old swing-set, the bell for the next class to begin had blared five minutes prior.

Sitting about fifty yards out, a large bronze disc was embedded in the ground. Inlaid in it were stunning gems of an orange hue. In the center were the roman numerals LV, in an intersected format and a small, well-crafted line of script; Igne Memoria Tempestatis. I picked it up; it was a bit hot, most likely from the speed it went at. Simply enough, I knew it was a discus, like the ancient Greco-Roman hunting and sport implement. Only this one looked relatively new.

I had to bring this to the one person who could shed some light on it, which would naturally be my Latin teacher; Mr. Brunner.

Having to practically drag Callie down to his classroom was utmost torture, but we got there in a reasonable timeframe. As I predicted, it was just around lunch break. His class was empty, and I had to show him.

I knocked three times on the door, just out of politeness. It was a few seconds before a man in a wheelchair (he being Mr. Brunner) let us enter.

"Miss Grace; it's rather unlike you of all people to pay me a visit in the school day. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Stepping forward I retrieved the discus from Callie's satchel, where I had stowed it, and transferred it into my teacher's hands.

"Where did you get this?" he quietly asks, after a minute of turning the discus over.

"Callie says it was thrown by a man on the outskirts of campus. I saw it with my own eyes; it went straight through iron," I say.

Mr. Brunners head shoots up, looking at Callie.

"A man, you say? Do you know what he looked like?"

Callie shakes her head.

"Truly unfortunate. Nonetheless; it is a very beautiful artifact. It isn't very old though," replies Brunner.

"I have a question- Well, two actually. LV is the Roman numeral for fifty five, right?"

"That would be correct Miss Grace."

"And the inscription Igne Memoria Tempestatis, doesn't that mean 'In Memory of the Fire' in Latin?"

"That would be the correct Translation for that phrase, yes. But I see nowhere on here that there is those words."

I start to freak out a bit. I hadn't imagined those words. They were there. Now my favorite and most trusted teacher is telling me that they've disappeared.

"Miss Grace, I believe that you should report to the counseling office," says Brunner, a concerned look across his face. "Immediately."

-RG-

The counseling office was a place dreaded by all students. Not because every visit went on your permanent record, but because of the counselor. When you enter her office; you're overwhelmed by the sheer sight of happiness. It's like getting out of a dark tunnel and walking straight into the Mojave Desert. Grovewood is such a bleak existence; any drop of happiness is squashed quickly.

The walls were covered with pictures from summer camps, and there were bulletin boards full of Mardi Gras memorabilia. All of the seats were those workout balls that you just can't help but bounce on. But in the very front; the most impressive things of all were displayed in mounted glass cases. All three things were T-shirts, but of the oddest assortment. First was and orange shirt label CHB with that Greek flying horse Pegasus in the front. Next was a purple shirt with a golden laurel wreath containing the word S.P.Q.R in the centromere, which I felt a strange gravitation to. But oddest of all was the third shirt: a tie-dye one labeled ROFL: Rainbow Organic Foods & Lifestyle. I wasn't sure if it was a pun or not, but it certainly wasn't a shirt I would consider wearing.

Just as I was about to explore the photos on the wall; a woman in her early twenties walked in with a smile that would have made a dental model jealous.

"You must be Miss Romulus Grace," she said, her pep and energy far higher than I myself could stand.

"I'm Anji Zhang; the counselor," she said, shaking my hand.

"I figured. This is the counseling office," I say; annoyed already.

She laughs.

"Quite the spitfire! I like that. So tell me whatcha here for."

I briefly explain my endeavors on the campus outskirts, and I begin to sense that Ms. Zhang might not even be an actual counselor when I notice that she's filing her nails. She possesses some exotic beauty to an extent; her curly black ringlets, golden eyes and what appears to be a Chinese-African lineage. I realize that she's off in a strange dream-land when I get fed up with her lack of attention span.

"Look, I really don't want to be here right now. If I could just go to class-" I begin to say.

I'm interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Who is it?" calls Anji, a little bit on edge all of a sudden.

"Headmistress," says the voice. Ms. Zhang freezes.

"Miss Zhang, open this door," commands the headmistress.

"Just a minute!" cries Anji, rushing me into the backroom of her office. She swings aside some bags and boxes, revealing a small door just big enough for someone of my size. She points at it and mouths good luck.

Confused and a bit terrified, I stay where I am contrary to Anji's orders. I hear the door unlock.

"Headmistress McLean! What a pleasant surprise.. I wasn't expecting your inspection until-"

"Where is she?" demands the Headmistress.

"She who?"

"The Grace child. I know she was here."

"Listen McLean; I have no idea where she is right now."

"I don't believe you."

"You don't have to, Piper."

"I didn't charmspeak my way into this wretched school just to get cheated. I came here to finish a job. One I should've completed fourteen years ago."

There's a long pause as I hold my breath and silently as possible open the trapdoor.

"I want you to know that before you do anything relatively stupid that you won't lay a finger on Romulus as long as he is protecting her."

"I'm not concerned about any of you, to be honest. There's an endgame in play, Anji Zhang. One that not even your precious oracle will see coming."

Afraid out of my mind, I drop down the trapdoor and don't even consider looking back. I may not know what the heck is going n right now, but I know one thing.

That woman back there wants me, for what I don't know; but I'm surely not running back to find out.

NEXT WEEK:

THE MANY ADVENTURES OF ROMULUS GRACE: THE CROSSING

CHAPTER II: JOURNEY