Hi there internet. I'm new, and this is my first time, so please be gentle.

Also, I only own the parts I've come up with (obviously), so all the rest goes to nickelodeon or whomever.

Trudy led me into the laundry room. A cot had been pushed up against the wall and the churning clothes gave me some insight into what would be replacing my white-noise machine that night. She really seemed like the nicest lady. All the other schools I'd been to in the past few years had been full of some truly sucktastic people. She left me to settle in. But, a backpack full of books and toiletries doesn't take long to unpack.

Trying not to think too hard over my situation, I slipped down the hall to the bathroom to brush my teeth – it had been a long flight. I pulled my chestnut hair into a ponytail, my bangs sweeping out of my grasp and back across my forehead, and splashed some water on my face, rubbing my blue-green eyes. I was totally going to be fine. Unfortunately, I've always been able to tell when I was lying.

The house was quiet. No one was supposed to be coming back from summer holiday until next week sometime, so I had been early. As it happened, my parents were going on dig in Egypt, and needed to dump me somewhere after I'd been kicked out of my last school. Plus, Mr. Sweets was an old friend of the family, so room had been made.

I was desperate for something with which to amuse myself – and it turned out that old houses have a pretty choice selection of old books. So, I set myself down on one of the shiny, leather couches and got to reading.

It had been, I want to say twenty minutes (but I often loose track of time), when someone passed through the living room into the kitchen. I just kind of spotted a blur in my periphery and decided it was probably Trudy and that she was considerate enough not to interrupt me.

I was wrong.

A blonde boy approached and sat on the couch adjacent to mine. I glanced up to survey the new arrival – he was tall, a little lanky, his face was sort of pinched (not in a way that was particularly unattractive, but it wasn't particularly attractive, either), and his hair was far too poofy. I went back to my book.

The boy surveyed me as well – I could feel his eyes on me (not in a weird way, mind you, but it was just a little distracting). He sipped on his soda every four seconds and once he waited six, but then went back to his four second interval.

I could wait.

It was probably around ten minutes (but again, I'm not the best judge of time), when he finally gave up.

"So," he began, and I think he sounded mildly amused, which bothered me, "new?"

"Nope," I started, turning the page dramatically even though I still had a paragraph left, "I've been here for years. You just haven't noticed me."

"Really?" I guess he was the playful type. "What's my name, then?"

"I certainly hope you don't need me to help you figure that one out. Besides, what makes you think I would've taken notice of you?"

"Oh, I dunno. Perhaps it's my devilish good looks or my winning personality."

I smiled and shook my head, never taking my eyes off the page.

Some moments passed in silence. He seemed to think that we were taking turns commenting and that I had not responded appropriately in my lack of response.

"I'm Jerome," I could tell he was smiling, even without looking at him, and he added, "just, by the way."

"Jules."

"What brings you here, Jules?" I narrowed my eyes picturing him raising his eyebrows in mock interest.

"Taxi."

"That is a solid means of conveyance."

There was another silence and I was just kind of hoping he would go away.

"So, um," his persistence was almost as endearing as it was irritating, "why so early?" Almost.

I sighed. He had been nice, I suppose.

"My parents went on dig in Egypt, and they needed somewhere to put me." I guess he'd earned the truth.

"Ah," he made it sound as if he understood.

I was thus prompted to look up from my book and take my turn in raising an eyebrow in mock interest.

"Bahamas." His answer was concise. I could respect that. "Not so exciting as Egypt, but still pretty great."

Silence again.

"Why the change in schools?" Normal question, I guess, but it still took me a little by surprise.

My eyes narrowed and my lips pursed and I imagine that was not the reaction he was expecting, but I couldn't really help feeling like he'd heard about all my expulsions and had thus prematurely dubbed me the trouble-making ne'er-do-well.

"Ooh, sor-ry," he said, raising his palms to face me as if the underside of hands is naturally what clams people down, "Touchy." His eyes were wide and he was biting down a smile, which, and I hate to admit this, made me smile back a little – just a little.

"Am not." I laughed a bit at myself, "I just thought you were asking because you'd already heard and judged me."
"No, I haven't," then he added with a little more excitement, "but I totally will. What'd you do?"

I bit my lip in fake innocence. "I might have replaced my fat-ass teacher's podium with a look-alike made of wrapping paper and plastic straws, which collapsed as soon as he leaned on it." I couldn't really look at him as I said this. I series of like-spirited pranks had gotten me out of a number of schools, even though they were totally harmless, except when the one broke his arm.

He looked a little shocked, and then he was laughing. Positive reaction. I took a deep breath and allowed myself to laugh with him. I guess he looked kind of nice when he was laughing.

"That's brilliant," he remarked through convulsions.

"It wouldn't've gotten me thrown out if it hadn't been for my melting his car tires with acid from the chem-lab. Oh, he was so awful, though. All he did was talk about his students who had gone on to do great things while he hung around high-schools because molding minds was 'what he loved to do'. But, that's not really all he loved to do, if you know what I mean." This broke Jerome out of his laughter and he seemed to be exhibiting signs of legitimate concern.

"Did," he began, but I cut him off.

"No, no," I smiled. It was weird feeling like he was actually interested. "A friend. Nothing happened, really. He is a fat-ass, and she was able to run away."

It was silent again after that, but not the same kind of silent – not quite so comfortable.

"Anyway," I began hastily, trying to shove the silence out, "my parents are friends with Sweetie, so I live here now."

"Well, with schemes like that, you should get on fine."