Chapter 2

"Kikyo! Hurry Up! You'll be late for the photo shoot!" called an impatient woman, tapping her heeled foot on the polished hard-wood floors and glancing at her watch.

"Alright! I'll be down in a moment!" The woman waiting at the bottom of the stairs sighed, annoyed at the attitude this girl inflicted upon her every day. She regretted ever accepting the job of agent for this girl.

She listened to the footsteps of the girl as she scrambled to gather her things—though why she needed to take her time in getting ready for a photo shoot where they do up your hair and make-up was a complete mystery to the agent.

Then, five long minutes later, the beautifully wicked girl came flowing down the stairs, her long hair falling around her in soft curls.

"You're going to have to explain this to the designer. He won't be happy with you."

"Oh, this is my fault, is it?"

The agent raised an eyebrow at the girl—Kikyo—and then she realized what she was implying. "This is in no way at all my fault. I refuse to take the blame yet again for your lack of punctuality."

"Oh, come on, now. Who said anything about that?" The girl smiled her devilish smile that was often plastered to her flawless face.

"Well, we're already late enough, so let's get a move on! Come on, go!" The agent shooed the girl out her front door and turned to lock it, huffing and blowing a stray lock of her bangs out of her eye.

When she turned back around, Kikyo was still standing on the porch, combing her fingers through her hair. "What are you standing there for? Get in the car!"

The agent continued to push the girl to the sleek black car that awaited them at the end of the walk.

"Stop pushing me. I can walk on my own."

The agent let her arm fall to her side, shifting her purse back up to her shoulder.

She climbed into the backseat of the car next to Kikyo, and prepared for her undoubtedly melodramatic reaction to her latest news.

"Kikyo, I've talked to the agency and we've come to an agreement on your schooling."

"What about my schooling?"

"You will no longer be tutored."

"What? Why not?"

"We thought that it would be better if you were able to interact with others that are your age. Though your tutor was relatively close…"

"Yes, and he's doing an excellent job in teaching me."

"I'm failing to see how improving your flirting skills can cause you to learn any important life skills."

The girl opened her mouth but closed it again, rethinking. "What private school will I go to then?"

"Not private, public. You'll be going to Takahashi High School."

"What? I'm going to a public school? But why? There's…gangs and violence and…it's unsanitary!"

"What makes you better than all the rest of the non-gang students that go there? For your information, Miss High and Mighty, we checked to make sure it didn't have a huge record for gangs and violence! In fact, it was the lowest in the Tokyo school district. You don't even have to move."

"But they're all so…weird."

"Who's 'they'?"

"The people. They're so…ordinary."

"They're just as ordinary as you, but they didn't want to be a model. That's all that separates them from you. And that's no way to make friends."

The girl sighed and looked out the window. She was about to do a photo shoot advertising the new fashion line of Yamamoto Yohji, a popular designer in Japan. She would get to choose one or two outfits to keep if she did well on the shoot.

I don't want to go to a public school, she thought. But maybe I can…improve their style a bit, at least…

--

"Kagome Higurashi…," read off a bored teacher.

"Here!" she huffed as she barely made it to her homeroom.

"Sango Mazuka…"

"Here," said the girl seated next to Kagome, her best friend.

"Inuyasha Taisho…"

"Here." Some of the girls looked over at him, but it wasn't a surprise to him. He was, after all, one of the hottest, most popular guys in the school and most girls had massive crushes on him…even if he had already broken their hearts.

The teacher finished reading off her list and waited for the speaker to start spurting off the morning announcements.

The student's voice came over the speaker, annoyingly cheerful. "Good morning Takahashi Panthers, here are your morning announcements! The football team will not have another practice until someone fesses up to throwing the mascot into the fountain. Sorry guys. Lunch today will be pizza with garden salad or bag lunch. We will be having a local 'celebrity' joining our school next week, if you can call her that. Miss Kikyo Miko will join our graduating class this year…"

The kid finished the announcements and everyone was talking about the model who would soon be in their midst. Inuyasha had leaned back in his chair, contemplating this new challenge. He always felt it necessary—though it usually wasn't—to 'welcome' any new students of the female persuasion, that is, if they were to his superficial standards, which Kikyo Miko most certainly was.

"Can you believe that, Kagome? A model? Why doesn't she just go off to some hoity-toity private school, where she belongs?" Sango whispered, leaning in her seat to make sure Kagome heard her.

Kagome just nodded, not wanting to say anything, and also not caring at all whether she went to school with a model or not. Just another annoying preppy, popular girl to treat her like dirt or not even know she existed. Yippee.

The teacher started her class and gave a long, boring lecture about the properties of some bizarrely-named scientific chemical used for something that no one cared about, blah, blah, blah.

Kagome took notes, as she always did. She wanted to keep up her grades, and she knew the pattern of this teacher almost instantly. Long boring speech followed by open-note pop quiz the next day, which—big surprise!—no one took notes on. Except for Kagome, of course.

And, being the great friend that she is, she made a copy for Sango, who rarely paid attention in class due to her constant flirting and playing-hard-to-get with Miroku Karasuma, who sat in front of Kagome, diagonal to Sango. This meant that Kagome had to suffer through every compliment, friendly insult, and giggle of their conversations.

As Kagome jotted down the note that told what the chemical could do to the human body—not many good or beneficial things—she noticed Inuyasha staring at her, a rare expression on his face: deep in thought. She looked at him and his stupid, cocky smirk crept across his face, which made Kagome want to slap him.

"What?" she mouthed.

He just shook his head and redirected his attention on a gum-snapping blond across the room. When she looked up to meet his gaze, he winked at her and she smiled and giggled a little. Pig-headed moron.

When the bell finally rang, she closed her notebook in one twisting movement of her wrist—a habit she had developed from long classes of note-taking—and caught up with Sango outside the class.

"Why don't you just go out with him? It would relieve everybody of the annoying giggles."

"Go out with whom? Miroku?"

"Yes, Miroku! Who else would I be talking about?"

"I don't know. What was with Inuyasha Taisho staring at you?"

"How should I know? Probably just plotting some prank that's bound to embarrass me, the nerdy girl who actually listens to teachers."

"I doubt that. I've never seen him look like he was concentrating so hard. Hope he didn't get a brain cramp from all his extra thinking," Sango giggled. It was true; Inuyasha wasn't exactly known for his brains. More for his position on the football team: quarterback.

Kagome left Sango and made her way to her locker, which she'd rather not go to, but had to. She quickly exchanged some books for new ones and headed down the hall.

At her next class, she was free of any annoying distractions or cocky jocks. Ah, art class. An old and wonderful friend to her over the years.

She took her seat at the large, wide table that she had all to herself—every student got their own table to work at, due to the size of some projects.

"Good morning class," said the strange but brilliant man they called an art teacher. The class echoed a "Good morning, Mr. Jakotsu," and began their tedious work on each of their own projects. The first project of the year for the whole class was to create something that represented themselves, but with the material or materials they had the most trouble with, whether it was the wheel for clay sculpting or shading with the charcoal.

Kagome had decided to do a project about the sacred tree at her shrine home, called Goshinboku. Her least favorite material to use was pencil, but that wasn't what she was least skilled in using.

Her weakness was clay, and she wasn't enjoying a minute of the giant sculpture she would have to make—yet. She planned on making it with the cherry blossoms on it, so she would get to use the tissue paper, too. She still wasn't quite sure how she would do the leaves, but she'd think of something.

As she dove into a large chunk of clay, shaping and molding, she stopped and examined her work, trying to remember every nook and cranny that tree had. She knew it well; it was her favorite place to go, no matter what the circumstances.

"Ah, Kagome! How's your project coming along?" asked Mr. Jakotsu.

"Fine…I think." She tilted her head, thinking hard to remember the exact curvature of the trunk. She had very close, but something wasn't quite right…

"You think?"

"Yes. I'm not quite sure if I'll be able to make this as exact…"

"Oh, it doesn't have to be exact. Make this…what is it?"

"The sacred tree at my home."

"Right, make this tree how you see it, not how everyone sees it. Anyone can look at this tree and see a tree, but you see something more, correct?"

"Yes…it's my…I don't know how to describe it, but it's my favorite place to be."

"It's your…sanctuary."

"Yeah, you could say that."

"Well, make it look how you see it through your eyes; warm, inviting…you know what I mean?"

"Sort of…yes. I'll try."

"Don't worry, you'll get it."

"Thank you."

Kagome went back to work, refiguring the trunk to how she always liked to imagine it: one nook deeper than the rest where she could bury herself and forget about the world.

After the rest of her classes that morning, she made her way to lunch, stepping into the sack lunch line; she wasn't a big fan of pizza. She got a turkey sub and grabbed a two-percent milk. As she turned, she nearly collided with someone, dropping her milk carton. She went to pick it up, but someone—the victim to her klutziness—already had it in his hand, holding it out to her.

"Oh, thank you…," said Kagome, finally looking up at the person. She could feel her skin turning several shades of red, each deeper than the last. The 'victim' was Inuyasha Taisho.

"You okay?" he asked, as if it were perfectly normal to talk to her.

"Yes…I'm fine." She tried to walk away, but he grabbed her shoulder before she had a chance. "What?"

"I want to talk to you. Kagome…right?"

"Yes."

"You know…you look a lot like the new girl who'll be coming here soon."

"Kikyo Miko? A super model? Do you need your eyes checked?"

He laughed, and everybody turned their heads and saw that they were actually talking. Kagome's current shade deepened even further. "No, not at all; twenty-twenty vision, actually."

"Oh, um…congratulations." Kagome wanted desperately to go and hide somewhere…anything to get away from him.

"But really, you do. Think about it; she has the same color hair, eyes and skin. You're practically twins!"

"Sharing some characteristics doesn't classify us as twins. Would you please get to the point?"

"The point…right. I was thinking—"

"Yo, Inuyasha! Get your ass over here!" called one of the buff, football playing lunk-heads that Inuyasha called friends.

"I'll talk to later." With that, he turned on his heel and walked over to the designated 'jocks' table, leaving a shocked Kagome to stand and almost get squashed by another one of his buddies.

She shook her head—as if to clear her head and forget this ever happened—and made her way to her usual table…designated…'in between people who don't fit in anywhere else so they make friends with each other.'

The name could use some work…, thought Kagome.

She ate her lunch, trying to dodge all—if any—of Sango's curious questions about the little 'incident' that happened moments ago.

Did she really look like Kikyo Miko, a beautiful model…?

No way…silly of me to even consider it as a possibility.

A/N: Wow…I didn't realize how easy this would come to me as I wrote it. Yamamoto Yohji is a real Japanese designer, look it up (that's what I did). Please review, they are greatly appreciated! TTFN!