Chapter II

Jasmine was placing her books in her locker when she felt it. Someone was watching her. She glanced around, dark brows angled in curious offense, eyes immediately meeting deep chocolate brown.

A boy was leaning against the locker beside her, arms casually crossed over his stomach, an annoying smirk on his face. His hair was black as midnight, thick and wavy, his skin dark caramel, smooth and unflawed. He was dressed in a ratty-looking dark purple t-shirt, his jeans a faded white. "Hey."

She frowned. "Can I help you?"

He held out his hand. "Just thought I'd finally introduce myself. I'm Aladdin."

Jasmine did not miss the 'finally'. Looking at his hand, she turned away. "I'm not interested."

"Ouch." He laughed, the sound giving her pause, making her turn to look back. He was grinning, pretending to flinch against her verbal slap.

Deciding to continue ignoring him, Jasmine made her way towards the school exit, digging inside her purse for her car keys. She stopped when she had difficulty locating them.

"Looking for these?"

Her keys jingled beside her ear, dangling from a slender finger. She whipped around to grab them, but Aladdin had already withdrawn, holding them in his fist. He was smiling, a little less arrogant, the expression complimenting a face Jasmine belatedly realized was quite attractive. And annoying.

"Give those back. Now." She demanded, holding out her hand expectantly.

Aladdin swung her keys around his finger, spinning them and watching them with passive interest. "And what will you give me in return?"

Her hand found purchase on her hip. "Nothing. You stole from me. What makes you think you deserve a reward?"

"Then let's not call it a reward," he suggested, catching her keys and leveling her with a business-like stare, smile still firmly in place, "Let's call it a trade. I'll give you your keys if you give me your number."

Jasmine's eyes narrowed. "No."

Aladdin shrugged, pocketing her keys and making as if to walk away. "Have fun walking home then." He began to whistle, his stride casual and lazy as he traveled along the emptying hallway. He managed to reach the fountains when Jasmine caved.

"Fine." Ripping a piece of paper from her notebook, she scribbled down seven numbers before crumpling the paper into a ball and tossing it at him. It bounced on the polished tile before he picked it up with eager fingers, immediately handing over her keys as promised.

"Don't be so happy. Just because you have my number doesn't mean I'll answer. Enjoy being ignored."

She could be wrong, but he looked impressed beneath the amusement.

His smile was genuine as he waved her goodbye, hers secretive as she turned away.

Aladdin wasn't the only thing Jasmine planned on ignoring. Her stuttering heartbeat was second.

When it was only practice, Ariel liked to swim with her hair free, even if it meant slowing her speed a few seconds. She enjoyed the rush of water against her scalp, cool and refreshing, the way her locks floated about her face beneath the water, dancing and curling about her shoulders, deep red contrasting brilliantly against aquamarine blue.

But most of all she liked the way Eric looked at her when her ruby tresses were plastered to her damp skin as she rose out of the water. The way she caught him staring as she wrung her hair out. The way his face tensed and his cheeks darkened when he noticed she saw him looking.

And it was because she knew he'd be looking, because he was always looking, that Ariel decided to wear her favorite swimsuit to practice today and not the team-issued uniform swimsuit.

The other girls glanced over jealously, some disapprovingly, as Ariel slipped on her metallic green bikini bottoms and purple top. Bikinis were strictly prohibited for swim practice, and especially at school. Exposing so much skin could potentially get her placed in detention.

But if Eric was the one monitoring it, maybe it wouldn't be so horrible…

She exited the locker room alone, her step casual, demeanor unassuming as if she were entirely unaware that she was breaking a few school rules.

"Come here, Ariel."

She smiled.

Eric was seated on a bench beside the pool, his eyes on the water as she approached. Her feet made light tapping sounds on the wet ground, her hands behind her back when she stopped before him.

His eyes remained elsewhere as he spoke. "Where's your uniform?"

"I forgot it at home," she lied. "I'm sorry, Eric."

The casual use of his name had him raising his head to look at her, disapproval tightening his mouth, something else darkening his gaze as he tried not to see the flat plane of her bared stomach or the soft swell of her breasts. "You know you can't talk to me like that, Ariel."

She frowned unhappily as she always did when he felt he needed to remind her that they were from two entirely different worlds and that her feelings for him did not change the fact that they could never be together. He was her professor. She was his student. That's all they would ever be. He just didn't know why he sometimes had difficulty accepting it.

Guilt had him glancing at the clipboard in his hands, just for something to do. "Go change."

"I don't have anything else."

"Then you won't be joining us today."

"But Eric, I—"

"Ariel."

Her mouth snapped closed, thin brows closing in as her eyes threatened moisture. She hated, more than anything, to be spoken to like a child. It just made her feel that much further from him.

Eric struggled to keep his gaze from being imploring, from pleading, knowing he needed to be authoritative and to ask would make this personal. It shouldn't be personal. He didn't know why it was personal. But he knew he didn't enjoy making her upset, didn't like seeing her as anything other than happy.

The appearance of another voice had them realizing they had an audience. "I have another swimsuit if you'd like to borrow it, Ariel."

Ariel turned away from Eric, her hair swiping the small of her back, capturing his attention as it swung and curled against her creamy skin. The curve of her waist was poorly hidden behind the veil of red, her legs seemingly longer and shapelier in the tiny metallic bottoms.

Heat blossomed in his lower stomach, warmed his thighs, his face.

Aggravated, he lifted a silver whistle to his lips, appreciating the coolness, and signaled the start of practice and another grueling hour of pretending not to stare at a girl he'd never be allowed to touch.

"I hate him, papa!" Belle cried over her cup of warm tea, twisting around in the kitchen chair to look at her father who was currently bent over his worktable. "You should've heard how he spoke to me!"

Maurice resituated the spectacles sitting on his nose, grinning beneath a bushy white mustache. "He can't be worse than Gaston, can he?"

Belle sighed, exasperated. "I don't know." Her ocher eyes traveled to the ceiling, the warm wood paneling eerily similar in color to a certain someone's hair. "Maybe. I'm not sure yet."

"Well, if you're not sure, then certainly you don't know him well enough to decide you hate him, do you? Remember, Belle, don't—"

"—judge a book by it's cover," she finished. Her father was right, of course. It was unfair of her to decide so early that she disliked Adam. It was just…"He's so mean, though. And angry."

Maurice chuckled. "Maybe he simply doesn't enjoy reading."

Belle smiled. "Then he really is a horrible person."

The doorbell chimed, the sound swelling and echoing throughout the tiny home.

Belle was up before her father had the opportunity to look over. "I'll get it."

She didn't recognize the two men on her doorstep. One was tall and extremely thin, his nose long, expression haughty, but not in an annoying way. The other was comedically shorter and fat, his moustache thin and groomed.

"May I help you?"

"Is this the residence of Miss Belle?" Asked the shorter one.

"Yes," she answered, unsurely. "What's this about?"

The skinny one pulled a white envelope from the lapel of his brown vest, offering it to her. "Our master requests your presence at his home this Friday evening at half-past-six. You will accompany him for dinner."

"Master?" Belle repeated, slightly stunned as she pulled out a finely printed letter with nothing but an address. Her eyes rose back to the two men. "Dinner? Who?"

"Why, Master Adam, of course," the fat one clarified unpleasantly.

They both bowed before stepping away towards a sleek looking vehicle parked at the end of the walkway. It wasn't until she'd returned to the kitchen, had made herself a fresh cup of tea and had regained her seat at the table that she found her voice.

She looked over at her father. "He might also be crazy, papa."