A/N: I love this chapter. It was so much fun to write. Always wondered how Gohan really experienced his first day at school. I remember well that I went to a new school, new class, with new people. Didn't know anyone. It was a bad, bad day, but later it was alright. Once I managed to fit in. Been in the same class for six years now and I'm kind of tired of all the same faces. Oh well... In the end you look back on it and smile, or so they say. Moving on to the story now..

WARNING: NO HAPPY ENDING (for those who missed the first warning)

Disclaimer: I own nothing, and definitely not Shakespeare's sonnet #130

Note: Two chapters in one time! Isn't she generous?

Chapter two

Sonnet #130

Her number was up the first time I laid eyes on her. I remember it well. It was the first day of high school. My first time at high school. I had been home schooled all my life and when I was seventeen my mother decided that a social life would come in handy if I wanted to pursue a carrier everyone dreams of. You know, people need to have a network if they want to place themselves in the high society of academics. And high school offered to perfect opportunity to meet new people so strategically it was the right move. Unfortunately, in order to have a social life one must also have social skills and I was seriously incompetent at that department. Therefore I had been dreading the first day of high school all month and when the moment was there my anxiety was only fed by all the flocks of boys and girls that crowded Orange Star High. I wasn't used to life of high school; to the packs of teenagers that travelled through the halls, to the 'chaps' and 'galls' that stuck together like bees to honey, to the incredible noise they collectively produced, to the numerous sub-cultures each individual group represented. It was a culture shock and I was completely at loss.

Needless to say, it was a total disaster. I immediately noticed that I didn't belong, that I was an outsider, not only because my country boy manners, which required me to be polite, respectful and responsible, were absolutely different – if not the opposite from - the manners that reigned in school, but also because I just physically did not find my place in any group. I didn't look like any of them. My clothes were, as I later learned, old-fashioned, my skin was pale, as opposed to the various shades of tan the other students possessed, my hair was tousled and a total mess according to most and I simply did not care about my appearance. That would have been a good thing, wasn't it for that fact that this was high school and appearance meant everything there. As a consequence of our differences, no one was willing to open up to me. Perhaps they would have if I was bold enough to just made room for myself, but because my social skills were so poor I never really succeeded in earning my place anywhere.

My first day was lonely. I was the object of many gawks and gossips, but no one approached me. There was one girl who was nice to me. Erasa was her name. She started a conversation with me, which I thought was extremely kind of her, even though you could call her a bit dim-witted as she clearly was last in line when Mother Nature was handing out intelligence. But the moment she saw better company she knew whom to pick. And I was her second choice. So, with no one bothering to talk to me and make my life less dreadful, the day dragged on until the last hour. Literature class. It was then that I saw her.

She was sitting next to the window, alone, doodling idly on her notebook. She didn't bother to talk to anyone else and if someone talked to her, she quickly cut it off. As if she didn't like the attention. The sun was reflected on her chalky pale skin and midnight black hair that was tied in two pigtails. Her features were small and delicate. Her clothes were simple, her whole appearance was simple. She didn't have that outstanding beauty some women have, that cliché, boring one, but rather that silent beauty. Silent, pale beauty. Unseen for those who didn't pay attention to it or who didn't appreciate it. But I did. I saw right away that she was unique and that made her more beautiful than any woman I had ever seen in my life. She had me before she even looked at me.

Weeks went by. I started to hate school. Not for its classes but for the people. There was only one light bulb and that was her, the moment I saw her in my last period and the only class we shared. Videl Satan was her name, as I soon learned, and her father was the famous Hercule Satan who claimed to have defeated Cell. You'd expect that she was popular in school, with many friends and many wannabe-friends – what else can you expect from someone after whose surname the city was named – but she had remarkably little contact with the rest of the students. She chose for that though, she chose to seclude herself from everyone else. She only had a two real friends, Erasa, who was kind enough to talk to me every once in a while, and Sharpener, some popular jock, and I didn't understand either of those two friendships, as both Erasa and Sharpener couldn't be more different from the silent Videl. It worked for them, I suppose, though I never really understood why.

It took me one second to see that Videl was special. Not like anyone else. So real, so much her own person. She got my sympathy right away, sympathy that grew into an infatuation in a matter of days, before we exchanged even one word. I watched her at school. How she read during lunch breaks, completely unaware of the rest of the world. One day there was a food fight in the cafeteria. As the fight continued until the end of the lunch break, she didn't look up once. So occupied by the book and the world that she created. When the bell rang she got up, stuffed her book into her bag and wanted to make her way to her next classroom, until she finally noticed the mess around her. Erasa filled her in on everything. I found it particularly amusing to watch how surprised she was that she just read through the whole incident.

In class I spent the entire hour gazing at her. How she doodled on her notebook, played with her pen, stared through the window. She always delivered impeccable work, the teacher awarded only a few people with straight A's and she was among those few. When asked a question, she always gave the right answer, her homework was flawless. And yet she didn't pay attention in class, she was always doing something else. That I found very interesting. Like her, I was a straight A student, and like her, I didn't need to pay attention in class. She was intellectually at the same level as I was.

This was not the only resemblance between us. We didn't mingle with other people, she by choice, me because I was socially retarded. But that made us both outsiders. In my dreams I would have the guts to talk to her and become friends with her and we'd make our own little, private group. Just the two of us, because the rest of the world wasn't special enough. But in reality, I was too scared to talk to her. In the first weeks I was at Orange Star High, we didn't exchange even a 'hello' or 'goodbye'. I don't think she knew I existed at that moment.

Another thing we shared was our passion for poetry. In literature class she could recite every poem the teacher asked. When she recited poems, she opened up, she dared to express herself. I could see her eyes shine at those moment and she mesmerized me. She had an amazing voice and even those who couldn't care less about poetry were momentarily taken away by her warm voice that demanded everyone to listen to it. And when she was done, when the silence returned, she became normal again. Distant. But her love for poetry was evident even when she was her normal self. She frequently read works of famous and not so famous poets during lunch break. It was when I found out that she loved poetry that I fell in love with her.

It was actually poetry that initiated everything. One warm day, in the months of post-summer when autumn was already approaching, I sat underneath one of the old maple trees of the school yard. I was thinking about Videl, as I almost always was. Thinking about how to approach her. Someone sat down at the other side of the tree, but because I was in such deep thoughts, I didn't notice. When I heard a cough, I realized I was not alone. Curious to know who was on the other side of the tree, I took one peek. It was Videl and she was reading.

My heart was raging in my chest when I thought about how close she was to me at that moment. I just had to stretch out my hand and I could touch her. I had never been this close to her before. I had to take advantage of this opportunity. I had to say something to her. This was the moment. But I couldn't. My throat was dry and I couldn't utter a word. I wanted to talk to her so hard that I couldn't manage to say anything. It was so stupid and all the while her proximity was maddening me.

I didn't dare to talk to her. But all of a sudden I thought of one of Shakespeare's sonnets. I didn't know where it came from, but I knew what I had to do. I took one of the large leaves of the maple that I found on the grass and got a black marker out of my bag. I wrote down the sonnet on the leaf.

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun

Coral is far more red than her lips' red

If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun

If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head

I have seen roses damask'd, red and white

But no such roses see I in her cheeks

And in some perfumes is there more delight

Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks

I love to hear her speak, yet well I know

That music hath a far more pleasing sound

I grant I never saw a goddess go

My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground

And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare

As any she belied with false compare

When I was done I didn't hesitate one moment. I got up and walked to the other side of the tree until I was facing her. My heart was beating faster than it ever did as I looked at her. She didn't notice me standing in front of her right away. I stood there for half a minute until she turned a page and as she did, her eyes wandered to me. She was so startled that the book fell out of her hands. I looked at her intently, her expression was questioning. When I saw her eyes my bones nearly melted. Violet blue, and incredibly deep.

Before she could say anything, I handed her the leaf. She took it with surprise in her beautiful eyes, before she started to read the sonnet. I was gone by the time she finished it.

Later that day I watched her walking into the classroom for literature class. For the first time her eyes sought out for me. And for the first time, finding me in my usual seat, she gave me a warm, affectionate smile. I was deeply in love with her.

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