Chapter Two

From the second the girl walked through the doorway, Kyouya Ootori knew she would be trouble. Everything about her screamed impertinence and inobedience, from her apparent refusal of the uniform, to the bubble gum she chewed, to the veritable gleam of mischeif in her eyes. So this is the American honors student come to spend a month learning about Japanese culture, huh? Why do I feel like we've been duped?

Of course, Kyouya had done his homework, and fully researched the girl, after hearing from the school director about the odd case. (Apparently, her mother had already called a grand total of eleven times, asking all sorts of probing questions and making unusual demands. All the secretaries had since learned to be especially careful about answering the phone since then, checking the number first, in case it was the 'psychomom,'as they called her.)

An almost laughably gentle digging had turned up almost too much information for the youngest ootori to sift through. From newspaper clippings to school reports, surprisingly open school grade records, and even personal blogs, Kyouya had surmised that the coming temporary transfer student would be well deserving of an Ouran education, and had even recommended she be placed in class A (usually, middle class foreigners would be placed in class B, where the students weren't quite so high-profile as class A, but not nearly so shady as class C's young Yuakuza-in-waiting). Now, though, he began to question his descision.

The flyaway brunette standing unfalteringly before the class in her black jeans, novelty tee-shirt (did it really say that?), denim thigh-length jacket-dress, and incongruous knit hat looked nothing like the studious shy girl he'd envisioned. (Despite the sheer volume of information on the American, there were almost no pictures of her, and those credited as featuring her face always had at least five other people, several of whom appeared time after time in every picture.)

While at first no one else had noticed her presence amongst them, the class was soon alerted to the interloper when someone suddenly squealed in excitement and shot to her side. This someone, a particulary blonde, dramatic someone, had been poking Kyouyas' arm, shoulder, and ear for a good five minutes before he'd even realized that perhaps Ootori's attention might be focused elsewhere. Upon making this monumental realization, that selfsame someone just had to know what could possibly be more interesting than his own news about the patterns he'd seen in his morning toast crumbs or whatever. And then, of course, this overly affectionate, ridiculously friendy someone couldn't help but to let out a gleeful yelp when he also saw the strange apparition before the class, and vault himself down the row to present the "fair young beauty" a "rose to match her own tender loveliness."

So the whole class was watching as the zealous frenchman smiled softly, placed an arm around the girl's shoulder in his customary half-hug, and was shrugged off, overbalanced, and toppled to the floor. Immediately, the classroom burst into uproar. The majority of the females either rushed to their fallen idol's side, or glared daggers at the source of his collapse, while the males in class broke into excitedly shocked conversation about the unprecedented rejection of the man they had come to think of as Ouran's King of Romance.

Through it all, the girl (Noelle, Kyouya now remebered) stood frozen just off the the side, staring at Tamaki with an expression that clearly said 'I don't know what you just tried to pull, but I didn't like it, and I don't like you.' It was just as the object of her glare (for really, there was no other word for it) was standing up and turning to face her once more that the teacher finally walked into the classroom.

"Alright everyone, that's quite enough of that. I don't know what's going on, and I don't want to know. Just get back to your seats. We have a new student joining us today, and we want to make the best first impression poss—Oh!" As the boys and girls dutifully filed back to their desks, Ms. Yasumachi, their homeroom teacher, finally noticed the center of all the uproar.

"My goodness, you're already here! I wasn't expecting you for at least another five minutes or so! And you haven't even gotten your uniform yet! Well, no matter. Class, this is Cammerson, Noelle. Noelle is visiting us from America for the summer. We are very lucky to have her here! Noelle, why don't you tell the class a little about yourself?" As Ms. Yasumachi turned expectantly to the girl she'd just finished introducing, it was to see a very confused-looking American.

":I'm sorry, what did you say? I don't understand Japanese…:" The girl's voice was lower than most female voices Kyouya was used to hearing. Also, it had an American accent to it, which was quite a bit different from the British accents they were accustomed to at Ouran (their instructor, Mr. Byron, had a very heavy British accent, the kind that was known to make impressionable young girls swoon). However, it was not enough to mask from Kyouya the fact that she was lying. There was just something about the way that she emphasized her words that set off a little red flag in his mind. But apparently, he was the only one.

"Gasp! She only speaks English! No wonder she was so surprised by my greeting! :Fair damsel, please forgive me, I knew not what I did! Please accept this rose as a token of my apology!:" So saying, Tamaki had already risen out of his seat, stepping toward the girl to renew his affections, when—

" :I don't want your stupid flower! Can't you see that I don't like you?! Just leave me alone! Excuse me, ma'am, but can you please make this guy lay off?:" Flatly refusing to even look at the now-gloomy Suoh, she had turned to face the teacher.

":Well, um, that is to say, I am confused. I thought you would speak Japanese, and now I learn you don't! Hahaha, This is a funny situation!: Ootori! Please take Cammerson, Noelle down to the Administration Building and help her sort out this trouble!"

"But, professor!—"

"That's enough out of you, Suoh! Now stop sulking, and get back in your seat! We still have class today! :Dear, please follow Ootori Kyouya to the Administration Building now.:"

Retaking control over her class, Ms. Yasumachi all but shoved her newest headache out the door. As if it wasn't bad enough she had to deal with the flowery director's son and the creepy Ootori fellow, now she also had this case on her hands! The girl can't even speak Japanese! Why, oh why does the world hate me so?

Out in the hallway, Kyouya and Noelle studied eachother, neither making any move to head toward the Administration Building. She had her head cheekily tilted to one side, her arms crossed across her chest. He merely stood still, effortlessly looming over her, as he narrowed his eyes and catalogued every aspect of her person. As Noelle broke into a sunny smile, her eyes yet to back down, Kyouya knew his first impression was accurate.

Definitely trouble…