The students at Mead High School were like any other, Sarah supposed. They were separated into clearly defined groups. There were the jocks, the popular kids, the tortured artists, the nerds, and everyone else. From there they were split into even more specific cliques, identified easily by their clothing. The popular kids tended to be preppy, frequently shopping for polo shirts and tennis skirts. Somehow their Keds were always spotless. Some of the guys dressed like extras from Miami Vice, looking way too summery in their khaki pants and pastel blazers. They wore aviators all the time, even indoors.
The athletes tended to wear their practice uniforms all the time, as if it were the only way to prove they played sports. Even the swim team, who didn't start practicing until spring, wore their sweat suits and Speedos. The cheerleaders were the exception to this rule (then again, cheerleading wasn't a real sport). They just dressed like sluts, in high-heeled pumps and Lycra mini-skirts. It was fifty degrees outside, but they refused to wear jackets, else their skin-tight tank tops, which they wore braless, remain hidden.
Nerds tended to dress like their parent. Dress slacks, sweater vests, button-down shirts and pocket protectors were their hallmark. Student government officials (popular geeks) took it a step further, coming to school in power suits and Windsor knotted ties.
By far, the most varied fashions belonged to the artists, if they could be called that. Writers and drama students dressed exclusively in black, although the drama students wore stage make-up to stand out from their literary counterparts. Painters wore their smocks and overalls, their work boots stained with oil paint smatters.
Musicians took the cake for range. There were punk rockers in plaid shirts, various parts of their heads shaved to the scalp. Some wore safety pins through their lips and ears. Pop hopefuls worshipped Madonna and Michael Jackson. A few even came to class in leg warmers and leather corsets, because the student dress code was a gentle suggestion. But to Sarah, the most shockingly familiar were the New Romantics, who dressed like Jareth. They looked like equestrians rolled in glitter and sequins. They all cut memorable figures, but they lacked Jareth's grace, regal baring and elfin good looks.
And then there were kids like Sarah, who just wanted to get by, to make it through high school free of ridicule and notice. They dressed nice enough, but never flashy enough to draw attention. These students, Sarah included, were like the Swiss – completely neutral. They were unnoticeable, even though they dominated the student body.
It would be nice to fly in under the radar. Sarah didn't need to excel. She just needed to survive. Soon, she'd be graduating, so she only had to make it through the next few months. She could make friends at college.
Walking down the hallway, with all the students buzzing around her, Sarah didn't stand out at all. A few people shot her brief glances, but no one spoke to her as she crouched down beside her locker. She had one on the bottom level, but thirteen-seven-four, left right left later, she'd conquered the lock and dumped the books she didn't need.
All of her classes were located in one hallway, and algebra (her least favorite subject) was her first of the day. Room B112 was mostly full already, so she took a seat squarely in the middle, where she wasn't a social butterfly or a wallflower. The teacher was dour in his tweed jacket and bowtie, his thin grey hair plastered against his head in what had to be the worst comb-over ever. He adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat pointedly, and pushed away from his desk.
"We'll be continuing with the difference quotient today," he called over the gossiping students. They all fell silent as he wrote down the equation on the board, f(x) + f(x+h) over something (she honestly didn't care). Then he moved onto the roll call.
"Barbara Adams?"
"Present!"
"We're so happy you're here," Principle Keats told Morgaine, or rather Ms. Lafferty as her fifth period class left. The Dean of Students was a pudgy, tiny redhead with a stubby nose and currently, a ridiculously happy grin. She'd been sitting in on Morgaine's classes, stunned speechless by Ms. Lafferty's poise and collection. The new teacher was smart, charming, and refused to put up with the usual crap educators dealt with. She was practically perfect in every way. The only problem, if it could be called that, was her outfit. Ms. Lafferty wore black riding boots, black riding pants, and a slim-fitting black riding coat. The woman drove a BMW. Where was the horse?
"It's my pleasure," Ms. Lafferty said as she wiped clean the chalk board. The white clouds of dust seemed to actively avoid her; otherwise her pristine jet attire would've been grey by now. "I'm just happy you were hiring."
Principle Keats sighed sadly, shaking her head in dismay.
"Dr. Hurley's death was tragic, but not unexpected. The poor man was well into his eighties."
Ms. Lafferty clucked sympathetically as she turned from the board to collect all the apples given to her in a little basket. Yes, the students had given her actual apples. So far, she had about twenty.
Principle Keats was a married woman with a slew of grandchildren, but even she was finding it hard to find Ms. Lafferty unattractive. With her height and striking good looks, she was a goddess. Her hair fell to her waist, straight and gleaming like chocolate ice. As her eyes rested on the curves of Ms. Lafferty's breasts, she could feel her cheeks heating pleasantly, her thighs tingling with desire. She didn't know she could feel this way about a woman!
The doors opened with a snap, startling Principle Keats from her lustful reverie. As students started filing in, she cleared her throat and tugged at the color of her cable knit sweater. Like every class before, all of the males were instantly drawn to their humanities teacher. And as before, several of them placed apples on her desk (three granny smiths and two pink ladies).
Doing her best to keep from falling into Ms. Lafferty's lap, Principle Keats eyed the pupils as they took their seats. Most of them she knew, simply because they were in her office so often, the damn popular brats. The only one she didn't recognize was the pretty brunette in the purple cardigan. She quietly took a seat in the front row, placing her books on the desk. Ms. Lafferty looked up from her apples, grinning at the young woman. The new girl smiled back before opening her notebook.
Strangely enough, the entire class was silent, entranced by their statuesque teacher as she wrote her name on the board in flawless cursive script. They watched her hands with open mouths, inching forward to get a better look at the mesmerizing Ms. Lafferty – everyone except the black-haired girl. She was busy copying down some notes, her eyes fixed on her binder.
How did she resist the charms of Ms. Lafferty? It was beyond Principle Keats comprehension. Maybe the girl was just touched in the head.
Morgaine was happy that her back was to the class; otherwise they'd see her pompous, celebratory smile. She knew they were all staring at her with unabashed lust. Most humans did. It was biological to a certain point.
Like her stepson and her husband, Morgaine was a leannan sídhe (sídhe pronounced as she). Amongst all the fae, they were the most entrancing to humans, beating out even the legendary ethereal beauty of the elves. It was their magic, not their looks that inspired feelings of love and lust in mortal men and women.
Leannan sídhe tended to be female, though there were males, such as Jareth and Oberon. They often took human lovers, and in exchange for their love and devotion (which were frequently not reciprocated), their fae partner blessed with extraordinary talent. They all became world renowned visual, performance and literary artists. William Shakespeare was 'kissed' by a leannan sídhe, as was Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, Alberto Giacometti and Geoffrey Chaucer. None of them ever remembered their brief stays with their muses, because the fae in question would wipe their memory clean. Otherwise the demand for leannan sídhe would be astronomical.
Some of Morgaine's conquests included Darcey Bussell, Kathleen Battle and Veronica Lake. Oberon could claim Andrea Bocelli, Arturo Toscanini and Rudolph Valentino (not to mention a female harem that would rival Krishna's). It didn't matter if the artist in question was gay or straight. Leannen sídhe were simply too beautiful to be ignored.
Jareth had never taken on a progeny, and never would. He knew that if he took Sarah the way Morgaine and Oberon took lovers, she would leave him eventually, which was intolerable.
"I know this is jarring," Morgaine said with her crisp, aristocratic American accent, "losing your teacher so unexpectedly. I will do my best to continue on with his schedule and curriculum."
When she turned around, her students were indeed staring at her with dreamy eyes and dopey smiles.
"However, our focus will be shifting away from theatre, as Professor Hurley focused too heavily on the art form. We will turn our attention to painting, sculpture, architecture, literature and music. The study of humanities is, of course, examining human history through the eye of the artist. Now let us return to the Renaissance, page one-hundred-sixteen in your textbooks."
Immediately, the students started frantically flipping through their textbooks, eager to please 'Ms. Lafferty'. Except for Sarah, who was calm and collected, gentle as she handled her book. Morgaine held no sway over her. She'd eaten fairy food and danced with a king. She was as good as married.
"Read section four-point-one to four-point-three, and then we'll discuss it in the last half hour of class."
The students began to read without even a murmur, allowing Morgaine to sit quietly behind her desk. Although it was easy to cast a silence charm over her pupils, she had to do it for each individual student, and she had about thirty teenagers in each of her six periods. She had a right to be just a little bit tired.
With their noses pressed into their books, Morgaine was able to watch Sarah without anyone's notice. The girl from Jareth's memory was not the girl sitting quietly at her desk. There was no petulance radiating from her, no foolish strength or youthful bravado. She was defeated, quiet and incredibly mature. Jareth was right. She was too thin, by at least twenty pounds. It was fashionable to be pin thin, but Sarah's body was well-suited for softness, even squishiness. Her breasts, hips and thighs were simply too perfect and full to be destroyed by skinniness. Morgaine could imagine the feminine curve of her belly, something fae women longed to have. The Unseelie queen herself often longed for a suppler frame.
Although Jareth's little conquest was fascinating, Morgaine felt herself falling asleep. God, even when they weren't talking, the little buggers were absolutely noisy. Their pens were scratchy as they took notes, they breathed like hippopotamuses in heat, and several of those high-heeled whores were tapping their feet impatiently.
Modern teenagers were such a bore, wrapped up in their music and television shows. Sarah was the exception, not the rule. And as she filled her coffee cup with more espresso (magically, of course), she tried to make it through the rest of the day without falling asleep.
Kindergarten was stupid, Toby realized as he came home. They didn't talk about monsters or dinosaurs, it was all sissy stuff like finger painting pictures of apple trees and cows. They didn't even have chocolate milk at snack time, just that fat free stuff that was just white water. The snacks were boring too. He wanted Rice Crispy treats, not celery stick with low-fat peanut butter and icky raisins.
The books were boring too, for stupid kids. The only good one was 'Where the Wild Things Are', but the teacher read it like she was reading the back of a cereal box. She didn't read it like Sarah, who did all the right voices and yelled when the book required yelling. The rest of the books were too short and too sissy, for little girls and not demon slayers like him.
If only the teacher would read 'The Labyrinth'. Now that book was cool beans! Sarah didn't know he'd read it, but he had, and it had been really cool. Even the kissing parts were okay. It was always changing. Sometimes the goblin king married the young girl, other times she kidnapped him and made him her slave, although she never made him do anything awesome. Usually he just washed her feet or combed her hair.
The best parts were the battle scenes. In the book, all of the goblins were all wicked awesome with their axes and canons. They never had those when they came in his room, not that he'd ever really seen him in person. Somehow, he could only see them from the corner of his eye, and whenever they played hide-and-go-seek, the goblins always won.
Stupid goblins.
Mom was talking like one of those parrots at the pet shop. She was all 'blah blah blah, what did you do at school, did you like your teacher, blah blah blah.' Toby answered whenever she asked a question, but since they were walking home from kindergarten, she was too busy worrying about crossing the street and stuff. She wouldn't let go of his hand. Talk about embarrassing. He was too big to be led around like a poodle on a leash.
Really, girls were dumb. Mom was still talking, talking, talking as they got closer to home, and by that point, Toby had stopped listening. She didn't seem to want answers any way.
Sighing, Toby turned his eyes towards the smell of roses. Ms. Lafferty's yard was like a flower shop, except her flowers weren't dead or floppy. Each bloom looked as solid as bricks. Still, men weren't supposed to like flowers, so he looked for Jareth. He was easy enough to find, sleeping in the sun on that stony bench. As an owl, he was way sweet, but at least his cat form was tough. He looked like a tiny cross between a cheetah and a tiger, only his fur was almost green, like a sloth's!
"Um, mom, can I play outside for a sec'?" Toby asked, digging his feet into the ground as soon as they were outside the gate of their new house. Mom looked at him weirdly for a moment, but then she said it was okay, as long as he closed the gate behind him. He waited as patiently as a five-year-old could before dashing over to the fence facing that witchy lady's yard.
"Hey cat!" he called out, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. "Psst! Cat!"
Jareth lifted his head languidly, as if to say 'what do you want?' with a Jareth-like arched eyebrow. Toby smiled, knowing that Ms. Lafferty's cat was really the goblin king, and not just a cream-sucking kitten.
"Don't let that mean lady call you anything but Jareth. You're the boss, not her, okay?"
The cat jumped to his feet, his fur bristling unhappily. But Toby knew Jareth wasn't a meany-head, so with one last smile, Toby went back inside. He could smell cookies, and they actually smelled tasty.
Which was really rare.
R-e-v-i-e-w time!
GeeAnnaB: I don't think Jareth's the smoking type. He's more a champagne guy.
Chichi89: Why should I? Huh? WHY SHOULD I?
Jinx1764: That was hard to write. I wasn't sure how to write horror, but killing someone to keep them from dying seems pretty scary.
Sapphire Vial: The towel is available at Bed, Bath and Beyond, located in the beyond section, next to caldrons and eye of newt.
: If it were me, I'd give Jareth a lap dance as soon as I found out. But he belongs to Sarah, which sucks. Oberon and Morgaine are sweet, and it's fun bringing in other famous characters from fiction. It's also way easier than making up new people.
Princess of the Fae: I'm sorry that you had to.
Miya Silver: Dump him.
Helikesitheymikey: Jareth is the oldest child and son of Oberon and Titania, but that doesn't necessarily make him their heir. He already has a throne. He doesn't need another one. I cannot answer all your questions, but I can tell you that the towel was not your ordinary towel.
Writertron: Really? WOOHOO!
Sarah –not Williams: I didn't think anyone would like this story, so we're in the same boat there. And Titania better watch her little blonde ass.
BettyBimbo: Kitty Jareth is available at Petsmart for five-hundred-thousand dollars, six trunks of gold dust, and thirty autographed pictures of Joan Collins. He comes with his very own riding crop and leather shoe polish. However, no matter what you do, eventually he will return to Sarah. Life is just unfair that way.
Sunscorched: Hello there! I'm glad you stopped by! So you like the story? That's wonderful. It always amused that Jareth the peacock turned into a common barn owl. He was cute, but not powerful. It's like the bird equivalent of a teacup poodle. Sadly, there was no happy place for Sarah. I will try not to write about it too much, because it's hard and uncomfortable to do so. But there will come a point when many things will be said and experienced. I am so happy that you liked the story. Keep reviewing and I'll keep posting.
Oh my goodness! Twelve reviews for a single chapter? That's the most I've received so far! Awesome, awesome, awesome! I promise to bring in some obligatory smut, because not only do you all deserve it, it is just ridiculously fun to write. But there's a catch. It may or may not involve Jareth and Sarah. Perhaps Morgaine and Oberon are due for some adult touchy touchy? Anyways, REVIEW. They make my day.