Myth: This is a collab fic I'm doing with apearu over on tumblr (give her some love, she's awesome)! We put a lot of work into this already, and we're both super excited to share what we have so far! I haven't seen a good old-fashioned high school au on here in forever, so we brought it upon ourselves to remedy that :D

Apearu: hey y'all, thanks for reading! Myth is a sweetheart and deserves love, so I hope you all like!

Of all the things Whitley expected to hear a week before the school year started, hearing that her family was moving was not one of them. She'd been completely taken aback when her parents announced it. As far as she knew, her parents didn't have any plans of uprooting their daughter yet again. But there she was, staring at the building that was her new school. She didn't have the chance to meet anyone because of the moving process, and this school was considerably bigger than her old one. She was just glad that she didn't need to take the bus; she was close enough to walk, just a block away. That may prove to be a blessing in disguise later on, but for now, it made it harder to talk to anyone.

There were several clusters of people outside the school, most of them growing as students filtered off of the buses. They were all talking, loudly she might add, about their summers, their classes, and the parties they went to. It all meant nothing to Whitley. There were some whispers of clubs, sports, a million things that she was convinced she wouldn't be a part of. She never joined school clubs; she moved around too often to make much of a difference in them. Well, she said never. At her last school, the longest one yet, she was in the gardening club, just something she could do to pass the time. She'd grown to like it, enjoyed watching the sprouts grow and blossom, but it'd all been ripped away with one simple sentence: "Whitley, we're moving again." Now that she knew that her parents could and would make her leave her carefully cultivated friendships, she had no intention of starting something she wouldn't be able to finish.

She squeezed through the crowds of people to make it inside and find the main office. Of all the times to feel invisible, this would be the best one. If she were invisible, she wouldn't need to interact with people who would probably forget her name within minutes. She knew from experience that it would be so much smoother if she looked down at her feet the whole time, avoiding eye contact. Unfortunately, that made it harder to avoid literally bumping into people. Before she knew it, she'd run directly into a boy holding a sandwich in one hand and a package of cookies in the other.

"Whoa!" Whitley cried. She reeled back, about to fall over. The boy grabbed her arm.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Um," she mumbled, her face coloring,"I'm really sorry about that…"

"Don't worry about it." She finally looked up from her shoes. The boy had a kind face, an approachable one. His dark eyes studied her face, his hands tugging on his backpack's straps. "Do I know you?"

Here goes. The speech she was going to be repeating for this entire first week. "No," she sighed, "my family just moved here. I'm Whitley."

"Oh, I see. Nice to meet you, then." He took a bite of the sandwich in his hand- his breakfast, she assumed- before speaking again. "I'm Diamond, but most people just call me Dia."

Just seeing him eat made her own stomach start to rumble. She'd been in too much of a rush to eat anything, and with her nerves, she was certain she wouldn't have been able to eat anyway. "Um. I'll see you later."

She would've walked away, but Dia caught her sleeve. "Hold on. Do you have money for the cafeteria? For lunch?"

"Ye-" Wait. Did she grab it off of her dresser before leaving? "No, I forgot."

Dia's amiable expression turned serious fast. "That's no good, lunch is the most important meal of the day! Besides breakfast! Here, take this." He took off his bag and rummaged around for a minute or so before taking out a second wrapped sandwich and offering it to her.

She didn't take it. She could barely even comprehend what was happening. Maybe she should've had some coffee… "I can't take that from you!"

"It's fine, I always make extra. I have, like, three more." He held it out, and hesitantly, she took it. Whitley was going to thank him, but before she could, she was nearly knocked over again by what felt like a freight train hitting her shoulder. Was the universe just trying to make her have a bad first day?

"C'mon, Dia, you're going to be late for the third time this week!" said the boy who'd knocked into her. With his annoyed face and his fair hair, he seemed the exact opposite of Dia. His voice practically radiated irritation. He seemed to be in a rush, although Whitley was fairly certain that the first class of the day wasn't going to start for another twenty minutes. The way he talked, she wasn't even sure if the boy was aware that this was the first day of school. Then again, he spoke fast enough that she could have misheard.

"What?" Dia said. He seemed just as confused about what had just happened as she was.

"And put down that sandwich!"

"What?"

The boy sighed and started dragging him off down a slightly more crowded hallway. Whitley wasn't sure if Dia was waving at her, or was just waving his arms in general, but it was then that she decided that this school was considerably more strange than any of her old schools. She sighed and started heading down the hall again.

Whitley's parents had run her through the list of things she needed to do: find the main office, get her schedule and locker assignment, fill her locker, go to class, make some friends… yeah, that last one wasn't going to happen. Dia was nice, but she didn't think niceness lasted much past the obligatory first day. She just hoped there would be a classroom or somewhere more quiet than the cafeteria.

Luckily for her, she found the principal's office relatively fast, so she could at least tell her family that she did something on the list. She took a deep breath, before plastering a smile on her face and going through the open door.

"Hello! How can I help you?" asked a woman sitting behind a desk marked Secretary. The first thing Whitley noticed about her was her fluffy purple hair. Yep, definitely weirder than my old school.

"I'm Whitley, the new transfer student."

"Oh, hello! Madame Lusamine told me you'd be coming today!" She got up from her chair and extended her hand. Her smile, like Dia's, was perfectly friendly. "My name is Wicke. We all call each other by our first names around here, so you can call me Wicke, or Ms. Wicke, whichever you prefer."

Whitley took her hand, noting the softness. "It's nice to meet you!"

"Are you doing well?"

"Um," Whitley started, remembering how she nearly fell twice in the last ten minutes. How could she sum that up? "Great. Yeah, great. I came here to ask for my schedule and locker?"

"Oh, yes! I'm sure I have it somewhere around here…"

Wicke pulled open the drawer of her desk and started rifling through it. Whitley watched in silence as she made her way through various folders and papers. As Wicke's face became increasingly frazzled and her movements more frantic, Whitley found herself looking around. The office was relatively small, and the walls were all painted a sterile white. Not white like snow, but more like the intimidating white of a hospital room. The only other features in the room apart from Wicke's desk were two other doors, on the left and right sides of the room. The left door, marked 'Vice Principal Faba' seemed completely quiet; but from the door on the right, marked 'Principal,' Whitley could faintly hear muffled voices, in what sounded like a rather vicious argument. She made a mental note to not enter that door.

"Oh, dear," Wicke said after a minute. "I seem to have misplaced it…stay here please? I'm going to go down to the teacher's lounge, I may have left it there…"

And with that, she walked over to the door and left. Whitley wasn't exactly sure what had just happened, but she was alone in the office now, which she was pretty sure was not a thing that had ever happened in her old school. She checked the time on her phone; fifteen minutes until class started, and she still didn't know where her locker was. Whitley sighed to herself and took a seat in one of the chairs across from Wicke's desk. It wouldn't be her fault if she was late to her first class, whatever it was. At this point, she wasn't sure she would ever find out.

She opened her phone and started scrolling through Instagram. One of her friends at her old school had posted a picture of her friend group smiling with the caption back to school, miss you whi-2whitley. She groaned audibly and shut off her phone. Her friends were so corny with their captions, and it hit her that she probably wouldn't see them again, which was exactly what she didn't need: a reason to start crying. Even though she's had to leave friends before, they were her closest. Moving from them was, perhaps, the hardest move she ever had to do. Before she could banish the thought from her head, or even form another one, the door marked 'Principal' swung open.

"Lillie, Gladion, you're both GROUNDED! And I do not want to HEAR another WORD come out of either of you about it!" thundered a feminine voice from inside the door. The voice wasn't shrill, merely sharp, but the sharpness of it's tone cut through to Whitley's core and gave her chills. "Now, get to class."

A blonde boy wearing a black hoodie and a fair-haired girl in a frilly dress came out of the principal's office. The girl (Lillie, she assumed, which would make the boy Gladion) kept her head down, and, to Whitley, it appeared she was on the verge of tears. Gladion, however, glared so fiercely at her that she felt herself turning red and started to stare at her shoes. She heard them leave, and then out of the principal's office came a third person, a woman dressed in an immaculate white suit coat and white dress pants so clean that Whitley could not see a single speck of dust on her. The woman- the principal, Whitley figured- put her hands on her hips and sighed.

"Those children…" she huffed before noticing Whitley sitting in the chair facing Wicke's desk. "Oh!" Her voice took on a friendly, approachable tone, completely different from the hard voice Whitley had heard earlier. The change nearly gave her whiplash. "Hello, I don't believe I know you...? Are you a new student?"

"Um," Whitley said uncomfortably, "yeah, I just transferred here. My name is Whitley. Are… you okay?"

"Just a little family spat, nothing more, dear." She sighed. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced. My name is Lusamine, you may call me as so, or Madame, I do not mind either one. Did you need something?"

Her saving grace appeared then- Wicke came back in, schedule in hand. "Found it! Here, let me show you how to read it, it can get a bit confusing."

By the time they finished and Whitley was on her way, Lusamine was already gone. So far, she seemed like the most mysterious principal she'd ever had, if mysterious was the right word.

Her first class was one of the easiest to find. Even if she got lost, she would be able to find it by following the smell of paint and other art supplies. Art was her elective class, just something she could take that she didn't have to stress about. She wasn't the best artist, but she wasn't horrible, either. Art grades were usually based on effort anyway, so she didn't have to worry too much.

There were only a handful of students already in the classroom. Most, she figured, would be coming in just before the bell. That, at least, was universal. The room, however, was different from the one back at her old school. Would she ever be able to stop thinking that today? The tables were tall, and instead of regular desk chairs, metal stools littered the room, some spray-painted different colors. One of the girls she saw right near the door had her head down on top of an open sketchbook and her eyes closed, so Whitley assumed that the girl was just sleeping.

"She should've had coffee like I told her." Whitley nearly jumped at the breathy voice behind her- was there anything that wouldn't startle her today? A boy with soft green hair moved past her as she took a seat near them. He started poking the girl's shoulder. "Yellow? Wake up, class is going to start soon."

"Mmm?" The girl yawned before lifting her head. Whitley stifled a laugh at the giant graphite mark on her cheek, probably a result of sleeping right on top of a drawing. "So soon?"

The boy sighed with a smile. "Please start drinking coffee like the rest of us. It makes mornings easier." He glanced over at Whitley with a grin. "Right?"

She should say something intelligent, right? Her attention shifted to the girl. "You have pencil smudged on your cheek."

Yep, definitely not intelligent, but it made the boy laugh. "She has a point. By the way, I'm Wally."

"I'm Yellow." Her words were a little garbled, given that she was wiping at her cheek with the palm of her hand. It only helped remove the stain a little. "You're new, right? I don't think I've seen you before."

"I am. My name's Whitley." Again. That's three times, right? How many more would there be? "Is this art class good?"

Another laugh from Wally, though it sounded like a borderline cough. "I wouldn't know. I'm not in this class. I just came to wake Yellow up since she wasn't in the band room."

She groaned and put her head in her hands. "I forgot about that, didn't I? I'm sorry. And yes, this is a good class. Burgh, the teacher, is very nice. He's a bit flamboyant, though."

Good to know, for sure. An easygoing first class was always a blessing. Wally excused himself then to get to his first class- history. The bell rang maybe three minutes later, signalling the start of class and her first day.

. . .

After a grueling first half of the day and going down the wrong hallway twice, Whitley finally made it into the cafeteria. Students were scattered around the room, some at tables already, others milling around in the halls or joining the lunch line. Seeing how long the line was made her grateful for the sandwich Dia had given her earlier, tucked away safely in her backpack.

This was always one of the hardest parts of a new school: relearning the Lunchroom Code. As in, who sat where, whether or not it was worth it to buy the cafeteria food, whether or not she could hole up in a classroom to eat. After all, she knew that most people her age already had their friend groups all figured out, and didn't often have room for one more, and she wasn't about to embarrass herself asking.

So she just kind of wandered, trying to get a feel for the place. Some of the tables were emptier than others, though some filled up quickly. She didn't see many faces she recognized from her position, only a couple she didn't talk to from her classes earlier. And sitting at a table with three other people were the siblings (she assumed) with the blonde hair. She thought back to her earlier conversation with the principal. A little family argument? Was that how Lusamine had described what had gone down between her and these students? Would that make them her kids? Whatever their relation to the principal was, Whitley did not want to get involved in it. Then she noticed she'd blanked out, and had been staring at them for way too long than was socially acceptable. The two were looking at her, a mildly concerned expression on the Lillie's face.

"Um, can I help you with anything?" Lillie asked. Her voice was light, if a little breathy.

Shoot. "Ah, um, no. Sorry, I was just spacing out," Whitley answered. Her face was starting to turn red from embarrassment, she could just feel it.

Gladion stared at her, his eyes hard, before he turned back to his food and said, "Well, go do it somewhere else."

Whitley practically ran from the table over to the other corner of the cafeteria. Her heart was pounding, and she was pretty sure her face was as red as a tomato. Gladion- she made a second mental note to stay away from him. The way he looked at her, that cold, hard stare that emitted no warmth- it scared her. She sighed. Whoever said lunch was the easiest part of the school day was dead wrong.

Oh, but there was Dia and that other boy again. Was he waving her over, or was this one of those times where he was waving at someone behind her? She turned and checked just to be sure- yep, nobody- before walking over.

"Need someone to sit with?" he asked as she approached. His lunch was already spread on the table- a couple sandwiches, some snacks in open containers. The blonde boy kept sneaking his hand in the different containers, stealing pretzels and yogurt-covered raisins.

"That would be nice, thanks." She sat down across from him, next to a dark-haired girl reading a fairly thick book. "You really seem to be saving me today. First lunch, now this."

He took a bite of his sandwich. "It's really no problem. By the way, this is Pearl-" he gestured to the blonde boy- "and that's Platinum." The girl next to her lifted her head for a moment and made eye contact before going back to her book. "Guys, this is Whitley. She's new."

Recognition flashed across Pearl's face. "Hey, you're that girl from earlier! Sorry for almost running into you."

Almost? He did run into her. "It's fine, don't worry." She unwrapped her sandwich and took a bite of it. Immediately, flavor exploded on her tongue. She was expecting it to be just a regular sandwich, but this was so much better. "Dia, you made this? It's amazing!"

"Dia is a very good cook." Platinum didn't look up as she spoke, though the faintest of smiles played at her lips. "He's the founder of the cooking club." She took a couple of yogurt raisins for herself.

"Cooking Club isn't too popular at the moment, but it's still fun." Dia pushed the pretzel container towards her. "Feel free to take some. I don't mind sharing."

"Oh, uh, thank you!" She took a handful of pretzels. She wasn't too keen on salty foods, but she wasn't about to refuse anything from any possible friend. She may have said earlier that she didn't need to make friends, but she had to admit, it would make the year a little easier. While she chewed, she was inwardly grappling for something to say, anything to start a conversation going. But someone in heaven had decided that she wasn't going to have a good first day, and her mind came up blank. She swallowed.

"Uhh…" She desperately scrambled for any coherent thought, any question, no matter how dumb. Finally, one of her brain cells decided to function, and she blurted out, "What's your favorite color?"

Ughhhh, stupid.

Diamond seemed not to mind, though. In fact, he smiled a bit. "Blue!" he said.

Platinum looked up from her book again, her lips curved into a fond smile. "It suits you," she said. "It's relaxing. Mine is pink." She lifted the tip of her scarf. "Like this shade, but lighter. I think it brings out my eyes. Yours, Pearl?"

Pearl looked up from his phone, which he was furiously typing on. "Huh? Oh, uh, orange." He went back to his phone, fingers flying. Whitley sat awkwardly, twiddling her thumbs. She had no idea what to say next, as Pearl didn't really leave her any room to work. None of them did, for that matter, and for someone who wasn't exactly a wordsmith, that was Not Good. Again, she flailed for another conversation starter, but she kept turning up blank. Luckily for her, she still had some pretzels in her hand, so she put more in her mouth to avoid having to say anything. Platinum took more snacks, and Dia kept eating- actually, he'd never stopped. Pearl kept typing; he appeared to be slowing down a bit, but the speed at which he was writing was still a whole lot faster than Whitley could ever dream of. Oh! That was a subject she could talk about!

"Wow, you type really fast!" she said. Pearl looked up again.

"Really? This is pretty slow for me." he laughed. "Plat always has to read through everything I write because of all the mistakes I make."

Platinum giggled, her tone still more formal somehow. "You know, you could learn a thing or two from Dia. He never has any spelling mistakes in his essays."

"Yeah, that's because he types at a tortoise's pace! No offense, of course."

"None taken," Dia said. He turned to Whitley. "Pearl always rushes, whatever he's doing. Even when he's early to school, he drags me off to classes twenty minutes before they start, just because he can. I try to get him to slow down, but it never works. I'm pretty sure Pearl's body generates caffeine the same way the rest of us make, uh, the happiness chemical. What's it called?"

"There's more than one," Platinum said, listing them off. "There's dopamine, oxytocin, serotonin, and endorphins."

"Yeah, those. And there's Plat for you, our walking encyclopedia, grammar checker, and the reason why I'm not failing English."

"And the reason I'm not failing chem!" Pearl said, "What did we ever do to deserve her? I'm not really sure. Speaking of, Plat, the new sketch is finally written up. Check it for me please?" He handed his phone over to Platinum, who started scrolling.

"Sketch?" Whitley asked, "Like, a comedy skit?"

"Yep!" Pearl replied, "We've - or more accurately, I've - been writing them ever since we were little. He performs them with me." He gestured to Dia, who was now working on what looked like yet another sandwich he had miraculously pulled out of his bag.

"I'd love to see one sometime." And Whitley found herself meaning her words. Somehow, unbelievably, she'd managed to make a friend, maybe three! She smiled, and for once that day, it wasn't forced.

"Wanna see it right now?"

"Uh-"

"C'mon Dia, act stupid so I can hit you!"

"Huh?" Dia said, barely paying attention. He was about to start unwrapping another container of food.

"But first, put down that snack!"

"Whaa-a-a-a-t?!"

Confused and a bit concerned, Whitley looked questioningly over at Platinum, who was smiling serenely.

"This is a daily routine with them," she explained. "Pearl usually finishes a new sketch around lunchtime, and Dia is talking into trying it." She turned back to Pearl, who was currently wrestling with Dia for the container of food, and sighed. "Maybe just this once, instead of doing this, we could show Whitley around?"

Pearl stopped tugging at the container, and Dia snatched it and put it back in his bag. "Sure," Dia said. "Plat and I will show you around. Pearl?"

"Yeah, why not. You ARE going to practice with me, though." Pearl and Dia stood up, and offered their hands to Platinum, who took their hands with a soft "Thank you," and helped her up. Whitley was a bit puzzled by this- wasn't she perfectly capable of getting up on her own? She wasn't about to question anything, not if they were nice enough to help show her around.

Of course, since they were already there, they started with the cafeteria. "Most people eat lunch here, but some eat in the library or classrooms," Dia started, gesturing around the room. "There's a bunch of different groups here, but a lot of them aren't distinct enough to label. But there's the soccer team, which hates the football team. The girl and guy's football teams sit at separate tables, but are pretty friendly with each other. Then there's the marching band."

"One thing you need to know," Pearl interjected, "is that you should never, under any circumstances, get in between the marching band and football teams. Especially not between Yellow and Sapphire."

She looked to where he was pointing. She remembered meeting Yellow earlier in art class, and she seemed super sweet. But there she was, all 4'11" of her, shooting daggers at the wild-haired girl at the head of the girl's football table, who was glaring right back. Wally was next to her, frowning but not saying anything.

Pearl shrugged, tapping his foot. "You know when it really gets interesting, is when the marching band and cheerleaders join ranks once a year to prank the football teams. Nobody knows when each year, but trust me, it's something you don't want to miss. Now, c'mon, let's keep going."

He made for the door of the cafeteria, barely waiting for the rest of them. Dia really wasn't kidding, was he? She cast another glance at the ongoing argument before something else caught her eye. "Hold on, where are they going?" A group of four, a girl with a bouncy brown ponytail, a boy wearing a baseball cap, a boy wearing a tennis visor, and an older boy with green hair, were leaving the cafeteria through the opposite exit. Her eyes remained on the tallest of them, the boy with long, light green hair, until they were all out of sight. She felt redness spreading across her face for, what- the fifth time today?

Platinum cleared her throat, noticing her blush. Just her luck. "Whitley? Are you okay?"

"Uh, yeah! Um..." Whitley stammered, embarrassed. She covered her face with her hands. She just couldn't form a coherent sentence today, could she? "Yeah, everything's fine. I just, uh, who are they?"

"Oh! That's the school's resident band. They practice at lunch time. Even though most of them are sophomores like us, they're actually really good," Dia said with the hint of a smile.

"Why not go to the music room first, then?" Platinum suggested, nodding towards the exit where the band went. "We might be able to hear them practicing."

"Well, we have to find where Pearl went first…" Whitley said. He was nowhere to be found in the surrounding halls already, even though he'd only left a few seconds ago.

"Oh yeah, he does that. He'll find us eventually," Dia said, before turning to Whitley and whispering, "He'll just follow the tracker we put on Plat's phone. She gets lost a lot, and, well, we worry about her. I hope you don't think that's creepy."

Truth be told, it was a bit, but she couldn't imagine them having anything but good intentions in mind. "So, where is this music room?" Better to change the subject.

"Follow me." The halls weren't too crowded like in-between classes, which made sense. Some students were eating lunch in the corridors and talking, but few took particular notice of them. "We probably shouldn't disturb them too much, though," Platinum said. "We don't know too much about them other than their names."

Whitley was buzzed with anticipation by the time they arrived at the music room. She could hear the music spilling past the mostly-closed door. It sounded like just a warm-up, but everyone was perfectly timed and in tune. "They're good," she breathed out. It was the kind of music she could get behind, borderline rock. She didn't know exactly what they were playing, but suddenly, a voice started singing lyrics she recognized, belonging to a song she'd heard many times over. Something felt… off, though. They were great, of course, but the feeling of it wasn't quite correct.

"That's...not right," she said, cocking her head and trying to peer inside the room. Who was singing?

"Huh? They sound fine to me," said Dia. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Plat?"

Platinum grimaced, looking like she wanted to pull her scarf over her ears. "This type of music isn't really my thing, so I couldn't tell you either way."

"Huh. Maybe it's just me, then." But Whitley was sure that something was wrong. She loved this song when she heard it on the radio, but it felt different hearing it now. When had the feeling started? Oh, right: when the singing began. Was that all that was off? The voice felt too… soft. Too sweet for this type of song. It sounded like the singer was straining to make his voice fit the intensity of the song, yet it still fell short. Now that she knew that that was it, she wasn't sure what to do with that information. So she stood outside the door, listening to the music as the band finished up the song.

"Well, they're done. What do you wanna see next?" Dia asked, looking bored with the music wing. Whitley, however, knocked on the door and pushed it open. "Hey, wait! Where are you going?"

The four people in the music room stopped playing and looked up as she came in, having not waited for a response. She tried to not let herself be distracted by the green-haired boy from earlier. "Which one of you was singing?"

Nobody spoke. The ponytail girl, who was holding an electric guitar, and the baseball cap boy, who was sitting at the drum set, exchanged a glance. The boy wearing a visor, sitting at the keyboard, looked at her with hardened eyes. Jeez, was this the cousin of the blonde boy with the hoodie or something? Finally, the green-haired boy, who was holding a microphone, said, "That was me. Do we know you?"

Oh. Oh, shoot. Of course it had to be him. What was she supposed to say now? She couldn't lose her nerve, otherwise she would look stupid, and wouldn't be able to talk to any of these people again. Which had happened to her before.

"Uh... Um…" she stammered. Ugh, she probably looked like an idiot. "I-"

The whole room, including Diamond, who had wandered in the open door, and who was currently chewing on yet another piece of food, was staring at her. She hated this. She hated this so much.

"I-In the nicest way possible," she squeaked out, "I don't think you have the right kind of voice for this type of song. Um, at all." Jeez, she hoped she didn't sound bratty.

Immediately, a thick silence fell upon the room. She was afraid of what would come next- yelling, judging, who knew what else. But then, much to her surprise, the boy smiled at her. She was fairly certain her heart skipped a beat. "You have a good ear, then. Blake told me the same thing earlier today," he said, gesturing to visor boy. Said boy's stare didn't lessen. "Tell me, what's your name?"

"Whitley. I'm new here." Because that wasn't obvious. She started back towards the open door. "I'm sorry to have intruded, I should go-"

"No, stay!" ponytail girl cried as she all but pulled her back. "Please, I've always been the only girl, I need someone else to keep me sane among all this testosterone."

"What, N isn't pretty enough for you?" baseball hat boy teased. He turned to Whitley with a goofy grin. "I'm Black, by the way. As in, that's my name. Not my race or anything- ugh. Remind me why my parents named me this again? The boy over on the keyboard is Blake- Oi, cut it out by the way, the serial killer stare, you're scaring the new girl- this is White, my girlfriend, race does apply this time, and pretty boy over there, on the bass guitar, that's N."

Whitley laughed a bit. Was he for real? "Like, the letter?"

"Trust me, just the letter makes more sense than my full name," N said, "but feel free to call me Natural Harmonia Gropius if you want to."

"Whoa, um, I think I'll stick with N then," Whitley said with an awkward smile. Her heart was pounding, but there was no way in hell she was going to show it to any of these people— or Dia and his friends, for that matter. Speaking of which, where did he go?

Without asking her, Blake, whose eyes were still focused on her face, said, "He slipped out when you were talking to Black. He looked bored." Seeing Whitley's stunned expression, he answered another question that had popped into her mind. "No, you didn't say that out loud. I'm just really good at telling what people are thinking."

"Ooookay, remind me never to think of anything embarrassing around you," she said, a bit weirded out.

"It's like, his special power," White explained, "other than his serial killer stare. Blake's just really, really good at reading your mind."

"It's called deduction, and it's not mind reading," Blake said in a flat tone. He made no move to offer further explanation.

"Alright, enough of that," N said mercifully, as Whitley wasn't exactly sure what to say next. "Let's go back to what brought you into this room in the first place. What was wrong about my singing?"

Oh great. Out of the pan, and into the fire.

"Ummm," Whitley scrambled, a blush spreading across her face again. "It wasn't your singing that was wrong, it was just, uh…" She trailed off, flailing for a word and some confidence when her mind was screaming abort mission! "Your… your voice. It's too soft for this sort of song. You'd be better off singing something smoother, like a love song, maybe?"

N threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. "I know! I know. That's what I keep telling these guys, but apparently no one else here can sing!" he said, looking sideways at Blake.

"Just because I can doesn't mean I will," he said, arms crossed. "Besides, I don't have the right kind of voice for rock. We already established that- at our first rehearsal."

White sighed. "N's the best option we've got. Black and I can't sing, Blake refuses, and his voice is better for more, uh, creepy songs anyways. We could just change the genre we play, but these idiots seem determined to make this work. But we definitely could use a new singer."

Black nodded, before tossing out -

"Speaking of, new girl, wanna show us what you've got? I doubt your cute little voice is right for our style, though."

Immediately, Whitley started stammering. "Uhh, I, uhhhh-" This was a literal curse, wasn't it?

"Black! Firstly, you don't say that to someone you just met. Secondly, her name is Whitley. Don't call her new girl, that's rude. Thirdly, stop flirting with girls other than me." White turned to Whitley with an apologetic look. "Although… I'd love to hear your voice if you're up for it."

"What do you say? Want to show me up?" N grinned slyly, and she could swear that her heartbeat could be heard from across the room. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Blake offer her the tiniest nod.

She had two options here. She could do this, possibly embarrass herself, or flourish. Or, she could back out of the room slowly and run away and probably never be able to face them again. ...Yeah, one of those greatly outweighed the other.

She held her hand out to N. There seemed to be an ocean between the two of them, but her heart fluttered as his hand brushed hers as he pressed the microphone into her palm. Smiling, he picked up a bass guitar off the wall, still switched on. A deep breath. Go time.

"Play that same song," she requested, taking her position in the center of their formation, and inhaling deeply. "I've got this."

One of the most likely problems with N's voice and this song was that the range was a bit high for him; the original singer was a girl. She knew she wouldn't have that problem; she already knew her range was a good fit for this song. That, plus the style would fit her singing voice. Even though her speaking voice was high pitched and sweet, she'd discovered when she was younger she had the power to pitch it into a rather guttural and gritty rasp, which she used for singing. She hoped it was enough to blow them away, or at least not embarrass herself.

Black raised his sticks into the air, bringing them together with a staccato click. The band rose behind her in waves, and suddenly she was floating on chords like clouds and dancing atop guitar lines.

She licked her lips, prepared a breath for the onslaught of lyrics, and clutching the microphone tightly to ground herself, she began to sing. All at once she lost herself in the instrumental parts, the words flowing naturally along with the emotion. That was one thing she was good at; packing a punch with words. Even though they weren't her own, she owned them. There wasn't any other way to describe it.

Oh-hoh, I've been waiting, I've been waiting for you- Ow!

So don't, don't, don't don't tell me it's trueeeee!

Her voice was guttural and raw, her mouth forming the words before her brain knew what to do. Gently she began to lean in, feeling the heavy thump of the drumbeat thrum like the pounding of her heart. She made eye contact with N, who was smiling at her. Too excited in the music she was making to care about how she looked, she grinned back stupidly.

OH! I've been waiting, I've been waiting for you!

So don't, don't, don't just let me slip throoough!

Reaching a climax of utter euphoria, she threw a hand out and belted the final chorus, her lungs screaming and her face flushed with exhaustion and sweat. By the end of the song, she was near breathless in a very good way, and her throat hurt quite a bit. Her hands dropped to her sides as the last chord rang out and eventually faded to silence. The microphone let out a whine of feedback as she quickly drew it back to her chest and whirled around, sweating and trembling. She didn't remember the last time she'd had so much fun singing, but she also couldn't remember the last time she'd been this nervous.

Silence boomed in the room after the closing chords. Carefully, Whitley turned off the microphone and put it back in the stand. Anticipation crawled across her skin as she awaited their verdict. The four of them suddenly huddled together around the drum set, exchanging whispers like a football team before the big play. She didn't know that just one performance like that was this big of a deal.

Finally they split apart, and after a quick glance at each other, they all turned to face. Black grinned at her, his eyes lighting up in excitement.

"Well well well, new girl!" he said. He stood up from behind the drums, approaching her with the others. "How would you like to be in our band?"

"Really?" Maybe the universe didn't completely have it in for her. This was certainly a good thing! Her parents would definitely be proud of her for this.

White grinned. "Like N said before, none of us can sing, and it'd be great to add a new member. So? What do you say?"

Was that even a question? "I say-"

The music room door slammed open. Whitley only realized then how dim the lights were in the music room as the hallway's light flooded in. A tall figure stood in the doorway, backlit, and Whitley couldn't help but compare it to a vengeful angel from the heavens. Intimidating, poised, impatient. Powerful.

The figure came into the room, slowly but surely. Her white heels clicked on the cold tile floor as she approached. In her fitted black dress and with her perfect hair, she looked like a supermodel off the cover of a magazine, but unlike all the magazine models, her face radiated icy steel. Her piercing gaze snapped to White, ignoring the others. Whitley didn't remember seeing her yet today, but by the way White's smile slipped and Black's grip tightened on his drum sticks, she had a feeling that the girl's presence was no good.

"White," she said airily into the silence of the room.

Whitley turned to White, who lifted her chin and in the same light, yet freezing tone, replied, "Blue."

"We have business to take care of. You in or out?"