Hey, people! I'm not dead.

So anyway, here's an AU story I've been working on. Hope you enjoy, and if you don't… love has failed me (Anyone get the reference?).

:-D

CINNAMON

"Cassie! Time to go!" My mom calls from the doorway as I toss my last T-shirt into my luggage. I heave a sigh. I still have to pack my headphones.

"I know Mom!" I yell back. I yank my blue headphones out from under the bed (how did those even get down there?) and shove them into an empty corner of my bag. I step back, attempting to admire my handiwork but failing. The sight that blesses my vision is a large, black duffel bag filled to overflowing with books, clothes, and a bunch of other things I can't remember. Will I even be able to carry this thing? Counting everything on my fingers, I make sure that I have everything. Headphones? Check. Phone? Check. Clothing? Check, but I'll probably buy some when I get to the school. Violin? Check. Mom tried to discourage me from bringing it. Said it would be too much to carry, but there is NO WAY I am giving up my pride and joy, even for four months.

"CASSIDY! We need to go!" Mom shouts back. I make haste in zipping up my bag. Mom only ever uses my full name when it's serious.

"Coming Mom!" I scream as I lug the bag out the door of our small apartment. I drop the bag and turn to look at our apartment one last time. I blow a large raspberry at the room as I kick the door shut and move towards the elevator. I'm not really going to miss that shoebox of a home anyway.

Going down the elevator, I remember that it's the end of summer. I sigh. I always look forward to summer during the school year. I never had many friends; no one at school really shared my interests. I mean, who would want to be friends with the geeky girl that listens to musicals and the Beatles while reading in the corner?

Shaking the negative thoughts out of my head, I walk through the lobby and out the door, where my mom's car awaits. I climb into the shotgun seat as Mom slides into the driver's seat.

"You ready, Cassie?" Mom asks me, her eyes full of hope.

"You bet, Mom," I reply, my eyes already on the road. I put my headphones over my dark, reddish-brown curls and "More Than Survive" from Be More Chill greets me like a pat on the back. Ironically, how Jeremy feels over the course of the song reflects almost exactly how I feel right now. I sigh, wishing that this would be a good start to a good year.

About two hours later, we finally arrive at my new high school. WOW. It looked big on the brochure, but THIS? There must be about three billion classrooms in there.

"This school is enormous," Mom exclaims, voicing my very thoughts. As she parks, I put away the book I was reading, push my headphones down around my neck and prepare to get out of the car. Once I'm out, I yank my bag out of the trunk with all my force, but can't seem to get it off the pavement once it's out.

"A little help, Mom?" I grunt, dragging the bag a few inches towards the entry of the school. Seeing my struggle, Mom rushes quickly to my aid and, in not much time at all, we find ourselves before the school doors.

"You ready?" Mom asks as she deposits the bag into my arms.

"Absolutely," I reply, hiding the fact that I am really struggling with this bag in my arms.

I look up at Mom again and see that she's about to cry.

"No, Mom, don't cry. You know I don't like it when you cry," I say quickly, doing my best to calm her. "After all, I'm going to see you again in six weeks, right?"

"Right," she whispers, more self-consolation than an answer. Suddenly, she hugs me, and although I can't hug her back, I rest my head on her shoulder.

" I love you, Cassie," she whispers into my ear.

"I love you too, Mom," I say back as she pulls away and starts toward the car.

As she drives away, I can faintly hear her screaming her goodbyes to me. Quietly, I stand there, taking in the moment. Then I feel something run into me from behind and I tumble forwards as my bag falls out of my hands. Just as I'm about to hit the ground, my head bounces off the bag, and then bangs onto the concrete. The momentum from the bounce makes me roll over, my eyes seeing nothing but sky. The last thing I see before I'm out is a pair of electric blue orbs peering down at me from a mass of curly blond hair.

My vision has gone fuzzy.

What the heck just happened?

As my vision clears, I notice that I'm lying down on someone's bed. Out of the corner of my right eye, I can see a figure sitting down by the bed, watching me.

"What the -?" I mutter as I sit up quickly, which wasn't a good idea, since my head starts throbbing like hell.

"Whoa there!" The boy exclaims as he gently grabs me by the shoulders and carefully pushes me back into a mass of pillows that seems to have appeared out of nowhere. "Relax. I'm not gonna hurt you or anything." As I get a second look at the boy, I recognize the electric blue orbs from before I lost consciousness. They were his eyes. The boy walks across the room, which is painted a light blue.

It takes me a few moments to formulate the three syllable sentence that popped out of my mouth next: "...Who... are you?"

He answers without missing a single beat: "Anthony Higgins, but everyone calls me Racetrack. Race for short."

"You've got two nicknames?"

"Anthony was too proper, Racetrack was too long. So. Race." He has a New York accent, like me, but much stronger. I don't understand why it took me so long to notice it.

"You have an accent," I remark stupidly. Race stops and turns to me, an incredulous look on his face.

"Oh rEAlly? I DIDN'T nOTICE," he retorts in mock surprise before sticking his tongue out and returning to the bedside.

"You new here?" he asks. I nod. "Welcome to Denton." He does jazz hands as he says this, and I smile.

We bathe in awkward silence for a minute or two before he asks, "So... what's your name?" Before I get a chance to even open my mouth, he blurts, "Wait, no. Don't tell me. I'll let the boys name you."

"The boys? What boys?" All this talk is starting to confuse me.

"You'll meet them soon enough," Race says matter-of-factly. After a while, he pipes up again. "So, you're new? How old are you? I'm s"

"I'm fifteen," I reply.

After a quick pause, Race answers, "So you're a sophomore, huh?"

"Actually, I'm a junior. I started school a year earlier than most people."

It seemed as if it took Race a minute to compute this.

While he's silent, I blurt out, "I've never seen anyone with such vibrant eyes before."

Race glances up at me in slight surprise. I cover my face with my hands, embarrassed at what I just said.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what just went through me when I said that, I just –"

"Thank you," Race says quietly. His eyes wouldn't meet mine.

"I'm sorry," I squeak.

"There's nothing to be sorry about, love," he smiles as he looks up at me.

I blush slightly, bowing my head so he doesn't see. "Ain't nobody called me 'love' before."

Race laughs softly. "Old habit I could never get rid of. Well, there's a first time for everything, I guess." He looks back down. "Anyway, it's just that I don't get complemented much."

"Why not?" I ask. He only shrugs in return.

After a beat, he pops up, his energy back to normal. "So, once you're feeling better, how's about I show you around? I mean, you'll be okay by tomorrow morning and we have tomorrow off before school starts Monday…" Race looks at me. "How's that sound for you, love?" I blush again, and he smirks.

"So?" he asks smugly. "What's it gonna be?"

After a moment's thought, I say, "Okay." I try to swing my legs off the bed to get up, but a blinding pain rushes through my brain and I yelp, clapping my hand to my head.

"Easy, Curly," Race exclaims as he rushes to me and moves me back on the bed. "You may feel better, but you still need to rest. Trust me, I've been here before." He gently pulls my hand away from my forehead. His hand is warm, and as his shirtsleeve falls slightly, I can spot a small skin-colored patch on his forearm. Remember to ask him about that later, I think. He holds up a finger. "I'll be back. Don't do anything I would do. In other words, don't do anything stupid." And with that he jogs toward the door and disappears through it.

With Race out of the room, I have time to absorb everything that just happened. So. It seems I hit my head, and all of a sudden this cute boy with electric eyes has brought me to his room and is nursing me? And he's calling me love?

This is probably the weirdest thing that has ever happened to me by far.

To pass time, I try to take in as much as I can of the room. There's another bed next to his, and it's perfectly made. The walls are adorned with pictures of him and a bunch of other boys. In almost all of the pictures, I can see a boy with a head of flaming red hair. In some of the pictures, I can just make out the outline of a skin-colored patch on Race's arm.

"I'm back," Race declares as he cruises into the room with an ice pack. I jump slightly at his arrival. "Here," he says as he presses the ice pack to my forehead. I smile as a thank you and hold the ice pack to my head.

"So," I begin as he sits, cross-legged, on the bed facing me. "I have some questions, if you don't mind."

"Shoot," he said.

"First of all, what's the sticker for?" I grab his arm and pull up his sleeve, revealing the patch.

"Oh, this," he says as he fiddles with it. "It's a nicotine patch." Seeing my curious expression, he adds, "It's a long story. I'll tell you when we have the time."

"Next, who's the redhead in your pictures?" I ask.

"That's Albert," he answers.

"What, he ain't got a nickname?" I quip.

"No, not for Albert. The boys tried to call him Red, but he wouldn't have it." He laughs. "Anyway, he's my roommate, and he's flipping amazing."

Now it's my turn to laugh. "He's not here yet, is he?"

"Another no," he replies. Then it seems that he has an idea, because he grabs my arm and says, "Hey, why don't you spend the night in here? I mean, you're in no condition to walk to… wherever your dorm is, and Albert's bed is empty."

"But is he gonna be mad if he sees that the bed is a mess?"

"Oh, he's not gonna know. I'm weirdly good at making beds."

End of Chapter 1