(A/N: yes, it took awhile..and yes, its short. But as with most everything I write, I'm running out of juice so many apologies. Besides, it's not my fault I have band camp practically 24/7, now, is it? Thanks to Tessa and Cre8tvWrtr, my only recurring fan.I'm glad you like it! End.)

Day 3: Home

I glanced at my bedside clock before setting my pre-cal homework aside: 12:45. With any luck, I'd be asleep by 1:15- the end of a normal day for me.
Giving a small sigh, I reached for my chemistry binder, only to toss it aside after a quick comparison between the joys of system equilibrium problems and those of my fish blanket and fluffy pillow. I staggered into the bathroom to brush my teeth before turning out the lights and crawling into bed.
I've had the same bed since I grew old enough to leave the crib. It's an old bunk bed that came with our first house, and which we took with us when moving to Lincoln Heights. I really love it. The wood is old and cracked, finish is peeling, and all the bolts are rusted but there's just something so familiar and comforting in its peculiar creaks and groans that says home to me. I sleep on the bottom, but the top is where I go when I need to shut the world out and be myself.
15. That was the number of slats above me. I had counted them endless times when laying on my back and thinking, and today I started again. One, two, three was the one with a large black stain, four, five had a knothole on the far right.
Ah, yes. Number six. This seemingly innocent slat was one of the major secrets in my room, the other being of my chocolate and candy stash under my bed. But six- six was where once, surrendering to a random fit of Valleyism, I had started a list of all the guys I've ever liked. They included the sports teammates from elementary gym class, the popular guys that every girl falls for in 5th grade, the dream dance dates of middle school. I've always tried to keep people off my bed to keep them from seeing the juvenile list, which I've become rather embarrassed by. Seeing the very last name, however, made me smile wistfully. Written in silver pen were the initials M. W. "Wazowski, you didn't file your paperwork again"- just kidding. As much as I like small round green monsters, M.W. stands for my good friend Michael West.
He especially is not allowed to see the list. I wrote him down during freshman year, after spending marching season with him on drumline. I had a serious- I mean SERIOUS- crush on him. Well, so did half of the line. But since Michael and I have become closer, it's tapered off to a really really really good friendship. I've just never told him.
Thinking about Michael took me back to first period. Honestly, I hadn't strayed far all during the day- I just couldn't believe that Adam Scott was attending my high school. Or, according to the AP, "Taking advantage of our school's outstanding math curriculum and faculty".

***
He stood next to the AP, looking relaxed enough. Surprisingly, he dressed in pretty much the same style as Griff would in upcoming episodes. Most actors tend to leave their characters on set, but there were the slightly baggy cords and long tan suede jacket. His dark brown hair was middle length and spiked so the tips curved slightly.
"You know him?" Michael asked, leaning in with a frown.
"What?" I was, for once, paying attention to what the AP was saying.
".part time student, Adam Scott."
"I said, do you know him?" Michael said in a louder voice, drawing a glare from the AP.
But I barely heard his words, and only filed them away. For Adam was asking the sub where to sit, and there was and empty desk right next to me.
"Oh, just pick a spot, I don't really ca-are," the last bit drawn out with a sigh.
Adam scanned the room, smirking slightly at the girls looking back with interest. Of course, I was probably one too.
Maybe it was just my imagination, but I thought a small light of recognition and puzzlement crossed his face when he saw me. And amazingly, came to sit down across the aisle.
He eased himself into the desk, one of those cold indestructible affairs with the attached writing surface and basket underneath. He slouched, then hesitantly turned towards me.
"Aren't you-"
"Marissa," I jumped in eagerly. "From BMW."
Adam grinned. "Yeah, I thought so. You live around here?"
"Yeah, in Lincoln Heights. But , uh, you don't, right?"
"Well, we just moved here to allow me to go here and BMW."
"Oh, sweet." I was oblivious to Michael still turned around and shooting me pointed looks until he tapped my desk. "Oh! This," indicating him, "is my friend Michael West. Michael, Adam Scott. He's an actor with Boy Meets World." "Anyone I should know?" Michael asked, holding out a hand but eyeing him warily. " 'Fraid not," Adam laughed, shaking hands. "I'm just another nobody that runs around the set trying to look like an "average" high schooler." "Yeah but that's changing soon." I was still almost staring at Adam. "Aunt Barbie's got you all set up for a guest spot." Adam and I chatted about the show for the rest of the period, with interspersed comments from Michael. When the bell rang, we all stood and picked up bags and books and left the room in a rush of sound. I had invited Adam to join our lunch table if he had C, but it turned out that 1st period was his only class. He had been home schooled his entire life, but had progressed beyond his mother's confidence level in math. So I had little to look forward to and much to gaze back on through 2nd to 4th period and Nutrition. Lunch rolled around, and I joined my usual table in the commons pit. It was a rather uncomfortable setting. Michael seemed to treat me with a certain detachment, and my usual lunch time chatter fell on otherwise deaf ears. Ditty was depressed by the impossibility of the chem test, Sam because she was, and John was upset about the extra band sectionals called in anticipation of their upcoming UIL contest. But not much could dampen my day, and it flew by quickly in daydreams. ***
.and segued into dreams, as I pulled the sheets up and went to sleep.