I apologize for the long delay in updating again. Plain, simple lack of motivation is what I plead, although I do have the next chapter nearly all written, so we're a little up in that department, in case my inspiration does decide to flee again.

Disclaimer: I do not own Christopher Irvine, Paul Levesque, Shawn Hickenbottom, or Joanie Laurer. They belong to themselves and their characters are property of WWE Entertainment. I make no claim to them. I own the characters that you are not familiar with and they cannot be used without expressed permission.

I apologize for the lack of scene breaks, but for some reason, does not accept the lines I put. I hope that you can sort out when a scene change occurs, and I apologize again.

I also apologize for the fact that I accidentally posted the first part of my next chapter. I don't know how this slipped by me, and if you did read it, rest assured, I will try to post it, along with the rest of chapter ten, as soon as possible.

Thank you, and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.

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From Here to Heaven

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Chapter Nine

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Chris: To Burn

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"Shawn's coming back on Wednesday." Hunter's voice was terse. "His mother will be released then. She should be okay, if she keeps her diet and medication on track."

I didn't know how to answer that statement.

"So I'll be staying until then," he continued, scraping a spoon against the bottom of the pan of rice he was cooking. "And tomorrow is your first day of school, so I want you to get all your shit together tonight or you get your ass up at six in the morning to get it ready. It starts at eight and I start at eight, which means you'll be getting there half an hour early. We're leaving at seven, so you need to be ready by then. I don't care when you wake up, just make sure you're squared away to go."

I nodded mutely, my eyes wandering toward my backpack sitting on the floor. It was already packed and ready for wear. I knew the clothes I was going to wear and they were already neatly laid out on the armrest of the couch. If I wanted I could wake at six forty-five and be good to go. For safety's sake, I'd set my watch to ring at six-thirty. I scratched at it now and fumbled with the buttons.

In all my life I'd never owned a watch. Hunter had made me pick out a band at the store, one with a Velcro strap and a glittering surface. He'd apologized shortly for the cheapness of the watch, but I was not even dismayed. The rough surface felt foreign on my wrist and I constantly pawed at it, reluctant to get used to the feeling of it. Now I played with the buttons and eventually it blinked the time I wanted.

"If you're done playing with that," Hunter interrupted me, and I looked up, concealing my flinch and embarrassment, to see a wispy smile. "Your school gets out at three . . . I don't get off until four, so I don't know what we're going to do. You're going to have to wait until after four."

"I could walk," I offered.

His eyes narrowed. "No, you can't. I don't trust this neighborhood. You'll just have to wait."

Before I could stop myself I blurted, "Do you think that I can't take care of myself?"

I lowered my head immediately. Now I was in for it. Out of my place, all that. He had acted civilly at the store. I didn't think he could hold up the act in private.

"Oh, I don't think that at all," he said, mildly, and I raised my head an inch to see his eyebrows raised. "I'm sure you can, you little freak, but nonetheless, this is a bad neighborhood. Your ass is staying at the school until four and that's your own problem."

I swallowed. "Okay," I said meekly. "Okay."

"Now get the plates so we can eat."

I hurried to grab the plastic plates and set them next to the stove. While he ladled rice and potatoes onto the plates, I grabbed our customary cups, filled them with the juice of the day, and put them on the table, next to the cutlery I had already laid out. Taking the plates, Hunter set them at the table and sat at his seat while I took mine.

"So are you nervous?" he asked as he shoved a forkful into his mouth.

"About?" Pretending to be stupid usually worked for me.

"About school, dumbass."

I considered lying to him, but he was usually too perceptive to be fooled. "Scared shitless."

"That's healthy enough," he said. "You have your appointment with the shrink, remember."

I nearly choked on the bloody chicken I was forcing down my throat. "I do?"

"Mondays and Fridays are your appointments. Do I have to get you an appointment book or can I trust you'll remember now?"

"No," I said and impaled the rest of the chicken with my fork furiously.

"Don't act pissed about it," he said immediately as I speared the bloody meat. "Because it won't help you."

"I'm not," I replied.

"Like hell you're not."

I winced at the anger in his voice, my shoulders lowering. I had been spared this moment in the kitchen—I didn't expect the same kind of reprieve now. Whatever anger he held would come cascading out of him any moment. Any second the forks would be flying and the rice would be rolling and the chicken would be clucking . . . my stupid mouth had gotten me into trouble again . . .

"But it doesn't matter," Hunter carried on. "You're seeing the damn doctor and if you skip your appointments it's your ass, not mine."

I hunkered against the table—any second now . . .

"And about your transcript, if Nemark asks for it, we're still in the process. I'm getting it from the guys I got your birth certificate from, you need to write down what classes you've taken, the grades, we can put the California seal on them and . . ."

He continued about the transcript for a few more moments and it took me that time to realize that the table wasn't turning. He wasn't yelling or berating me; he wasn't slamming his plate against the ground or throwing his fork straight toward my forehead. Cautiously I raised my eyes; he tore apart the chicken with his bare hands and threw the bone on his napkin while continuing to drone about the transcript.

I sliced through a wad of rice with my fork to account for my silence.

Maybe there'd be a next time.

Or maybe Hunter wasn't going to explode at me.

Maybe I was the crazy one.

I shook my head, licked my lips, and continued eating.

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"You'll be okay, Chris. You'll be fine. I have to go now. Wait here at four, I'll—I'M GOING! Jeez, parents are insane . . . good luck!"

The window still on the way up, Hunter pressed his foot to the gas and, yelling at the drivers piled behind him, pulled away from the curb into the curve that led out of the school's parking lot. A car replaced his almost instantly and the cycle continued. Kids spilled from the doors, wishing good-bye to their parents, asking for lunch money, some looking as though their parents were the bane of their existence. Tall kids, short kids, kids who looked like they could give the Olympic team a run for their money, kids who looked like P.E. was the thing they dreaded most, they spilled from the cars and through the gates into the school.

I stood there for a few more seconds, tightening my sweatshirt against the chill morning wind, and headed for the front doors. Some kids cast me curious glances but most did nothing at my presence. They yelled to groups of friends, laughed at others' appearances, and walked silently by. Ducking my head, ignoring the glances that were cast my way, I entered the main building.

The door was open this morning and a few people moved around behind the counter. I went quickly through the door into the smaller office behind the larger. I swung around the high cabinets to see the registrar clicking away at a typewriter.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"Yes," I said nervously, my foot starting to bang against the floor. "Um, I'm new here, and the counselor said-"

"Say no more," he interrupted and shifted papers on his desk. He held a folded piece of paper with pink highlighter marks up. "Christopher Michaels?"

I almost said "no" but caught myself in time. "Yes," I said. "That's me, right."

"Here it is." He handed me the folded paper. "If you go out through the side entrance over there-"and he pointed out the door "-you'll see a map of the buildings. If you need help just ask a teacher or any adult or any student, for that matter. The first class starts at eight o'clock sharp and the day ends at two fifty-five sharp. Any questions?"

I unfolded the paper and scanned the contents quickly. "Um . . . something about a key for my leg."

"Oh yes," he said, peering down at something on his desk. "Five dollars will get you a key and when you return it you receive it back. But you need to have proof, like-"

I raised my braced knee.

"Well, good enough. What's wrong?"

"Broken kneecap," I said.

"Ouch. Do you have the money?"

"Yes," I said, handing him the bill.

He rummaged through his door for another few seconds before emerging with a small key attached to a yellow string. "There are about three more of these floating around, I believe, so you may not even need it. But all you do is twist the lock on the buttons and the doors will magically slide open." He smiled. "We have only one and it's located on the bottom floor of the B building, as well as on the top floor. Anything else?"

"I . . . I visit the psychiatrist." I wanted to burn at the words. "How do I-?"

"The counselor will have notified the teacher," he said, sounding suddenly too cheerful. "You'll be excused ten to fifteen minutes early. You're appointments are on Mondays and Fridays, from 11:30 to 12:20. Alright? Here's that pass." He handed me a small paper card. "Use it when you need to. Just go down to the office and walk in. Anything else?"

"No," I said, very grateful that I could leave. "Thank you very much."

"Welcome to Franklin," he said, still too cheerful, and I skittered out of the office before he could say anything else.

I exited the building and found the map, printed on stone and held up by metal rods, and studied it. It broke down the buildings by letter designation. That wasn't too hard. I looked down at my schedule, and then at the school schedule by it. This was going to be a little more difficult.

1st: Physics (Garner)

2nd: Pre-Calculus (Lopez)

3rd: English (Pre-AP) III (Klaxon)

4th: Journalism (Klyer)

5th: Typing (Priest)

6th: American History (Rork)

7th: French II (Beecher)

I had no problems with the schedule. My day would be a breeze. My first two classes would be the most difficult, but I foresaw no real problems. My English-based classes would be my easiest and typing wouldn't be too difficult either. My other real problem lay with the American history portion. I wasn't born American. I knew little of American history. Most of my brain was devoted to Canadian history. My country of birth was the country I knew most about. The class would be difficult for me unless I did some serious catch up. French would be easy, too—I knew most of the mechanics and the basic words and some more of the complex structures. In Canada the French heritage was proud. The class would be little difficulty.

That part wouldn't be too hard. I could remember that. The block schedule would be a little more difficult. Complexity had everything to do with it. The little pink piece of paper might have been directions, but it was no way the road. I could barely make out what—

"NO!"

Something slammed into me, slammed straight into my bad knee, and I fell as it buckled.

Panic surged through me, adrenaline flooding my veins.

"You idiot! You knocked him over!"

Suddenly there was a mass of people surrounding me and I felt helplessness flood through me.

"Hey, hey, are you okay? Hey?"

Through the thin haze of pain I gazed up and found the faces, looking down at me in concern.

"I'm fine," I muttered, breathing hard as I struggled to push myself up. "Fine."

A hand grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet. I swayed on the spot and stumbled, leaning all my weight on my good leg. My eyes cleared as I found the source of who had lifted me.

"Sorry, man," my attacker said, sounding a little shame-faced. "Didn't mean to hit you. We were just playing football and I guess I wasn't looking. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I said, waving him off, starting to feel embarrassed now that a group surrounded me. "It's okay."

"You went down pretty hard," said a girl to my left, with many shades of colors highlighting her once plain and simple brown hair.

"Yeah, but I'm fine. Thanks. Don't worry about it." I wanted them to leave.

"Well, sorry about that. Hey—who're you?"

"I'm new," I muttered, brushing dirt from my sweatshirt and trying to break free from this kid. Half the group had drifted away at seeing my recovery and most of the remaining were breaking free as well.

"That's cool. My name's Aden. Aden Hiller."

"Hi," I said, pushing past him. "Sorry for the trouble."

"Hey, man, I'm sorry for pushing you-"

"I said it was okay. I really need to go."

"Hey, if you need—"

I limped away from him, gritting my teeth against the pain, and entered the quad area with the stone tables. I sat and lifted my leg with the brace and started to massage the muscles underneath. I had been to three more sessions of therapy with my harpy doctor and I had improved, although I was still drastically far from what I could be. I was much looking forward to the day when could move without pain and without anybody staring at me. I missed the physical activities I had engaged in before my knee had been busted up.

I licked my lips as I felt suddenly dry, suddenly remembering how the kneecap had been shattered, remembering the pain when the hammer had slammed into the knee and the merciful blackness had come and carried me.

Hunter and Shawn both thought that the beating by the drunken gang had been the cause of my injury. I had done nothing to correct that impression and they never, thankfully, remembered that the pain I had been after they had rescued me was nothing compared to what would be if I had shattered it then. They could keep believing that impression.

A crowd started to slowly gather around the benches and tables, friends flocking together. I squirmed nervously. I'd never really been a people person—I'd had no close friends in school. The questions were something I couldn't handle, the questions about my black eyes and limp arms. I had been told, on many occasions, that I was far from being the handsome and cute boy who attracted girls and for me, that was perfect. I needed no one attracted to me and I needed to be attracted to no one.

The benches continued to crowd up until finally I could take it no longer. Breaking free, I limped toward the main buildings, where very few people were huddled, and even a few were alone.

I loitered until the bell sounded, a shrill and horrible sound that made me think of prisons. I had watched masses and masses of people head through the gates, yelling and hollering, as if they were happy to be at school. Personally, I had always been happy when I'd walked away from the house, so perhaps it was the same scenario with these kids.

I waited until most kids had filtered into the buildings, the buildings I remembered from my short venture with the map before I'd been rudely forced away, and when the teachers started to eye me, I entered the B building. I found the elevator easily enough and punched in the buttons, waiting anxiously for it to arrive.

"You're going to be late," droned a voice to my left maliciously and I turned to see a balding, furry-faced man staring at me, looking pointedly at his watch.

"I . . . I'm new. I . . . sorry?"

"You may be new, but it's still not tolerated in this school. I'm afraid I'm going to have to report you to the—"

"Mr. Scalia!"

A head poked in from out a door to our immediate left and I recognized the face as the boy who had knocked into me at the map. What had been his name? Adel? Abel? Aden. Aden Hiller.

"Mr. Scalia," he burst, "Barry, Barry and Nathan, they're going to fight, sir!"

"Fuck," said the man underneath his breath and ignoring me completely as the elevator doors blossomed open, he went to the door, already shouting. Aden Hiller slid quickly through the door and winked at me. I blinked bewilderedly at him and smiling, he said in nearly one word, "Hurry up, he's going to come back." He disappeared back inside the classroom.

I stood for a moment, unsure of what had just happened, and as the elevator doors started to slide close and the bell rang, signaling that indeed, I was late, I heard feet pounding behind me and a breathless voice said, "Hey, can I ride the elevator with you, kid?"

I turned around.

Her eyebrow was pierced, a dangling silver loop bright with perspiration. A small stud was affixed to her lip and I stared stupidly at it, thinking that it was just a drop of glitter, but I became aware of the texture. Each ear was studded up to the very tip and a large thing that looked like a pen cap was stuck in the lobe. It looked incredibly painful. She wore a tight black fitting shirt with a silvery design on it that covered the entire torso, stopping at the line and spelling out a word I couldn't read. Her jeans rode low on her hips and a strip of flesh showed just underneath, as well as a ring on her naval. Her dark hair was streaked with perfectly placed red and green highlights and her black, bright eyes seemed to jump forward from her perfectly formed face.

She looked like a punk.

But at the same time, she looked strangely beautiful.

"Hello?" she asked me, annoyed when I didn't answer immediately. "Let me the ride the elevator."

"What? Oh yeah, sure."

She headed in while I limped in. She eyed and was about to speak when I head Scalia yelling, "No, you little—"and the doors slid close with a slam.

She eyed me even more. "Was that for you?" she asked me, obviously interested.

"Yeah," I said, awkwardly, turning my face away. I wanted to talk to her; it was a peculiar feeling. She interested me. I wanted to ask her questions. I wanted to face her and smile at her and let her know it.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing. I'm late."

"Hey, hell, I'm late. I'm always late. You new?"

I was surprised she'd noticed. "Yeah. How'd you know?

She smiled, exposing a ring on her tongue. Her smile was captivating. "Never seen you before, that's all. What's your name?"

"Chris," I answered, a little too quickly. "Chris Michaels."

As the elevator doors flashed open, she said, "Danni Sawyer. Well, hey, thanks for the ride. You better hurry before Scalia makes it up the stairs. See you."

Before I could say anything she ran from the elevator and down the hall. I limped out as fast as I could, looking for her, but she had already disappeared around a bend in the hallway. I stood, unsure of what had happened, like I had when Aden Hiller had distracted Mr. Scalia. Scalia. He'd be coming up the stairs soon, that's what Danni had said.

Danni Sawyer. What could the "Danni" be short for? It had to be Danielle. Danielle Sawyer it was then. But wait, maybe she was just Danni. Maybe her parents had gone out on a dare or something. But I'd probably change my name to something shorter too, if I had that long name. I called myself Chris, didn't I? Yeah, so Danni was right. But still . . . she seemed too devilish to be a Danielle. The name just didn't suit her.

I realized I'd been mindlessly walking along the hall. Pulling my schedule from my pocket, I remembered about Scalia a second time and frantically searched for the room number, just in case the teacher did come to find me. There. A123. Stopping in front of a door, I looked for any indication of room number. A small placard was attached to the wall and it read A124.

I backtracked a door and found the placard that read A123. I stopped in front of it, seeing kids inside writing on papers, and a male teacher sitting, reading a folded piece of paper. Garner, Mr. Garner his name was, and he taught physics.

I heard heavy footsteps from down the hall and I suddenly remembered Danni's words.

I pushed open the door.

Every head in the room looked at me, wondering about this intrusion. A few heads went back to the paper, but most remained on me. Nervously, I went toward the teacher, feeling all the pairs of eyes, feeling nothing more than vulnerable.

Garner looked up when he heard my approaching footsteps. He smiled faintly. "Chris Michaels?"

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I answered, "Yes. That's me. I'm new."

He held up the piece of paper. "Yes, I was just wondering where you had gotten to. Had a problem finding the place?"

"A little."

"That's okay, everybody gets lost the first day. Mind if I introduce you?"

As everyone had been listening to the conversation, and even though I'd been practically whispering and he talking loudly, I was sure they knew the whole deal, but I nodded anyway.

Smiling again at me, holding out his hand, he said, "I'm Mike Garner, and I'll be your physics teacher."

Surprised, I shook his hand, finding his grip strong enough to shake my whole arm. He turned to face his class, all of whom were watching now. "Alright, kids, we've got a new student in class today. Now I know since you're all fourth graders anyway, you know the rules. Be nice. This is Chris Michaels."

I wanted to hide behind the teacher as all nineteen pairs of eyes turned toward me again. Sweating, I gave a little half wave with two fingers and a few students chortled at me.

Not feeling any better, I let Garner lead me toward the back of the classroom, behind a boy with dark blonde hair. He was sleeping in his chair, and I felt a small measure of relief. Everyone hadn't been watching me.

Garner cast a look at the boy in the chair. "You can take this seat here, Chris. I'll be back here to ask you some questions after I get class started, so we can figure out your pace and where you are in your own class. You're a junior, then?"

"Yes," I answered.

"Good. Well, here you are." He again looked at the sleeping boy. "Sleeping Beauty here is Adrian Hiller."

The boy gave a snorting honk and nearly everyone in the class laughed. Adrian Hiller wiped his eyes and blinked at the teacher, looking up at me, and with a shock, I found myself staring into the face of Aden Hiller.

"Mr. Garner?" Aden in disguise Adrian Hiller said.

"Can you tell me what I said in the last minute?" asked Garner pleasantly.

"Um . . ." He frowned at me. "You wanted us to work on our morning assignment?"

"Well, Mr. Hiller, you've just been given the question of your life and what do you do now?"

He blinked again. "I got it right?"

"Wrong. You've lost a million dollars. Sorry, come back again next week." The kids chortled and Aden in disguise Adrian Hiller blushed a little. "This is Chris Michaels, Adrian, and he'll be sitting behind you. I hope next time that we have a new student you don't do Sleeping Beauty on me. Go ahead, Chris, sit down. I'll be back in a second. And Mr. Hiller, it would be helpful if you did do your morning assignment."

Garner turned and walked away. Sliding into the seat, I stared at the back of the kid's head a second before he swiveled around and said sheepishly, "Sorry, Chris. Can I call you Chris?"

I stared at him. "Your name is Adrian?"

"Yup."

"You . . . Aden?"

He laughed, a purely nice sound. "I have a twin. He's Aden. I'm plain old Adrian. Nice to meet you, nice to give you a shock. Well, sorry, Chris. If I can call you Chris?"

The shock rolled over me and I almost laughed. Twins. Who would have guessed? That was cool.

Could he call me that? Of course he could! He was talking to me. Talking to me, without a fuss. Maybe this wouldn't be as bad as I thought it was going to be. If there was one good kid, there had to be others, right? Right? His twin had seemed nice enough. Right? If I was lucky. Which I usually wasn't.

But still, I had to hope. Maybe this wouldn't be as bad as I thought it would be. Garner seemed okay; this kid was talking to me, and his brother, and Danni Sawyer had talked to me, with interest. It would be okay, it had to be.

"Yes," I answered. "You can."

I wanted to add he could call me whatever the hell he wanted, as long as he talked to me. As long as I had somebody, as long as I wasn't just alone. I'd been fine at my old school, when I'd had next to no friends. Uncertainty flowed through me. What had changed?

Shawn and Hunter. Hunter and Shawn.

Being alone for so long, and then meeting them and having them talk to me, care about me, when nobody had for nearly forever, that had to be it. Was I craving friendship? Craving that same caring nature?

I had to be.

It was weakness, but I had to be.

Maybe it wasn't so bad after all.

The next time I saw Danni Sawyer was in my journalism class.

Jonathon Klyer was our teacher and after Garner, Lopez, and Klaxon, I felt as though I were ready for the next teacher's introduction. Lopez and Klaxon had treated me with none of the warmness Garner of the physics had, but I was still warm from that meeting. The classes had passed without incident and I felt reasonably well as for the lessons. Physics had been difficult to catch up on, as well as pre-calculus, but I felt that with some reviewing of the subject I could be caught up to where I should be. I could already tell that the English class would be one of my easiest subjects and I hoped for more from the journalism class.

The social aspect had been a little less promising. I had made friends, it seemed, with Adrian Hiller, and he seemed to be genuinely interested in wanting to be my friend. Other than that, no one else had spoken to me. Well, yes, there had been a few hellos and questions about where I'd come from, but when they'd found out I wasn't a very interesting or out-going person, I'd been pushed from the group. Which, I reflected, was fine, since at least no one was prying or shouting or screaming.

I entered Klyer's class with little trepidation and saw Danni Sawyer sitting right next to the door, pulling notebooks from her backpack. I stopped dead.

"And moving along," said a voice loudly from behind me and I moved ahead, blushing and saying an apology, but the kid was already pushing past me, rolling his eyes. Knowing immediately I'd rather head back out the door, I walked past Danni's desk without stopping. She said nothing to me as I passed. I felt immediate disappointment.

Well, she didn't know me. I'd let her ride the elevator with me. Nothing more. She'd smiled at me. But nothing more.

I approached the teacher, who was reading a novel and absently fiddling with his roll book. I cleared my throat loudly and he raised his eyes from the book.

"Hello?"

"I'm Chris Michaels. I'm new."

"Oh yes, yes. Sorry." He got up, marking his page, smiling and extending his hand. "Sorry about that. Me and my books have a certain affection for each other. I don't like to put them down. But anyways, I'm John Klyer. I'll be your journalism teacher for this year." He had an easy, out-going smile. "Glad to have you join us. If you don't mind, I'll just introduce you and put you in a seat. I don't like alphabetizing my students, so I do have an empty seat available if you like it. After I get class settled in I'll come and help you out. Um . . . I got a letter saying you see Mr. Paean . . . eleven-thirty, is it?"

I nodded, feeling my good mood die. I'd forgotten everything about the stupid meeting with the shrink.

"I'll let you got at eleven-twenty, to give you plenty of time. So you've got, oh, about half an hour to endure me. I hope you enjoy it."

He smiled wickedly and showed me to my seat, in the back row. I was across from Danni Sawyer. I avoided her eye, though she made no intention of looking at me. I wanted her too, though. I wanted to talk to her, still.

The door opened again and a loud group of boys filed in. I looked as Danni looked and after she rolled her eyes, we both looked away, she saw me. She smiled. "Hey," she said. "You escaped Scalia."

I felt my heart skip a beat as she smiled. "Yes, I did."

"Well, you saved my ass too. So thanks." She went back to her papers. I stared at her for a few moments and when she caught me, her face faded a little. Blushing madly, I started to pull things from my backpack.

"Hey, it's you! The kid I ran into!"

I looked up to see Aden Hiller swing into the chair that belonged to the two-person desk. I realized that he'd been one of the chatting boys who had entered the classroom. He wore a letterman jacket.

"Hi," I said awkwardly.

"Well, you ran off before I could properly apologize."

"Hey, but you saved me with Scalia. I guess I should thank you."

"Hey, no problem." He shook his long hair gracefully. "Glad you got away; and besides, Barry and Nat were about to kill each other, so hey, did some good there. Not that anyone would mind if Barry or Nat were gone. But anyways, you never told me your name. You ran off."

I felt my face redden. "I'm not much of a talking person, I guess. I'm Chris Michaels." The name still felt foreign and thick, so unlike my real name.

"Hiya. Aden Hiller, if you remember. "

"Of course he'd remember you, Aden," said a black haired kid in front, also in a letterman jacket. "You nearly killed him."

"I didn't do such thing," answered Hiller, yawning. "Did I, Chris?"

I felt the two boys in the lettermen jackets turn their eyes on me and I felt flustered. "No . . . you didn't, really . . . it wasn't bad at all . . ."

"You see?" said Hiller triumphantly. "I make no kills here."

"I betcha do in your homeland, ya filthy double born," said the tousled haired boy next to brown haired one.

I brightened a little at the comment. "I met your brother," I said.

He swept his eyes on me. "Oh, you met Adrian, did you? Did you notice a similarity?"

"Just a little," I said, not wanting to offend.

Aden Hiller laughed. "Just a little? How about a lot?"

"No," I said, feeling a little downed by his laughter.

"Hey! See, Larry, somebody thinks we don't look alike."

Larry the brown-haired one eyed me coolly. "He's obviously mistaken, sorely, with bad eyesight."

I felt the insult roll over me as Aden gave a dirty look to Larry. I sat back in my chair a little, feeling the need for conversation to leave me.

"Don't mind Larry," said Aden loudly, in an apologetic voice. "He doesn't like the fact that blondes are better looking then he is."

Now was the stupidest thing he could have said. I was ugly and scrawny, and Larry over here had two admirers over in the second row, I could already tell. Aden was trying to help me, but all he was doing was hurting me. From the looks of him, and from the varsity jacket, he had to be an athlete. Probably the elite of the school, with every girl tripping over themselves to touch him. And he pitied me, talking to the little, lonely, ugly new kid.

I wanted him to leave.

Aden was still shooting me guilty looks when the teacher stood up and cleared his throat, signaling for attention. Except for Larry, who pretended to snore, everyone looked at him immediately.

"Well," said John Klyer, "I'm glad to see you all today. I'll be giving you your morning assignment in a few seconds, but if you haven't noticed, we have a new student today. Chris, raise your hand." Feeling my face redden intensely, I raised my hand. "This is Chris Michaels. I hope you'll all treat him accordingly. Of course, he's sitting next to Hiller and Ashton, along with the little child Buford." Most of the class laughed, including the two admirers in the second row loudly, but I noticed that Danni Sawyer continued to look straight ahead. "Anyhow, he's our new student, and like I said, treat him nice. Take out your journals and I want you to write what you did this weekend." There was a general groaning. He clapped his hands enthusiastically. "Oh, come on. You've had a whole weekend to do whatever the hell you've wanted, I'm sure you have some endeavors you want to write about. Now hop to."

The groaning subsided and there was a flurry of zippers and scratching of papers as each student took a spiral notebook from a backpack. Klyer walked down the aisle toward me, stopping to my left and bending down to my level. I noticed Aden and Larry and the tousled haired kid listening.

"So you lived in California, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, if you've had this class, you shouldn't have any problems catching up. You did have this class and aren't just starting new?"

"No, I've taken journalism for the beginning of this year."

"Okay, good. Basically my journalism students write the school newspaper. So you'll be working on articles about sports, the dances, student events, so on and so on. Nothing terribly interesting, but good enough to work on. We write journal entries every morning and try to keep the information clear and accurate. You just need a spiral notebook for the journal and your standard, boring school supplies, though a dictionary and thesaurus are perks. Basically that's it. I'll assign you some part of the newspaper and you just write on it. I grade the work monthly and you'll end up with your grade. Any questions?"

I shook my head.

"Good. When we start class you can see what we do and I'll pop you into a group to start writing. I assign randomly, so no complaining. Now just wait."

He got up abruptly and walked back to the head of the class. I sat awkwardly, unsure of what to do. This was the way it had been done in my last school, the basic format. Working on the school newspaper had been something I'd enjoyed. Staring around at Aden and his friends, I hoped that I would enjoy this.

A few minutes later he stopped the journal writing and told the students to divide into groups to work on their articles for the paper. I sat stupidly while Aden, Larry, and the other kid moved to join one more at the front of the classroom. Aden shot me another apologetic look. Across the row from me, Danni Sawyer joined up with one other girl, who looked less than thrilled at the prospect, and they silently sat across from each other.

After making a quick round of the students, Klyer came back to me, studying a sheet of paper.

"Well, I've got only spot open for you, so I hope you enjoy though. It's community events, and it requires that you have to look around the school area for anything interesting, most likely school construction or dances or new funding, or anything like that. I don't require anything in particular, just nothing vulgar or anything like that. Danni and Cynthia probably have a good hand on the subject already, so you can just join them." He pointed to the table right across from mine and my heart leapt strangely.

I hobbled to their desk with Klyer behind me. "Cynthia, Danni," he announced, and they both looked up. "In case you weren't listening, this is Chris Michaels. Since you're a person short, he's going to be joining your group. Chris, this is Cynthia Fontaine and this is Danielle Sawyer, but she prefers Danni. Girls, I would highly appreciate it if you explained to Chris what you guys need to do and how you need to do it." A phone rang from the front of the classroom suddenly and Klyer glanced up. "You're leaving at eleven-twenty," he reminded me as he went toward the phone. "Hop to."

Cynthia Fontaine studied me with some interest as I sat down. Danni Sawyer continued to work silently, her pencil gliding across the paper in graceful writing. Cynthia motioned to the seat and I sat, stretching out my leg comfortably.

"Hi," she said brightly. She was pretty, one of those girls who had to be a varsity guy's girlfriend. Her copious amount of flat blonde hair was pulled loosely into a tail, framing her heart-shaped face perfectly, and her luminous blue eyes were defined by eyeliner and eye shadow. Her face was formed exquisitely and she was shaped like a model. She was beautiful and I forgot almost immediately about the girl sitting to my left. "I'm Cynthia Fontaine."

Klyer's voice came through the room a moment later. "I'm leaving for a moment," he said. "Be good." His eyes sparkled. "No fights, kiddies. Keep working, now. Hop to." He exited the room, leaving us alone, and immediately chatter broke out from all along the room. I saw Aden and Larry looking at us, but Cynthia's attention was focused on me.

She tilted her head from side to side, studying me. "Did you just move here?" she asked.

Trying not to stare at her, I said, "Yes."

"From where?"

"California. Los Angeles."

"Wow, that's pretty cool. I've never been there." She continued to stare at me and I looked away. "So do you like it here so far?"

"It's alright," I answered, my voice sounding funny to my own ears.

"Alright, I would hope so. I live here, you now. It's next to perfect." She laughed, a tinkling sound. "Really, though. Why'd you move here?"

"I . . . um . . . I came to live with my dad."

"Oh, that's good." She stopped studying me and turned her head toward Danni. "This unfriendly girl here is Danni."

Danni looked at me and then at Cynthia, eyes blazing. "Yeah, I'm Danni. Stop talking like I'm not here, Cindy."

Cynthia's eyes blazed. "My name is not Cindy," she hissed in a low voice. "And just because you're some damn fucking punk, you have no right to talk—"

"And you should fuck off," said Danni simply, her pen taking up the place where she had stopped on the page.

Cynthia's face started to pinch. "You have no right," she said in a low voice. I heard sounds from behind and glanced around to see Larry and Aden watching intently. "You should go crawl off under a rock and fucking die, you fucking—"

"Hey," I said, alarmed. Cynthia's fists were clenching on top of the table and her eyes never stopped their smoldering. Danni, besides her first flash of anger, seemed to be moderately calm now. Her long black hair fell forward and covered her face as she bent low over her paper.

"Shut up," Cynthia snarled at me. I fell immediately silent, moving back. "You are some freak and you have no clue what it's like to be human!"

The childish nature of the statement made me stop and look down, wanting to laugh. This was stupid. Apparently they didn't like each other, but I thought that they could at least be civil. Danni appeared only to want to be left alone. And Cynthia had talked to her first. What a stupid little war the beautiful girl was initiating.

"I know perfectly well, thank you," Danni answered, still writing. "You need to work on your part of the article now, you know."

"I know perfectly well, you fucking freak," spat Cynthia.

"Come on," I interjected. "Stop fighting." When Cynthia turned her crystal blue eyes on me, I averted my own to the floor. She was near my age, somewhere up a year or down a year, and she was merely a girl, but I'd been beaten by less than her. Even though, logically, I knew that she wouldn't hurt me, I didn't care.

"You're not taking her side, are you?" Cynthia asked, more of a threat than a question.

"What?" Taking sides? I looked at Danni, her face still shrouded by her hair.

"You're not taking that freak's side. You can't be. You look nice enough."

I nearly blushed at the compliment, but something held me back. I felt thoroughly confused. What the hell was going on?

"I . . . I'm not on anybody's side. You guys just shouldn't be fighting."

"Somebody sees reason," said Danni quietly from the left.

Cynthia's eyes flashed again. "Nobody was asking you, freak," she said crudely.

"Nobody needs to fight," I repeated. "It's stupid."

"Nothing's stupid," said Cynthia in a placating voice, like I was some sort of stupid child. "She hates me."

"I don't hate anybody," continued Danni in that quiet voice.

Cynthia stood up. The room got immediately quiet. "I don't have to deal with you now," she said. "Chris, you seem like a nice enough person. But Danielle here hates every living creature. I'd stay away from here."

Danni's face shot up. "I don't take shit from anybody, much less you," she said, her voice rising a little. "And you can spread all the trashy rumors you want about me, but don't you go and spread them behind my back."

"I'm not," sneered Cynthia. "I just spread it to you now."

"Good." Danni continued to stare at Cynthia. "You want to hate me so bad, you little fucker, go ahead. I want a fight."

"Fight? You think I can't kick your ass?"

"Give me one more good reason."

"You're a little fucking freak."

Danni launched herself at Cynthia. Cynthia uttered a high shriek as she pitched backward, struggling to stave off the clawing girl.

"Hey! Stop it!"

I jumped to my feet before I knew what I was doing and threw my arms around Danni's narrow waist, pulling her backward with all my strength. Her knees and elbows knocked into me, along with her fists.

"She hit me!"

Cynthia was shrieking again and again as I heard the pounding of feet and the cries from the room. "The bitch hit me!"

Her hand was a blur as she aimed for Danni, who was still struggling in my arms. She hit me instead.

"Hey!"

Yelping, I fell back against the table, holding my eye, Danni knocking Cynthia over in one fluid movement.

"Hey!" hollered a voice, a voice I recognized as Larry's. "You little bitch! Don't touch her!"

I opened my eyes in time to see six foot, 200 pound Larry flying toward Danni. Panic caught my throat, and I heard Aden yell, "No!"

Ignoring the shrieking pain in my knee, I leapt up, throwing my body into Larry, blocking him from Danni, who had just realized the danger after a thorough job on Cynthia's perfect face.

I felt pain race through my torso as Larry's full frame shove into me.

"Hey! KNOCK IT OFF!"

I flew into the table, my knee knocking against the edge, and I screamed.

The room got suddenly quiet. I could hear myself panting, Danni's panting, Larry's growling rage, and Cynthia's quiet whimpers of pain.

"Hey, what the hell is going on here?" It was Klyer. I squeezed my eyes tight as another wave of pain rolled over, this one so intense I felt tears spring into my eyes, and I whimpered. "Cynthia, are you alright? Cynthia? NO, DON'T!"

I could hear hurried footsteps and forced open my eyes in time to see Cynthia launch herself at Danni, who was leaning against the table, wiping her face. Klyer caught her by her waist and forced her bodily away from Danni, who stood there, just looking. Lying on the table, I felt vulnerable, my body spread-eagled, my knee dangling limply. Cynthia's high-pitched whimpers drove spikes into my brain and I felt pain in my head.

"Chris, Chris!"

I opened my eyes and rolled my head to the side to see Aden Hiller's worried face.

"Chris, are you alright? Can you sit up?" His hands grabbed my shoulders and when I nodded, he forced me into a sitting position, both legs dangling off the table. I was still panting. "Are you alright, Chris? What hurts? What's wrong?"

"Knee," I managed to choke out. My knee was bent straight, thankfully, not at an awkward angle, but the brace was jammed painfully into my flesh and I had a horrible feeling that the work done to it had just come undone.

Klyer forced Cynthia out of the classroom, dispatching two boys with her, one Larry, one a calmer looking boy with glasses. "Get to your seats!" he roared, surprising me badly. "All of you, NOW!"

Everyone scattered, except for Aden, who remained by my side, and Danni, who continued to stand.

Klyer came to me, his face pale. "Chris, what happened?"

Aden answered instead. "Danni and Cynthia got into a fight. Chris tried to stop them and he grabbed Danni and Cynthia hit him instead, and then Larry tried to hit Danni but Chris tried to stop him and Larry hit him instead and he flew back into the table and I don't know what's wrong with him!" The sentence came out jumbled, but I could see the recognition in Klyer's eyes.

The teacher came around the table and bent close to me. "Is it your knee?" he asked.

"Yeah," I panted, feeling the pain again. "I . . . it was shattered. I think . . . I think I just moved it. Not shattered. Just pain. It just hurts."

"I'll send you the nurse," he said. "Or better yet, I'll send you to Paean. He needs to see you anyway. Can you put weight on it?"

With Aden's hand still holding me, I slid from the table, leaving weight on my good leg, and stepping down gingerly with the other. It took a moment for the pain to slice into me and I nearly groaned, but managed to keep it in. I shook my head.

"Alright, then. Aden, you and Eric help him to Dr. Paean's office. Do you know where it is? No, well okay, Chris does. I'll call down and let him know you're coming. Use the elevator and go carefully. You hear me? Go carefully. Go now. Chris?"

I looked up at him, tears of pain slowly fading from my eyes.

"Be careful. Rotten way to start a first day, isn't it?"

I forced a laugh that came out as more of a moan. "Sure is."

Klyer snapped back around toward Danni, saying, his voice surprisingly gentle, a voice I'd thought would be angry, "Danni, what happened?"

As Adam and the tousled haired boy, who I assumed was Eric, came up to me, I saw Danni's eyes watching me, ignoring Klyer's question for the moment. She smiled, a tired, sad smile, but suddenly I felt my heart break free of the restraints I'd had. Cynthia's pristine, beautiful, fake smile did not match this smile, this smile that showed some crooked teeth, that hideously ugly green tongue ring. My heart lifted and I felt that, no matter the consequences of this one moment, no matter if my leg never fully recovered, or if there were more consequences I couldn't foresee, my struggle to separate the two girls had been worth it.

"Alright," the boy named Eric said. "I'll take your arm, you take that arm, Aden. Chris, just slide your arms around our necks. You'll do fine. Keep the weight off the leg and just hop. You'll do fine."

As we started for the short distance between the door and the table, Aden explained to me, "Eric is part of the student trainer program. He thinks that you need to be calm."

"I feel marginally calm," I said, trying to smile.

"If you're panicked, then you hurt yourself more. So the goal is to keep you un-panicked at possible."

"I don't feel panicked," I said.

"Still. As you're about to see, we're going to hit a very-panicked situation here. It could be very stressful."

I looked at him, puzzled. He winked. Aden pulled open the door and a second later I realized what Eric meant by a stressful situation.

Cynthia was pounding her fists into Larry, who was trying his best to console her, but looking strangely helpless as her punching bag. The calm-looking kid with the glasses watched with an expression of amusement on his face.

"Cynthia," Larry was yelling, trying to grab her wrists and stop her, but looking scared to hurt her. "Cynthia, come on, knock it off!"

Cynthia cried and raged at the wall, the only distinguishable words "Danni," "bitch," and "kill."

All three turned toward the sound of the door and Cynthia's face distorted into a veil of rage while Larry's face turned into a sneer.

"Not even an hour," the taller boy said. "Not even an hour and he's fallen in with that bitch. I'm glad I hit you."

"Hey," Aden said angrily. "Knock it off! You were going to hit a girl!"

"She's not a girl," snarled Cynthia.

"She's not human," supplied Larry.

"Accordingly, she's a freak," said the kid with glasses, but it was so exaggerated, I knew he believed none of it.

"Eddie's right," Larry picked up, half as angry. "And I don't care if she's a girl, she hit Cynthia!"

Cynthia pointed erratically toward her cheek, which was a very light shade of blue, the rest red, which was probably just her spouting anger. "Right here!" she nearly shouted. "I'm going to sue that bitch! She provoked me!"

"No, she didn't!"

The anger hit me so fast that I was surprised. Larry's face darkened, and the mask of rage that Cynthia wore turned into a mask of fury. I wanted to recall the words as soon as I saw their faces change, as soon as their faces changed from plain and simple rage at a person they couldn't reach, to a person right in front of them. Why hadn't I just kept my big mouth shut? I knew better than talking out of turn—God knew my knee proved it.

"Say it again," challenged Cynthia, her face melting further into the pool of fury.

"Hey," protested Eric, who was started to drag me inconspicuously down the hall. "He's hurt. He doesn't know what he's saying." I knew perfectly well what I was saying, but he was trying to save me from further damaging, for which I was grateful. "Move it guys, we have to go."

Larry's eyes lingered on me, hateful.

"And you shouldn't be talking," Aden seethed. Oh, great job. Larry was inches taller than Aden even, fuller by fifty pounds, and here Aden was, provoking him. Oh, very fine job. "You were about to hit a girl, and that's as low as you can get, Larry!"

Larry's anger diverted from me toward Aden. "What the fuck are you saying, Aden? You know Danni's a fucking freak and you saw her hit Cynthia! I had to protect her!"

"If I wasn't mistaken, Danni had stopped hitting her!"

"I had to get revenge!" Larry's arms twitched malevolently. "She attacked her!"

"Yeah!" piped up Cynthia, pointing to the same light bruise on her face. I nearly blanched. Oh yeah, baby, you think that's bad? I rolled my eyes at her, the pain in my leg growing as Eric shifted nervously under my arm.

"And you're about two hundred pounds heavier!" Aden exploded. "She's a girl!"

"Stop fighting!" Eric looked desperately at the kid with glasses, who took the hint and stepped between Larry and Aden, who held my left arm by his neck. "Stop fighting! Klyer's coming out here any second and you guys can punch each up some other time! Get some real jabs in, whatever the hell you want, but he's right inside! Fuck you both. He's hurt, it was a stupid fight, and we are leaving. Back off, Larry."

Without another word, Eric started quickly down the hall, dragging Aden and I along with him. I had to hop frantically to match his pace, but I was grateful for anything that took me away from the hateful hole behind us. Half the way down the hall I heard a door open and then Eric sigh in relief, "Klyer. He just came out." He slowed his pace.

"Are you okay, Chris?" he asked me as we neared the elevator. "Sorry I went so fast."

"No, I'm glad," I panted, my sides heaving as though I'd run a mile instead of just hop a few yards. "Thanks."

"No problem," Eric said, and then his attention turned to Aden, who had been quiet since his last words to Larry. "What the hell is your problem, Aden? You can't win this Larry, and you're stupid for provoking him!"

"He was going to hit a girl!" Aden still sounded shocked. "You don't get any lower than that, especially if the girl is two feet shorter and a hundred pounds lighter! I mean, I know Cynthia's his girl, but that was too much, man, that was way too much!"

We stopped near the elevator and leaning my weight awkwardly on Aden, I took my arm from Eric and pulled the key on the lanyard from my neck, handing it to Eric. We piled in the elevator unceremoniously and as the door clanged shut, Eric asked, "So what did happen?"

"It was stupid," I said, first quietly, then raising my voice. "It was really, really stupid." I recounted what had happened and by the time we exited the elevator, Aden was shaking his head.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," he muttered. "I like Cynthia, but jeez, sometimes she can be such an idiot."

"Well, Danni's not exactly a peach, either," Eric put in. "You heard what she did with Jeremy the other week, didn't you?"

Aden shrugged. "So they do drugs. Everyone in the school does drugs."

"But she's a pill popper, Aden. Regularly. They're ruining their lives, they do what else? Coke, weed? Their entire little group is being stupid. If I were you, Chris, I'd stay far away from them."

"That's unfair," interjected Aden.

"That's totally fair," said Eric reasonably. "They're doing drugs and the fuck knows what else. I would stay far away."

"Danni seemed nice enough," I said quietly.

"Oh, they're all nice enough,' said Eric as we approached the main office. "All of them, nice enough. But the fact is they do use their dumbass drugs and you just know their plain stupid. All dark and depressed and do nothing worthwhile."

"Now that is unfair," objected Aden. "Jeremy plays guitar and Ariel is into her art and Danni likes to write and Seth and Ethan play their band and Tasha and Sage are into their sculpture—"

Eric remained resolute. "They're doing drugs," he repeated. "And they're being stupid."

We fell silent as we entered the office, and then Aden asked, "Where's Dr. Paean's office? Who is Dr. Paean? Never heard of him before."

I lowered my head. "He's the psychiatrist," I muttered.

I felt Eric stiffen underneath my arm and Aden said, uneasily, "Oh. Well, that's probably why I've never heard of him before." There was a long, horrible pause when I thought they'd leave me right then. Think I was diseased or something. Think my insanity or whatever inflicted me they could catch.

"So where, um, is his office, um?" Eric coughed after the pause.

I directed them and we went toward the office. When the little panel with the words SCHOOL PSYCHIATRIST came into view, I wanted to shrivel. I had thought I could escape unscathed from my appointments. Nobody would have to know I saw the stupid shrink and nobody would think any lesser of me. Of course, that had gone and been screwed up for me, like everything else. Now everyone would know I had a "problem" and my "problem" was bad enough for the shrink. So great. I'd be the little new kid with the "problem" who saw the shrink to cure the "problem."

Aden hesitantly knocked and when there was a barking affirmative, Eric opened the door while Aden and I hopped in.

Dr. Joseph Paean, wearing a loose collared shirt and loose pants, stood up to greet whoever had come through his door. Probably thinking it was me, but probably in a tad different fashion. When his eyes caught sight of me hobbling in with Aden supporting me, his eyes widened.

"Pretty bad, then?" he asked, and I remembered Klyer's intention of calling him. "Is the pain bad?"

I nodded my head slightly.

"Stay on the couch," he instructed, and Aden deposited me on the worn brown sofa a moment later, letting me stretch my leg to the fullest extent, the brace still jamming into the flesh very painfully.

"Thanks for bringing him down," Paean said, ushering Aden and Eric toward the door. I shot Aden a helpless glance and he tried to smile. "Thanks," I said, in a voice thick with despair.

"Don't mention it," Aden said. "Happy to help."

"Yeah," said Eric, but I thought he sounded pressed to leave.

Paean shooed them out the door and a moment later, closed it.

The heavy bang sounded like nothing less than the steel bars of a prison cell slamming shut.