Kat: Hey there! I've hijacked the A/N this chapter. Since some people were a bit confused about Paul's 'Jedi Mind Trick' as NiceHayley put it, I'm here to explain! Aren't you lucky!

Well, basically, Paul used mind control to get CeeCee to tell him about Suze.. And apparently Paul made her fall asleep because he can have instant power over consciousness of non-mediator/shifters. And he is more powerful than Suze, so she can't do it yet. Well according to Lolly anyway. Then he wrote her essay for her.

Lolly: Isn't he a sweetie?

Kat: Shut up, this is MY spotlight. Well... Thanks for the reviews.

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My head was pounding. I didn't know why. I didn't have a clue why I suddenly had a mad, pulsating headache. I mean, I hadn't exactly strained my brain, right? That essay . . . the one on the Hamlet thing? I honestly could not remember writing it, and I was kind of freaked out that I'd used the word "psychosomatic". What does that word MEAN? I mean, I am a brain. I should know. I obviously do, because I wrote it in my essay, but . . . I really DIDN'T know what it was. It reminded me of the word "asthmatic." Which was kind of how I felt at that moment. You know, short of breath and light-headed.

I just didn't know WHY.

And believe me, not knowing? That is bad for me. I like to know. I like to know exactly what is going on, and when I don't know, I get irritable and frustrated and angry.

And I didn't know.

Hence the moodiness.

Mr Henry, my Lit. teacher, was – needless to say – impressed with my essay. Well, what he read of it. He has a thing of reading some peoples' introductions as he's collecting up essays. You know, just to say, "Not good enough. Do it again,' and stuff. Not that he's ever said that to me. Because, like I said, I am a brain. I know my stuff. Which was what made it so bad this time, how I didn't know this. I didn't know what was going on at all. It felt like I'd been in a coma, and I'd woken up and so many things had happened while I was dead to the world.

I mean, hello? I hadn't even read the play of Hamlet. All I knew, basically, was that the playwright was Shakespeare. Oh, go me. The rest of the story, was all a blank.

I couldn't remember a thing.

But yeah, enough of that. Mr Henry was content with my work, so yay. Give me a prize.

I just, you know, hate being lost in thought, or confused. It makes me wonder if someone's slipping anything into my soda, you know? I know, conspiracy theory much? But that's how I felt. Like I was being drugged to feel all fuzzy. Because, seriously, I'm one of the most down-to-Mars girls you'll ever meet. I have both feet firmly on the ground, thank you.

Nope, no fairies or Santa or ghosts for me.

Which leads me on to Jesse.

I really don't understand why I asked – no, TOLD Suze that Jesse was a ghost. She called me nuts, but something flashed in her eyes. And I knew I'd hit the jackpot. She was one of those people thingies, those mediums, who could speak to the dead.

It's so, so weird.

But that's the only way that it can be explained.

And that's the thing. I made her promise to explain it to me. She said that she would someday. Only, whenever I go to ask her about him, she always changes the topic. It's making me very miffed, of late. How she just doesn't care how I'm feeling, you know, all bewildered and ignorant.

I don't LIKE not knowing! And she's not telling me ANYTHING.

All I know is, Jesse's dead. And I don't know why, or how Suze can see him. I mean, is it really possible that certain people are born with – what, a second sight and hearing, to be able to see and converse with spirits? How is that possible? Is it something psychological? Why can't I see them? Why can Suze? Is it something to do with cleverness? Because, God knows, Suze isn't the shiniest pebble. I mean, she's people smart, not book smart. I'm the nerd, not her. So, that can't be it, or I'd be RAISING the dead.

Not to boast, or anything. But I kind of pride myself on being intellectual, you know? It's my thing. Just like being pretty and popular is Suze's thing.

God, if she knew how I'd love to trade . . .

I know better than to dwell on things that I can't have, though. I know that some people are just born with things that others don't have.

Ha. Like this ghost thing.

But anyway . . . no more thinking. My brain's hurting . . .

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Mr Henry had just let us all go from Lit. Sorry to say, but I still felt like I was high, high, high in the sky. Blah. You know, Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds, the works. Oh well, whatever. I had Religion now, with - oh joy, Sister Ernestine. I knew that Suze and Adam were both in that class, so I wasn't too fussed over it. I'd just sit by them and, well, you know, not learn.

As you may have guessed, I really don't like Religion. Um, a GOD? Yeah, I'm so sure. What, and the world was created in Seven Days? Adam and Eve? Hahaha, yeah, like that happened. Um, no. Not when you have physical evidence to prove the existence of dinosaurs and stuff, and hello? Big Bang Theory much? I think that it is scientifically safe to say that Christianity is a load of crap.

People with Leprosy do NOT get healed by some bearded guy who claims to be the son of some big guy.

It just doesn't happen, okay? It doesn't.

Aaah, and yet, lately I've been more inclined to believe in the existence of ghosts. What can I say? I need help. I really, really do. I'm not even sure if I believe Suze, anymore. I mean, maybe I was just . . . drunk. Even though I don't actually drink, you never know? Someone might have slipped me a tequila when I wasn't paying attention.

You know, due to Paul Slater going mental and stuff.

And so yeah. Paul is incurably insane.

Argh . . . why do the insane guys have to be hot?

How come I'm THINKING about hotness? Ugh, I'm CeeCee. I'm not Suze. I don't think that corpses are sexy. I don't think that annoying, tall hot guys with icy blue eyes are sexy either. Despite previous adjectives used to describe said tall hot guy.

We must accept this. I really suck.

Well, anyway. I strutted quickly to Religion, along the corridor, but accidentally smacked into two of the jocks, Brad and Scott. Brad happened to be Suze's stepbrother - lucky her - and Scott, well, he was just an asshole. Really. He went out of his way to make lives hell. And mine was commonly a target, due to my being a freak. You know, the albino thing...

'Hey white-dork, don't trip,' guffawed Brad snidely, as he stuck out his foot. Before I could stop myself, my whole world lurched forward, and all of my books dropped out of my hands as I hurriedly threw them out - my hands, I mean - to break the impending fall. I was sprawled on the ground. Brad and Scott started sniggering boisterously, and they wandered away, throwing me condescending looks.

'Let's leave her out in the sun for three hours tomorrow,' I heard Scott sneer spitefully as they were exited the scene quickly.

I sat on the floor, staring after them sadly . . . this was the burden I beared. I mean, generally the offshoot of being albino, is the racism. Or discrimination. Call it whatever you want . . . I hate it. I hate it so much . . .

Especially when it's the jocks who do it. God knows I'd hate to be popular, but I am already considered a huge freak because I know all the states of America, backwards and forwards. What? Is it such a crime? So, now I'm a nerdy freak. And I pay for my knowledge . . .

I was late for class. Religion had started a minute ago. But I just sat there for a few more moments, just blinking slowly.

God . . . I am aware of how random this is, but . . . I'd love to be Suze. Her life must be cheese cake compared to this. She was liked. That was what I wanted so much. I mean, popularity isn't the most important thing, but respect is something that everyone deserves. Even me. The albino. Yeah, funny concept, huh?

Slowly, with a sigh, I gathered up my textbooks, and all the pages that were now littered a meter away from me. Kind of swallowing down an annoyed - okay, upset - shout, I stood up, brushing back a few strands of hair that had escaped my tight ponytail. I think that it is totally useless, having hair out and wild like Kelly Prescott does. Like, who know? Someone could get mad and just . . . Well, you know, make with the scissors and chop.

Not that anyone would be brave enough to touch Kelly's hair, dumb blond that she is. She'd totally freak at them. Which, you know, makes the whole idea kind of appealing to me. Kelly's like, another highly status individual who has sought to make me suffer. I don't mind quite as much.

When I intellectually insult her back, it's kind of satisfying to see her go ". . . what the . . . ?!" when she doesn't know what the hell I'm talking about. Which, majority of the time, she doesn't.

Ugh . . . ANYWAY. I was late to Religion. I came to the door, looking - I believe - flushed, and I went to sit next to Suze, but -

Paul was sitting there.

On the other side was Adam.

Oh, fabulous.

'Miss Webb?' demanded Sister Ernestine icily, 'What time do you call this?'

I shrugged meekly, 'The time that I showed up?'

Her face darkened. 'You are late. I am afraid that I'll have to give you a detention for that, it's five minutes into the lesson and I am a person who strongly believes in punctuality. See me after school. Now sit down next to Mr Slater.'

I blanched. D - detention? Me?! Oh no, no, no . . .

I couldn't get a detention! No, no way. I hadn't gotten one since seventh grade when I purposely put too much pepper on Debbie Mancuso's sandwich in Home Economics and she pretended to have an allergic reaction! I couldn't just get a detention, especially for something that was my fault! And I couldn't be known as someone who got detentions ever five seconds, no WAY.

Oh crap . . .

'Sister,' I said evenly, 'It wasn't my fault that I was late, I -'

'Do you have a hall pass?' she interrogated, her bushy eyebrows raised at me menacingly. I shook my head and went to speak, but she gave me a glare. 'I believe I asked you to take a seat, Miss Webb. Or shall we extend this detention?'

'Sister Ernestine, that's not fair.'

Oh, no. That wasn't me saying that.

That was Suze.

She was giving the old nun a cool, arrogant kind of look, as if she was about to threaten to break HER fingers too, like she did on her first day. Sister Ernestine turned back to Suze, eyeing her accusingly. 'Pardon me, Miss Simon?'

Suze shifted in her chair calmly. Paul, I noticed, was smirking at her secretively. Adam was looking outraged with Sister Ernestine as well.

'I said,' Suze stated, flicking back her hair with an indignant flare in her eyes, 'That's not fair. You didn't even hear her out. She may have a very valid reason for being, um, late, you know, and you just go jumping to conclusions and giving capital - I mean, corporal punishment.'

I stared at her. Suze? What are you doing? You're gonna get me in deeper . . . Don't . . .

Sister Ernestine then stood up, looking fed up. 'Miss Simon, I would appreciate it if you would not challenge my judgment. Please remain silent. Miss Webb's detention will remain. That is the last I will hear of it. I have a class to teach.'

Great. Juuuuuust great.

Kind of moodily, I sat down next to -

Oh yeah. Paul. Yay.

Not.

This really wasn't good. I, CeeCee Webb, nerd, albino, general freak and Miss Goody-two-shoes, had a detention. I wasn't going to live this down. I didn't WANT a detention. I didn't want people thinking that I was unreliable, or irresponsible. I didn't want that at all.

And yet, I didn't want to tall Suze that it was because of her stepbrother that I had earned it. Him and his stupid racist attitude.

Aaah, well. Not like I can do anything about it now . . . I really didn't want to have to tell Ernie - as Adam has dubbed her - about my pathetic incapability to deal with losers who made fun of me.

I hate being me.

I really, really do.

I dumped my books on the desk next to Paul Slater. He gave me a sideways book, looking momentarily at my books for some mysterious reason, and then turned to look back to Suze. She was giving me a very sympathetic look, but stopped when Paul went to lean in for a conversation. I still totally don't get what was so bad about him. I mean, really. He seemed okay. Like, nothing to be scared of.

Sure, he was no kitten or anything. I mean, he didn't exactly meow. Ugh, whatever. Nah, he still had that threatening tone in his voice when he spoke, and that dark, enigmatic aura. And he seemed to have secrets that he hid from the world. Important secrets that he enjoyed to rub in peoples' faces, when they realized that they'd never find out . . .

But other than that, he was just normal guy. Not a jock - he didn't tease me for the albino thing.

But then he wasn't . . . you know . . . normal, either.

'You've chosen to be seated, Miss Webb. Excellent decision,' Ernie said impassively. I refrained from giving her a glare, instead, looking nervously down at my books. 'Now, I believe that this lesson was planned to educate you all on our founder and patron saint, Junipero Serra.'

The class groaned. I didn't. I didn't feel like making any noise.

Sister Ernestine looked irritated.

'There will be no complaints. It is in the school curriculum for you to learn about him, for he is a very important historical -'

'And God help us if we stray form the curriculum,' Adam drawled.

Ernie gave him a freezing glare - one that would cause an eighth grader to wet their pants. Adam, however, just shut his mouth. Which was more than you could say for Suze before . . . but no matter. The damage was done.

She tried to help. I do appreciate that.

Just like she did when I first met her . . .

'Hush, all of you,' Ernie snapped. We all stopped mumbling, and she cleared her throat, coming to stand in front of her desk. She has been known to spit, so I was thanking God that I wasn't in the first row.

'Junipero Serra, also known as Miguel Jose Serra, was an apostle of California,' she began in a slurred drone.

'He entered the Franciscan University at Palma at age 15, and joined the Order at age 17, taking the name Junipero after the friend of Saint Francis. Ordained in 1737, and taught philosophy and theology at the Lullian University . . . '

Oh, man, who CARES?

Look, I worship history as much as the next aspiring journalist. But come on. Give me a break?

This guy was holy for, what? Making a bunch of peaceful, calm Native Americans change their religion? So what?

Okay, call me pissed off because of my unjust punishment, but hello? What was the point of NAMING A SCHOOL after this dude? Really.

And on she went . . . No one dared interrupt her. We knew better than to do so.

Paul looked incredibly bored. He was lazily twirling a pencil on the desktop, and was eyeing Suze casually. Every so often she'd turn her head, see him doing so, hurriedly throw me a smile, and then whip back around. Adam was having a secret staring competition with a guy across the room, Tony, I think his name is. They looked like they were making the best of the worst situation.

Me? I watched.

I quietly observed everyone, storing information in my head. Not that any of it was particularly useful . . . but yeah. It was just stuff that I'd keep for later . . . the fleeting fear I saw on Suze's face when she noticed Paul staring at her. The way Adam's nose crinkled when he was quietly laughing. The suggestive hunger in Paul's icy eyes as he looked at Suze.

I watched.

Finally, after an eternity of too many facts about Junipero-Serra-also- known-as-Miguel-Jose-Serra that I would never use, Ernie stopped and gave us all a hard looking over. 'So,' she said in a low, kind of masculine voice. It made me transitorily question her sexual status, until I noticed - oh yeah. No padded bra ever made would ever be as intimidating as those - 'You now have an assignment.'

Oh, joy.

'You will complete a project on the life of Junipero Serra, our school founder. You will work in pairs, and it will be in detailed timeline form. Chronological order,' she added aloofly, her eyes glazing over coldly.

And this was supposed to be a woman of God.

Jeez . . . who dumped her and made her a sour lemon?

'You will choose your pairs now,' she said dismissively, sitting down.

My eyes were magnetically drawn to Adam, but he was looking at Suze hopefully. Only, it looked like Paul was getting in first. 'Hey, Suze,' Paul whispered, leaning over to her. Suze turned around, and - oh my God, get this - blushed.

Susannah Simon blushed.

Yes. I kid you not.

'I'm still single,' Paul teased, edging his chair over to her a little more. I stared curiously, as did Adam, who looked like he wanted to grind Paul's bones to make his bread.

'Well, I'm not,' Suze said huffily, looking forward with a furious determination that I know so well.

Paul flashed her a wry grin. 'Oh, of course. Jesse. Dearest, deadest Jesse -'

'Shut it!' Suze snapped.

She whipped open a textbook needlessly. I say needlessly, because we didn't need to refer to them. Paul seemed to notice this as well, because his smirk went crooked. He stretched out his arm, and closed it, brushing his hand over hers.

Whoa, the way Suze reacted when he did that - just touched her - even made me cynical. She gasped. Yeah, Suze gasped because a guy made contact with her skin.

That was kind of . . . you know, odd.

'You're not going to go with me on a school assignment because of Jesse?' he asked her, giving her an annoyed look. His chair, I noticed, was now beside hers. Sister Ernestine had her head down, and didn't notice. Neither did anyone else, except me and Adam. Paul, I observed, had trailed a finger up her - now sweater-lacking - arm. And again, whoa.

She shivered.

Suze turned around to face him, and noticed me staring. She gave me a very small smile, and looked at Paul, before BLUSHING AGAIN, and tearing her eyes away. Paul turned around, also saw that I was - well, kindof eavesdropping, and nodded at me. I felt awkward, and again, tried to catch Adam's eye so he'd ask me to be his partner. But no go.

That was when a spine-chilling sensation overtook me, and - judging by the sudden gasps from around the room - the whole class. It felt like . . . I dunno. Like I was frozen. Like everything was.

Weird thing, though, when I snapped out of it, well . . . Suze and Paul were in the corner of the room.

You may say, "so what?" But no . . . it was impossible for . . .

Oh man. Something weird was going on . . .

That was impossible. Paul and Suze, they'd just gone from sitting in their seats, normally, to being in the opposite end of the room. And Suze looked absolutely furious, while Paul just looked pissed.

Okay . . . again with the "someone is doping me up" conspiracy theory.

That couldn't have been possible . . . to move so fast. Nah, maybe I fell asleep again? Maybe -

This was weird. This was really not right.

Suze huffed at him, and stormed back to her seat. 'Adam?' she demanded, 'Can I go with you?'

Adam looked like the Olsen twins had asked him to have a threesome. 'Are you seri - sure,' he said quickly, grinning widely. I saw Paul glide back to his seat.

He looked mighty annoyed. He was glaring at Suze for a moment. Then he just rolled his eyes, slumped back into this chair, until he caught my eye.

Because I was still, you know? Watching the whole thing?

I looked away quickly, but he leaned over my desk. I felt my heart quicken just a little bit. He was going to demand why you were eavesdropping. Just calmly explain about the journalist thing, and that he can't sue you YET. Don't freak, don't freak, don' freak, don't BE a freak -

'With anyone yet?' he wanted to know.

. . . WHAT?

I was completely floored. 'Huh?'

I seemed incapable of processing the question, so he repeated himself. 'Have you got a partner for this stupid project?' he asked, still with traces of excess annoyance.

Okay. I was pretty sure that I was stoned. Something very strange had just occurred that defied space, time, and all logic.

And now, Paul Slater had just asked me a question that defied all space, time, and logic.

'I . . . I'm um - er - ' I stuttered with that glorious sophistication I always seem to radiate with. Not.

Again, he found this funny, because his eyes narrowed in amusement and he tilted his face forward so he was now looking at me from a sharp, alluring angle, giving me a slow smile that seemed to tickle every inch of my skin.

What was WRONG with me?

I blinked at him, shook myself furiously, and replied with a firm, 'No.'

He nodded conclusively. 'Well, that's done then. Sorry for the whole "second choice" scenario. But yeah, cool.'

And he just sat back. Just like that. I felt something flutter dangerously in my chest, and I felt horrified with myself. No. No, no, NO. I can NOT be . . . attracted to someone else. I CAN'T BE.

I love Adam. Powerfully, intensely, madly. He was my guy.

He was the guy I fell asleep thinking about, who made me laugh. So what was WITH that little thingie? Just now? Was that my - God no . . . my HEART???

For Paul? Who, okay, I'll admit, can be described with the words "big steamy hunk of sexiness," but - but THAT'S NOT THE POINT.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no . . . detention and then adultery . . .

Not that this WAS adultery, mind you. I was not married to Adam. I was not even committed to him, or going out with him. I was not linked with him in any way, save the friendship thing. But STILL!

I am SINFUL. I should be . . . um, I should, you know, go to confession or something! Tell Father Dominic! "Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been . . . well, okay, I don't like your sucky religion. But I've done something bad, and you're the most objective guy I could think of."

And then he'd probably condemn me to hell.

Or at least make me learn the Lord's Prayer.

Which would suck.

And what about Suze? I mean, for loyalty's sake, I could NOT like a guy that she was - mortally, it seemed - afraid of. I just, well, couldn't. Paul Slater was not likable, in her opinion. So how could I betray her like that? Get a chest flutter?! How DARE I??? I mean, who the HELL do I think I am, aye?

. . . I just felt so guilty. I mean, Adam -

Hold it.

Adam wanted Suze. That was that.

There wasn't anything I could do that would change that. Adam wanted my best friend. And no, I don't mean he wanted himself - though sometimes, I reckoned he did - he was so into Suze that he could never notice that I'm the one who actually is looking at him.

This isn't fair . . . it's really not.

Suze was in deep conversation with Adam, while Paul was still looking at her angrily. Adam was looking ecstatic and shiny faced, like Suze had very seductively asked him to purchase condoms.

I just sat at my chair, feeling weird. Then, Paul remembered I was alive. He turned back, with a fake grin on his face. 'So,' he said cheerfully, 'Let's talk about holy dead guys then.'

I cracked a smile. 'You think this project is shitty too?' I asked dully.

He rolled his eyes. 'I regret coming to this school, sometimes,' he muttered.

I arched an invisible eyebrow. 'Why did you come in the first place?'

His gaze strayed to Suze accidentally. 'Er . . . no reason,' he shrugged.

Oh. That.

Lesson passed sluggishly. Paul was, you know, kind of funny. It was nice, actually talking to a guy - besides Adam - who didn't comment on the fact that I had a lot in common with chalk. Aww, man. I really was in danger, now. Whenever he laughed at something I said, I would feel my cheeks flush and my heart go that little bit faster. I know, I KNOW. It was bad, bad, BAD!!! Like, I didn't want to do this to Adam. But it was doing itself. I had no control over how I was feeling. I really didn't. Every flush of my face, every smile – it was like, I could never see it coming.

It was at the very end of the lesson that I heard Paul kind of growl, and glare at whiteboard.

Suze was beaming in the same direction, her face lit up and her eyes swimming happily.

So what? Someone from Spanish class had left a note in the corner, written in black whiteboard marker. In exceptionally old-fashioned calligraphy, but still, there was no big deal.

"Te amo, mi querida."

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Kindly REVIEW NOW OR PAUL WILL SMITE THEE.

. . . Ignore me. I'm high.

Regards,

Lolly and Kat.