Author's Note: Thank you to my reviewers, Swordskill and Zulu. I wasn't too sure on the age, but it wasn't that big a deal. Claude had said that the lake was the first place Mireille had been happy in a long time, and he knew that he would have to teach her how to fight as soon as possible due to their life on the run. As for a six-year-old asking the question about love, I have a cousin the same age who is constantly telling me that she loves me.

Forward

The school bell rang shrilly. Classroom doors exploded, pouring teenagers out into the hallway. Locker doors began slamming and loud voices carried on conversations that had been cut short and hour earlier. Clusters of bodies began to gather and push through the flow, all marked by companionship. Those on the outskirts of high school society ducked their heads and slipped around the circles, all except for one.

Long blond hair pulled back into an elastic band, Mireille Bouquet stalked through the crowd without hesitation. Wearing a black jean jacket over a pale lavender shirt and black pants, she habitually scanned faces as she walked. This was the second school she had transferred into for her freshman year of high school. The first one had become a little too curious into her family past. Brushing past a quartet of girls who were in the midst of trading fashion tips, she opened her locker door. The leader glared and whispered to her subordinates.

"I hear that she's a closet nerd – she's always in the computer lab."

"But she wears the nicest cloths."

"She's covering it up. Either that or else she's some gang member. I mean, do you remember that time before exams when she came in with those scabs on her arms and knees?"

"You mean, like a biker gang?"

"Well why not?"

Mireille rolled her eyes and slammed the metal door. Raising an eyebrow at the four girls, she shouldered her bag and walked towards the exit. How could she explain that Uncle Claude had made her practice rolling across hard surfaces all afternoon the day before she had a test. When she had complained, he had merely forced her to do thirty more.

There was a step on the linoleum behind her. "Miss Bouquet, may I see you for a moment?"

She sighed. Her grade had been slipping in her science class. It was a subject she truly enjoyed, but one with which she would have no future in. The teacher, Raoul Meyar, was a pleasant man with a light complexion from India. He was in his late twenties and had exceptionally large hands. Some of the students wondered if he had turned to teaching when his hands got in the way of the delicate instruments required in his preferred field of chemistry. But Mireille had watched him carefully and delicately measure drops of saline solution without any difficulty.

"Yes, Mr. Meyar?" She dropped her book bag onto a desk and turned to face him as he sat in the creaky plastic chair behind his desk.

"Miss Bouquet, I have noticed that you have been negligent in your studies over the last month. You were my top student when you first arrived, but now you seem distracted."

She smoothly replied, "I merely lost interest."

"Lost interest? Is the subject not… challenging enough? That seems to be a rather narrow-minded perspective." Meyar tapped his pen on his desk thoughtfully. "Or is it that other students have been pushing you to do other things?"

Mireille smiled dryly. Her fellow student's opinions didn't weigh an ounce of concern to her. However, what with the physical training she faced every evening on top of her homework and 'home schooling', she could easily say that she was being pushed 'elsewhere'.

"Sir, I enjoy science, but it is not my priority in school."

He looked at her sharply, brown eyes carefully examining the fourteen-year-old who carried herself so professionally. "Then what is, Miss Bouquet?"

"Survival." She said with a laugh. "And getting a good job."

Meyar smiled along with her, but his gaze did not change. "Well, I hope you balance out your priorities. You are a good student, and those are hard to find in persons your age. Have a good day, Miss Bouquet."

Mireille shrugged and picked up her bag. At the door she turned impulsively. "Mr. Meyar?"

The teacher looked up from the stack of tests he had begun to sort.

"I'm sorry."

When she had vanished into the hall, he tried to interpret the sad undercurrent of her voice.

Wrinkling her nose, Mireille scoffed to herself. What was that? Apologizing to someone who has no clue about what I do – what I will do? Science is meant to save lives. I'm going to -

The sensation of someone's hand on her left shoulder her had her pivoting away on her right heel and swinging her book bag at head level. The person tried to duck, but caught a glancing blow to the side of the head.

"Sheesh Mir! It's just me!"

She blinked. The person who had startled her straightened, rubbing his head. "Jeffery Thomas! How many times to I have to tell you not to sneak up on me like that?"

He shrugged, clear grey eyes laughing at her beneath dark brown hair in need of a cut. "Well, I thought that since I'm the only one who has the guts to prove that you're not a biker chick or a computer closet nerd, you would know it was me."

Mireille tried to glare, but couldn't stop the smile from slipping onto her face. "Well, just so you know, I have talents no one knows about."

"Ah, the book bag of doom. Well I will be sure to remember that."

They had reached the gate to the school. Before she could pass through the impressive metal archway that was the pride and joy of the school, Jeffery stepped in front of her,

"Mir, do you have any plans on Friday?"

She felt her heart jump and then plunge. Trying to brush him off, she casually answered, "I have to go somewhere with my Uncle."

He caught her by the hand. "You always say something like that. Can't you ask him? Be a normal girl for one night?"

She frowned and jerked away angrily. "I am normal, just not by some standards."

Jeffery sighed, spotting an approaching car. "Here comes your uncle. I just wanted to take you out to dinner or something."

Mireille turned to look just as Jeffery seized her hand again. "Just think about it – call me if you change your mind." He quickly kissed the back of her fingers before walking down the road.

Mireille stood frozen in surprise. At her uncle's impatient honk, she sprang into the passenger side seat. He turned away from the curb and passed the lonely figure of her friend who waved as the car passed.

"Mireille, who was that?"

With a sigh, she let her bag slip down to rest against her feet. "A friend, Uncle Claude."

"You've been going here for two months and you already have someone kissing your hand?"

Raising an eyebrow, Mireille glanced at her surrogate father. "Is that a problem?"

"Do you care about him?"

She shrugged uncomfortably. "He's the only friend I have, really, besides Kiranna."

"Take care, Mireille. You know this could lead to trouble."

"I know, Uncle."

He took a hand off of the steering wheel and gently patted her folded hands. "I don't want you to be hurt, so avoid any personal relationships for now. At least until we've found a stable position here in Paris."

She heaved another sigh. "So what do we do tonight?"

"We have a client."