Oh, reviews? So soon? shrinks back a bit Ermm… hi, everyone…

Tsukia Malleo: I can assure you that this story IS finished, and I WILL be posting the rest of it. So I won't be leaving you wondering what happens!

tehrandomkitten: Thank you, thank you, thank you! Was wondering if posting it was a good idea, but… well, whatever. Thank you again!

Mousewolf: Hurrah! Mouse! Yeah, Code Lyoko is a pseudo-anime French cartoon, so they have the pointy chins and stuff but not the big eyes. It is absolutely BRILLIANT. A little cheesy and unrealistic at times, but, apart from Artemis Fowl, Discworld, Alice, and A Series of Unfortunate Events, it is my all-consuming passion! I'm really glad you reviewed, even though you have no idea who the characters are. Thanks, Mouse! (And is my effect on you really that bad:-D)

Lyoko Lover:(aren't we all?) Thank you!

Amaherst: Ooh, cool name. Thank you!

leans back and looks at the reviews Wow. I managed to 'scape the serpent's tongue'. And I don't think I've ever had so many reviews for a first chapter. Thank you, everybody! Your comments mean so much to me!

Ulrich S.

I wake up and spend a few moments wondering where the heck I am. Then I glance at the hotel ceiling and remember that I'm not kidnapped or dead; just in a hotel in France, several miles from home.

I lie still for a few moments, just looking up at the ceiling as darkness shrouds around me. I glance at my alarm clock, which tells me that it's 04:42. Two hours until it goes off. Far too early to actually consider doing anything.

However I am one of those people who, once I wake up, just can't get back to sleep.

So I think. I think about my beloved home in Germany, where I will not set foot for another seven weeks. I think about my family who I will not see for the same amount of time. I think about my school, my soccer team, my room… everything I'm leaving behind.

Will I miss it? Yes. Undoubtedly, yes. I will miss it so much sometimes I will feel like tearing my heart out, the homesickness hurts so bad. I'll go silent and stare out the window and pass through life in a sort of monotonous dread, hoping for the day I get to go home and tell my parents that, no, sorry, I don't actually like Kadic.

I still don't get why I couldn't just go to a German school. I mean, it's closer, so I don't have to board at some French place, and it's definitely less expensive. Plus my friends will be there, and the school does have a reputation for turning out some of the best soccer players in the country…

Okay, so what if some of the smartest people in the world went to Kadic? So what if Stephen Hawking gave a lecture there?

I don't care.

I just want to go home, okay?

I mean, I wouldn't have had to go through all the trouble of learning French and staying overnight at some random hotel because Kadic is too far away to go every day but near enough for occasional visits… okay, so learning French wasn't that hard: we'd covered most of the basics in school and I live on the border between the two countries, so I had plenty of opportunities to test my ability.

It's the boarding part I hate the most. I could probably cope if it was just a school; but boarding school? Where I will spend not just every day but every damn night?

I feel like dying.

This isn't actually an uncommon feeling for me; apparently melodrama is my second biggest fault (my biggest being no sense of humour).

I sigh and get out of bed, glancing across the room to where my Dad's sleeping. I said goodbye to the rest of my family yesterday. I really don't want to have to go through that again.

I open one of my suitcases as quietly as I can and pull out some of my clothes: baggy green trousers, olive green shirt, and a jacket that is – you guessed it – green. Then I grab my toothbrush and comb and head into the bathroom.

It's a very small one with barely enough room for the bath. Careful to make as little noise as possible I take a shower and then dress.

I rub the mist off the mirror and look at my reflection.

A frowning teen with brown hair, wet from the shower, and piercing eyes looks back at me.

I sigh again. Back in Germany, the face in the mirror was the captain of the soccer team, with a large group of friends and 'groupies'. They were crazy, but very funny. Two girls who sat behind me in most lessons and followed me to each and every one of my soccer matches, chanting some of the stupidest rhymes and making fun of the cheerleaders. I'll miss those two. They always knew how to cheer me up.

They're still in Germany. I don't think I'll ever see them properly again. I don't think I'll ever laugh as hard as I did at their impressions of teachers and celebrities. I mean, who would make me? Here, I'm… nobody. Just some new kid with no friends and a soccer ball. Someone who's barely worth noticing. Someone who, to all extents of the word, is invisible.

I towel dry my hair and then comb it, styling it into side-facing spikes. This used to be part of my trademark. Now it's just weird.

Then I unlock the bathroom door and sit on my bed until my alarm greets the day with its beeping.

After several hours it does so, waking my Dad up, who grunts before sitting up, rubbing his eyes blearily. He turns and looks at me, sitting straight-backed on the end of the hotel bed and staring a hole in the wall. He takes in the washed hair and the clothes.

'Couldn't sleep, son?' he says soothingly.

I shake my head.

'I was nervous too, on my first day at secondary school.'

Except he knew that once the day was over he could go home and see his family and complain about school dinners to his parents. The most comfort I can expect is a voice on the other end of the phone.

My eyes go hot and prickly. I blink, creating a barrier to stop the tears falling. I don't want to cry. I have no real reason to.

I feel like it anyway.

My Dad doesn't say anything else, just nods sympathetically and heads into the bathroom. I stay where I am and keep staring at the wall until the urge to sob lessens.

Eventually Dad finishes. He steps out and looks at his watch. 'It's twenty past seven, Ulrich,' he says. 'The bus'll be arriving soon.'

Ten minutes is hardly soon, but what else is there to do in the room? I make sure all my stuff is in my suitcases and then Dad opens the door and I head out into the corridor, dragging my cases – one green, one black – behind me.

We sit in the lobby. Dad tries to start up a conversation but I don't trust myself to speak. So we just sit in uncomfortable silence until a white and brown coach pulls up outside.

My Dad claps me on the shoulder. 'Good luck, Ulrich.' He pulls a ten-Euro note out of his pocket. 'Treat yourself,' he says, and hands it to me.

I nod a thank-you – still too scared of speaking – and stand up. I head out of the lobby, pulling my suitcases, and head towards my new life.

I'm greeted by a large man in a tracksuit, with a plaster on one cheek and a sweatband around his head. This isn't exactly the most encouraging hello, but seen as I don't expect much of Kadic I'm hardly disappointed.

The large man consults a clipboard in his left hand. 'Ulrich Stern?' he asks in a gruff voice.

I nod.

'I'm Jim,' the man says. He takes my suitcases and places them in a compartment in the side of the coach. With a jerk of his head he indicates that I should clamber aboard. Taking a deep breath I do so.

There are lots of other kids aboard, not all my age. It looks very packed. I start walking down the aisle, very aware of curious eyes on me, as I look for a seat.

The only available one is next to a blond boy with glasses who's got his chin in his hand and is staring out the window with a serene expression on his face. He looks a bit like Harry Potter, except this kid's wearing a blue turtleneck and beige trousers instead of Hogwarts robes.

'Is this seat taken?' I ask.

The boy looks up. He smiles. 'No,' he says. 'Feel free to seat yourself.'

Oh, great, I think. A dictionary.

He smiles again and holds out his hand. 'I'm Jérémie Belpois,' he says.

I sit down and shake his hand. 'Ulrich Stern,' I say.

Jérémie nods. 'German name. Are you…?'

I nod.

Jérémie appears to be thinking. I can't help but smirk. You see, about ninety percent of people, upon hearing I'm German, immediately think, Oh, gods, a Gerry, don't mention the War! Unfortunately, because they've thought that, all they can think about is swastikas and Hitler. I don't actually mind if they do; the War is history, and if we ignore history we're doomed to repeat it. It's just funny watching people trying not to think about Concentration Camps and eventually giving up and saying, 'So, nice weather we've been having.'

Jérémie, however, appears to be an exception to the rule. 'Albert Einstein was German,' he says.

I nod, slightly surprised (and more than a little disappointed). 'Yeah, there was a museum exhibition about him on a while back. I went with my school.'

'Really?' Jérémie's eyes light up. 'What was it like?'

'Oh, you know,' I say, cursing myself for mentioning it. 'There was just a lot of mumbo-jumbo about emc2 and some pictures of him.'

Jérémie nods. 'I've got a poster of him.'

Inwardly, I sigh. Could I have chosen to sit by more of a dork?

For the rest of the journey Jérémie talks about practically everything under the sun, only shutting up when the bus slows down.

'Well, we're here,' he says brightly.

I look out the window. Kadic doesn't look like anything spectacular: just a collection of large brick buildings with a few trees and some benches. I see that another bus has already parked and there are students clambering out of that one.

'Okay,' the man who introduced himself as Jim says. 'I know you're all eager to get off the bus, but if you would all please form an orderly queue and wait while I get your luggage…'

'Orderly,' Jérémie repeats. 'Ha!'

He's telling the truth: the line that forms is more a scrum than anything. Eventually I fight my way to the front and get my stuff. Then I have to fight my way out again, this time lugging two huge suitcases.

Finally, I'm free. My gaze roams around as I try to get a good look at Kadic. It's not an unpleasant-looking sort of place. There's a path off to my left that snakes around the back of the main building towards a cluster of trees and I can see goal posts between a gap. So at least they have a soccer pitch.

A large group of students has appeared around the buses. They're calling the names of some of the new students. They look like a cheerful bunch. I make a mental note to avoid them as much as possible.

Hang on. Is someone calling my name?

I turn and my breath catches in my throat.

A tall girl with slanted eyes and black hair is barely two metres in front of me. She's quite pale; obviously hasn't succumbed to the fashion of fake tans that most girls think is attractive. In fact, she has a sort of air about her that says that fashion happens to other people; her large boots obviously weren't bought at a designer outlet. She doesn't seem to have taken note of the trend of wearing a skirt-type thing over her black trousers either, although her shirt is cut to show off her flat stomach. Her trousers are quite low cut, too. Hanging carelessly off one of her shoulders is a reddish-brown bag.

She stands out amongst the sea of faces but she doesn't look lonely. She stands with her feet slightly apart and there's an air about her that says that she'll stand her ground no matter what happens. In her hand she's holding a page of white paper.

I'd love to be able to say that I notice all this – that this girl is definitely a no-nonsense individual who'll take nothing lying down – but all that happens is I think, wow, before my brain goes into overload.

She looks up from the piece of paper and notices me gawping. She puts her head on one side and I'm so sure she's about to challenge me when she notices someone over my shoulder. Her face splits into a grin.

'Jérémie!' she cries.

I do a double take. The Einstein fan knows her?

Jérémie grins back. Then – bizarrely – he bows formally. 'Konichiwa, Yumi-tan,' he says.

Yumi-tan? Weird name.

The girl returns the bow. 'Nice to see you again, Jérémie,' she says. As she straightens up she notices me.

'Who are you?' she asks sharply.

'Ulrich,' I stutter. 'Ulrich Stern.'

She glances at the piece of paper. 'Ah,' she says. 'So I've found you.'

Why was she looking for me in the first place?

She grabs the handle of one of my suitcases and picks up Jérémie's sports bag. 'Come on,' she says. 'I'll show you where the dorms are. Although,' she adds, 'I've never actually explored it myself, so don't get mad if we get a bit lost.'

How on earth would I be able to stay mad at something so beautiful?

She leads me and Jérémie into the biggest building of all, a three-storey thing made of sandy brick. She keeps consulting the doors and the piece of paper in her hands. Eventually, after climbing more stairs than I care to remember and what feels like several hours of walking, she stops in front of a door that looks completely identical to all the other.

'I think this is it,' she says. Tacked to the door is a post-it note. She consults that, too. 'Yes,' she says. 'Ulrich Stern and… hey, how cool is this? You two share a dorm!'

Oh, wonderful. So cool that I can barely contain myself. NOT.

The girl pushes open the door. 'Ooh,' she says. 'You both get your own desks.'

She dumps Jérémie's bag on one of the beds and rolls my suitcase next to the other. Then she stands in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips. 'It's bigger than I thought it would be,' she says offhandedly.

Jérémie enters first with me following behind, still trying very, very hard to get the black-haired girl out of my head.

'Well,' she says to me, 'my name's Yumi Ishiyama; if you're lost or something, just ask for me. 'Course, doesn't mean you'll find me, but then you'll have the satisfaction of knowing that you at least tried.'

'Don't be horrible,' Jérémie says vaguely as he begins unpacking. 'Ulrich sat by me on the bus here.'

Yumi puts her head on one side and I get the distinct feeling that I'm being tested. 'Really?' she says. Finally she seems to have come to a decision, and I get the feeling that I only narrowly passed. 'Guess you can't be that bad, then.'

Excuse me? My opinion of her lessens slightly. I'm the one who decides how bad I am, missy.

Yumi shrugs and turns towards the door. 'Well,' she says, 'you two have the morning to unpack. I'll see you in the cafeteria at lunchtime. Until then, sayonara.'

She leaves, closing the doors with a soft click behind her.

She is a very strange person. At least, I react strangely to her. Half of me can't get over how damn pretty she is; the other half of me is filled with the desire to give her, as my Gran would put it, 'a good talking to'.

I open my suitcase and begin unpacking in a sort of dream.

Jérémie glances at me. He smiles. 'Yumi has that affect on a lot of boys,' he says.

I jump; I'd almost forgotten he was in the room.

I blush and don't look at Jérémie. 'Really?' I say in a would-be carefree manner. 'Has she got a… y'know…?'

'Boyfriend?' Jérémie completes. 'No. I don't think she has enough patience. Most of the boys here are utter idiots, to use her words.'

I try not to let my disappointment show. There goes my theory that Kadic won't be all bad.

Jérémie – I swear he's psychic – notices this too. 'Don't worry,' he says. 'I'll vouch for you.'

I nod glumly and continue unpacking.

Looks as if Kadic will be just as bad as I feared.