A/n: if a make a grammar mistake, or a major character mistake yeah, calvin & susie might be OCC but i mean major mess up I won't get angry if i'm corrected. I tend to make them a lot.

Wishes Don't Come True

Chapter One

You laugh because I'm different.

I laugh because you're all the same.

They laugh because I'm really not.

"There's a new student in our class, children." I love the class, but hate the teacher with the intensity of a thousand suns. Any teacher that calls me child every two seconds is bound to get on my nerves eventually.

The girl walks in, and this being Art, and obviously full of guys who's goal in life is to be an angst-filled anarchists; mostly everyone turns their head to check her out. Even those who are halfway decent artists give her second glances.

Quite plainly, girls who try so hard to be different turn me off incredibly fast. They annoy me more than the people who try to be exactly alike. They say they are polar opposites of the monotonous others, yet do they not see the monotony in themselves? Their complete obliviousness to how much I dislike them is usually another factor.

Her hair is long and black, obviously dyed. You can see a bit of her roots, and I roll my eyes when I see that her hair is a dark brown underneath the black. What was the point? Her clothes are the same exact tint as her hair, and her eyes are encircled totally with –hmmm, can you guess? –black eyeliner. Four strips of hair hang down in front of her eyes, which are looking at us angrily, as if daring us to laugh.

I have to cover my mouth to muffle the hoot that almost escapes.

"She will now introduce herself," the teacher announces pointedly, staring at the girl. Just waiting with that eyebrow raised for the girl to not say something. The girl didn't even look over at the teacher as she opened her mouth to speak.

Hers is the voice of a little girl who wants so badly to grow up. Unfortunately, I believe, that is the biggest sign that she still a child. One is only really a grownup when they wish they were young once again.

"I'm Suzz. I'm my own person. I'm a rebel. And I like my secrets." She closes her mouth tightly, her gaze finally falling on the teacher. 'Suzz' isn't planning on 'introducing' herself more than that.

I feel my eyes inching to roll to the ceiling when I notice a lot of the guys are nodding in accord and approval. What a bunch of dimwitted, senseless knaves.

"Well, then, Suzz. Rebel all you like, outside the classroom. In here, I am who tells you what to do, and unless you want out of this easy A class, I suggest be like everyone else for once." Now it's my turn to want to nod my approval. The look on Suzz's face when she realizes the teacher is mocking her is possibly the most humorous thing I'll see all day.

Suzz takes a seat next to Valeria, who is at heart a hopeless romantic who draws horribly wonderful images of love. On the outside, though, she is another Goth, who is dreadfully angst-filled and misunderstood.

I watch amusingly as Valeria tries to cover up her latest sketch with her arm. Fortunately for Valeria, Suzz is not paying any attention at all to her, or her drawings. Unfortunately for me, Suzz is staring right at me, a small secret grin on her face. It's a Cheshire Cat grin, I think to myself. It's the kind of smile that will mislead you.

It's a cat grin, which inevitably reminds me of Hobbes. His grins looked like those. I rub my eyes with my hands, feinting weariness. No one in this room has ever seen my eyes begin to tear, nor do I plan on ever letting them do so.

I frown at her, quickly, before I go back to my work. We're doing charcoal, and the mask on my paper is staring at me with an intensity I hadn't noticed before. Who is this Suzz, and why do I feel I know her?

I've never associated with a Goth before, so I don't know where I could possibly know her from. Maybe she used to go to St. Brigid's before? No, Mrs. Evans has been here forever and a half. She would remember her. I would remember her. I have been here since fourth grade.

So who is she? I wonder to myself, as I lean in closer to my charcoal drawing. Shading always calms me down, helps me clear my head. But for some reason I can not concentrate on this and I growl lowly in frustration.

But I am in St. Patrick's after all. Mrs. Evans approaches me, but keeps her distance in case I'm in a livid mood. Please. I was never an idiot. If I ever acted out like I used to in Mrs. Wormworth's class, I'd be put in solitary confinement. Once in there had been enough for even me.

"No, Mrs. Evans. I'm just . . . frustrated. The drawing isn't coming out right." I don't look up at her. For her age, she's a good test of character. The first day she'd met me, she'd noticed that my face is an open book. I don't like looking her in the face much anymore.

"Well, avoid making those noises, please. I do not want your frustration to be misunderstood. I dislike violence." Then she really shouldn't be teaching in Ireland, should she? I do not say this out loud, though. That would be just begging for punishment.

For the remainder of the class period, I make an attempt to ignore everything around me, and put all my energy into this project, which, unfortunately, is beginning to look to stupid. I wonder if I should change.

At least it takes my mind of that stupid Goth girl.

"Class! Begin cleaning up, please! And remember to bring in the slips and money if you're planning on going to MONA!" She waves a sheet of paper in the air. Everyone ignores her, or at least pretend to be totally disinterested. I feel into my backpack for the permission slip. It had come yesterday, with a apathetic letter from my father. He had signed the notice reluctantly. But at least he had signed it.

The bell rings. My eyes follow the Goth girl as she is approached by some Goth guy. He takes her arm, and she gives him a sly grin. By tomorrow, Suzz and Goth Boyfriend Ken will be making out behind the Lavender Building instead of coming to class. I convince myself I don't care.