Modern Day

(sorry guys... i'm on a creative spurt... and expect many more updates soon!)

"Oh Eric" She said breathlessly, wrapped in his masculinely toned, tanned arms. His lean structured face gazing down at her, the look in his eyes making her insides tremble with a bittersweet hunger. He stroked her cheek with the knuckles of his left hand, and she lifted her eyes to his. He gazed down at her solemnly, and pulled her even closer to him, against him, his body demanding he satisfy its needs, and so he bent down and grazed her lips with his, and he felt a groan rise from his throat, and felt her mouth part softly beneath his, for a long awaited kiss...

"... Miss Dunleavy?" Her head snapped up, and she felt her cheeks redden as 30 pairs of eyes turned to stare at her.

"...Um... what was the question?" The class snickered and her ears became scarlet flags of distress. Her teacher, a middle aged woman, somewhat plump with overly-large glasses perched on the end of her nose, strode over to her desk and before Spell could hide the erotic-fluff she's previously been entertained by, it was snatched out of her hands.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here, Miss Dunleavy? Structured reading I hope?" Spell opened her mouth to protest but was cut off by her new teacher's searing gaze, as she prepared to read aloud to the class. "She arched her back, her mouth open with the groan caught between the viciousness of his mouth on hers again. His fingertips trailed fire from her head t her toes, and she felt a luscious warmth gathering between her thighs. 'I've long waited for this, for you.' He said with a groan, trailing kisses down her chest, ravaging her body. 'Ever since the day, I saw you steeped in only water, your body flushed and rosy and your strawberry peaks at their tip-"

The class murmured excitedly, and leaned forward in their seats, and subconsciously Spell was disgusted that they had all scorned her for reading books like this. Now they knew! cue evil laugh

"Miss Dunleavy-" The class sank back in their seats, bored again because they realized that their erotic session was over for the day. "I'm well aware you're new to this school but-" At that precise moment the door creaked open.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you" Spell mumbled under her breath, gazing at the door to see who it could possibly be that had undoubtedly saved her from utter embracement, and being known as that perverted new girl... she'd probably already earned the nickname but it didn't matter, because the person had saved her from the teacher's wrath.

"Ah, Miss Callan. Late again I see?" Her teacher's magnified yet still beady little eyes stopped the figure in the doorway mid step.

"Um, yes ma'am, so sorry. Won't happen again. Promise." And she had a lilt. Some sort of lilt. Irish perhaps?

"Well, it better not, or you can guarantee that your seat will be empty and you'll be in suspension... in or out of school. Understood?"

"Yes ma'am." Irish mumbled and then ducked her head into her literature book to catch up with the rest of her classmates. As Irish concentrated, or tried to concentrate, on the text dancing beneath her eyes, Spell looked over to get a better look at the person who had inadvertently saved her from a lecture on the first day of school from the most hated teacher in school. She had shoulder-length, brown hair, with honey and gold woven through it simultaneously. The girl inclined her head ever so slightly, as if hearing her thoughts. She got a glimpse of her eyes. Violets and bluebells, translucent faerie wings caught in the sunlight, were the color of her eyes. Now that the girl had gotten her attention, really caught it with her faerie eyes (she'd always had a weakness for faeries), Spell began to closely observe her, pulling out a white and black notebook where she kept all her best observations.

Flipping to the nearest page Spell bit down on the tip of her pen cap and tilted her head to gaze more intensely. She noted that the girl carried herself well, she had strutted in the room with a sort of posed confidence. Spell was curious, of course, because it was rare that girls with faerie eyes and poised figures strutted through the doorway at impossible moments in her life... Spell noticed her pale simple cream blouse, clinging to her well-spread-throughout body in an intentional, or was it unintentional? way. Irish snickered to herself, and flicked off a guy a few rows down from where she sat. Spell was pleased, and amused, and so saying she began to write all that she had seen that day.

Meanwhile, Irish leaned over, oblivious to the girl observing her, and began pestering her best friend of over 15 years. "Sketch. Sketch. Hey! Sketch!"

"What?" Sketch hissed, turning her brilliant mossy eyes on her friend, huffing a bit because she'd been in the middle of a sketch of a boy three rows over, who with his actions and his facial expressions had reminded her of a mime... Now, if Spell had been looking, she doubtless would have noticed this girl as well, especially with the faraway look in her eyes that clashed so artistically with the piled up messy bun on her head. Her hair was a dark brown, and straight, and while she had groaned about the color she wouldn't consider dyeing it. She wasn't as tan as some of the other girls in the class and she exuded the fine makings of a bohemian, especially with her oddly shaped glasses and her dancing eyes, as well as the witty sarcasm that seemed to pour from her consistently. She was brilliant in her creativity. At the moment, she was trying to ignore her dear friend Irish, her quite nearly opposite. She had her chin in hand and was gazing out at the great gray sky, challenging it boldly with her exuberant green eyes, dancing merrily with the streaks of lightning.

She flipped the page, still gazing out the window, and she bent over her desk, forgetting her friend in favor of her sketch pad. Irish rolled her eyes, looking over at her friend, her twisted pink mouth in a line of determination, while her eyes suggested dreaminess. Of course, her friend was nearly gorgeous, in a different kind of way. She never wore lip gloss, and if she did she settled for the clear kind. At the moment Sketch was wearing a faded pair of worn in blue jeans, naturally faded, and a teeny little shirt that accentuated her curves, which were then hurriedly hidden beneath the always handy brown cord jacket.

Irish sighed, looking down at her own outfit. Some black jeans and a creamy blouse. She sighed and picked at her jeans, wondering at her beauty, and if she even had any. Little did she know... In a sigh of frustration, she took advantage of her anger and yanked her friend's sleeve. "SKETCH!" She hissed between her teeth.

"WHAT!" Sketch shouted, drawing the attention of the class again, eager for a new drama upon which to distract themselves. Sketch looked back at all of them defiantly. "What are you looking at?" they turned away and resumed note passing and quiet gossip.

"What'd I miss?" Irish asked after a short time, smiling innocently.

"Not too much," She replied in all honesty. "You know, same as always, spit balls, lectures, the teacher reading aloud erotic romance novels to the class..."

"WHAT!" Irish squealed.

"Yea, I know, how boring" Sketch yawned loudly.

"Sketch!". Sketch sighed and shoved away her sketch book, giving it up as a lost cause.

"Ok, well, basically the teacher caught 'Miss Dunleavy' reading some cheap paperback romance, which, by the way, you can get at Reedman's Book Store for as little as .75 cents." Sketch seemed pleased with herself for knowing this little tidbit of information, and having done her duty, she bent over her desk once again, dismissing her friend.

"Miss Dunleavy?" Irish wondered aloud.

"Mhmm..." Sketch said, caught up in the shadows playing on mime boy's face... Irish felt the furrow in her brow, pondering the feel of the name on the tip of her tongue. It felt unfamiliar.

"New?"

"Mhmm..." Irish rolled her lovely eyes away from her friend, and gazed around the room looking for new faces. There was the same skinny girl in the front row with the buckteeth and her hand in the air... there was the clique of hippy chicks, giggling at their gauze skirts and face paint; there were the shielded emo(s), hiding within their black or red or blue hair; There were those that most of her school called "popular", and they were fervently reapplying lip gloss. There was the exotic girl, with her thick jet black hair, and her red lips and black outlined eyes.

Irish frowned. She wasn't at all sure why the idea of a girl with an Irish last name and a fetish for romance novels seemed to intrigue her so much, but she didn't question it too much. A glimmer of sunlight danced through the clouds, and a flash of gold caught her eye. Irish glanced around the room, trying to place it, and then she saw it. Her, actually. She was stooped over her desk, hiding her cheap novel between the larger literature book.She saw that her finger was in her mouth and she was unconsciously biting on its nail. Nail-biter. Ah.

First Irish noticed her hair, her cut as well as the color; an impossible color of blonde, but so realistic it couldn't be denied of its authenticity, with side swept bangs and wavy layers. Next, she noticed her pout, natural of course, and flushed rose, like her cheeks. She wore a faded distressed pair of jeans and a bold corset. Her foot was jiggling ever so slightly in her ragged white flip flops. So suddenly it went almost undetected her hand shot out from underneath the desk, flicked off the teacher and then retreated once again. Irish laughed, a little too loudly in the silence, and Spell swerved around to face her. Then, her eyes. Far different from Irish's faerie eyes, or Sketch's giddy, wild exuberant green ones, this girl's held the green blue of a savage wilderness, the shadow of gnarly branches scratching at the sky, the reflection of the sea's shadows caught in a struggle between sun and storm.

Sketchy looked up, amused by her friend's sudden silence, and she caught the drift of her friend's gaze. All three girls acknowledged each other.

"Hey," Sketch said, her pencil now down. (Well, actually, tucked behind her ear)

"Hi," Irish said, cocking her head to the side, feeling oddly at ease.

"Hello" Spell said, and moved over a few seats, as if it was expected of her. Spell opened her mouth, and shut it, as if deciding what to say. "So..." She didn't know why the question had come out of her mouth, she reached out to stop it, tried to swallow it down, but it pounded its fist at the back of her throat until it had spilled from her mouth. "Ever seen Newsies?"

The two friends looked at each other and cracked up laughing. "Meet the NOA, Newsies-Obsesses-Anonymous. You're the new member." Sketchy said, smiling a half crooked smile.

"How many are there?" Spell asked, relieved that the question had been useful, and even bonding.

"Well, so far, what with recent statistics and careful studies..." Sketch began, pretending to ponder with a scrunched up face.

"Three." Irish admitted, and they all laughed again.

"GIRLS!" The teacher huffed, her glasses beginning to fall down her long, narrow nose, at odds with her much more plump body.

"Sorry" They chorused, and chuckled to themselves quietly.

"By the way, the name's Sketch. What's yours?" Spell took Sketch's outstretched hand and gripped it firmly, which Irish noticed with relief.

"The name's Spell. Just moved here." She admitted a little sadly.

"No kidding? Name's Irish, by the way." They all shook hands formally.

"Yea, no kidding. My first day here and I get caught with a romance novel. How embarrassing.." She agonized. Sketch laughed, despite herself.

"Well... what are you doing after school?" Irish asked, not needing to ask Sketch, because her friend knew full well what the plan was. It was Friday night, after all.

"What were you thinking?" Spell asked, relieved to have found these two.

"Oh, nothing out of the ordinary... Just a few gals and guys, and some refined food, as well as some hors' deurves and some classy music."

"Translation:" Sketch began "Us 3 girls, maybe more, and the guys? You know them well." Spell was curious. She hardly knew anyone here. "Yea, they go by the names of Race, Jack, Mush, Spot..." Spell laughed, glad that this was what the night had in store for her. "And as for the classy music and the refined food... well, what I had in mind was some videos and maybe a few CDs, and er... cookie dough and chips. So... whaddya think?"

"YES!" Spell punched a fist in the air.

They chuckled unaware of the trembling of the sky, and the shiver in their hearts.

Eh, eh? Not TOO bad, hmm? I know, not my best, but expect YOUR part of the story soon... if I get some feedback... Heh.

Love,

Spell.