Empyreal
empyreal (em-pir-ee-uhl) adj. - pertaining to the highest heaven in the cosmology of the ancients.

-Two-

Just how many people are in this school, anyway?

My eyes darted back and forth, taking in all the unfamiliar sights. Over the weekend, while asleep, my mind began sorting out all of the things that Master had shoved in there using his powers to make life as a human easier for me.

In my entire existence of fourteen years, I had never seen so many people my age in one place. Normally when I came across potential friends in the Ghost Zone, I would always age and they wouldn't, because most of the time they were the spirits of dead children and I'm…

I'm different.

"Okay… Okay… here we go," the assistant principal, Mr. Lancer said, pulling something out of a filing cabinet. Jazz stood absently at the man's desk, leaning on it and tapping her foot idly. I was sitting in a chair next to her, staring out the doorway and into the busy halls of Casper High.

So many people! I thought. I grinned, my normal fluorescent green eyes flashing momentarily through my disguise.

"So, these are his classes," Mr. Lancer was saying to Jazz, handing over a sheet of white paper. "His guide for the week is a student named Tucker Foley, who should be down right after the first bell rings."

"Thank you," Jazz said, sitting down next to me. She handed me the paper.

"Here you go," she said. "These are your classes. Unfortunately, Casper High is a little behind in its ways, so instead of switching the order everyday of the classes like normal high schools, you'll have the same classes the same periods every single day."

"Hmm," I said, not quite grasping what she meant. Words were spit out at me – Drawing & Painting I, Structure in Language Arts, Study Hall, American History…

"So… I just go to these rooms?" I asked, turning it slightly and studying it closely. Jazz gave me an inquisitive look.

"…Yes," she said, as if it were obvious. "They'll help you. Tucker should help you, too."

"This… Drawing and Painting… is it an art class?" I asked. How did I end up in that?

"Well, the Preferences sheet we sent to you for classes said that you liked to draw," Jazz said. "So… you're in one of the introductory art classes."

Oh, I remember now. I always draw out maps and charts and ghosts to be filed away for Master… but I've never used my art conventionally before. Now that I think about it, I've never really drawn or painted much of anything before that could be considered 'art.'

This was going to be fun.

"Ahh, Mr. Foley," Mr. Lancer said, pulling me out of my trance. A dark-skinned boy who looked no older than myself had walked into the office, wearing large classes and had a spark in his eyes that I immediately admired.

"Mr. Foley, this is Danny," Mr. Lancer said, gesturing to me. "He's our exchange student from the east coast – he's staying with Jasmine and her family for the next three months."

"Danny, this is Tucker Foley – a fellow Freshman, and your guide for the week."

"Wow – three months?" Tucker said, ignoring the introduction and grinning at me. He extended his hand to me. "I'm so sorry that you have to be here for that long. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you," I replied after a moment, realizing he wanted me to shake his hand. After the brief introduction, Mr. Lancer went over a few things that I didn't really pay attention to. My eyes instead were looking around the office, my brain slowly churning out names and definitions of the various things.

How could a world so drastically different exist?

Tucker smiled and moved his backpack on his shoulders, staring out the doorway into the hallway. He then turned and looked at me.

"Okay, Mr. Foley, Danny, you're all set," Mr. Lancer said suddenly, breaking me away from my thoughts. Jazz smiled at us.

"So, you're Tucker?" she asked awkwardly, turning to him. Tucker extended his hand easily and shook her petite one.

"The one and only," he said, shaking her hand. He turned to me. "So, how about a tour? I was told what to do last week when I was chosen to be your guide." I grinned up at him and stood up, shifting my own bag onto my shoulders.

"Okay, sounds good to me…"

I've never been in love. I've never really had romantic feelings for anyone before. I've never felt that special connection, that bond that brings two people together for eternity. Sure, I was familiar with it, for love wasn't some foreign concept to the deceased. A lot of the time, ghosts who would be lingering for years alone would finally meet up with their mate, and disappear past the Ghost Zone, on to the afterlife, because they were so in love.

I'm not sure if this feeling could be called "love", but there was definitely some attraction I felt to her.

After dragging me around to every dark corner of the school, Tucker had shown me my locker, a small, rectangular box made out of thin metals protruding from the walls. What a bleak existence.

His locker was next to mine, naturally, so he could help me through the days. He was nice and I liked him; we seemed to be comfortable around each other rather quickly, like we were meant to be friends. Or something.

But when that bell rang, and students began filing out of their classrooms, I saw her.

She was our age, obviously a Freshman like us. She doesn't dressed flashy like the other girls were, and she wasn't trying to be the center of attention, nor was she trying to get my attention like all people – girls and guys alike – had been doing for most of the day.

Her short black hair swayed around her chin as she opened her locker and tossed her books in, just a few lockers down from mine. And I couldn't take my eyes off her. My human heart sped up, and I wondered if I was getting sick (I've never been sick!), or something else was happening.

My eyes stayed on her the entire time, and I watched her change her books and close the locker door, dodging out of the way of a group of people and walking off, alone.

I want to get to know her.

"Who's that?" I asked my escort, motioning to the retreating dark-haired girl. Tucker glanced where I was looking.

"Her? That's Sam Manson," he said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "She's nice, but she's a loner and a real recluse. We were friends when we were really little kids, but when we got to middle school we never really talked to each other anymore. It's sad, really, because she was really fun then." I just watched her walk off.

I found her captivating. Physically, by the way she simultaneously blended in and stood out, and intellectually; as a being who had lived his entire life around the Ghost of Time, someone's mind became the most interesting thing to me, the thing that would ultimately judge someone's character.

"I want to meet her," I said, more to myself than to Tucker. Something about her… she just seemed like someone I should know.

I'm supposed to know.

I stopped. I turned to Tucker.

"Did you just say something?" I asked him cautiously. Somehow, this idea that I was "supposed" to know this girl had been put into my head, so someone must have said something about it… right?

"Me? No," he said, reaching into his locker. "Why? Something wrong?"

"No…" I said, still looking at the double doors at the end of the hallway where she had passed through. A strange sensation was running through me, as if I already knew her. I wanted to know her, and yet I felt like I already knew everything about her. Her favorite song, her parent's names, the location of her room in her home, the way she tasted when we kissed…

Wait, what?

I blinked, shaking my head vigorously.

"Three days," I muttered to myself as I followed Tucker to the last period of the day. "Three days, and I'm already losing my mind."

"You know what? Screw Disneyworld, I say," Tucker was saying, leaning back in the blue-and-black computer chair, "this is the happiest place on earth."

He had taken me to what appeared to be some kind of café – at least, that's what the sign had said. However, when we entered, the large room was lined with thin, sleek, expensive-looking machinery, many of them with young people diligently working at them. Some of them were working on school work, but most – like Tucker – were goofing off in general on these machines.

Computers.

"Okay, now you have to see this website," he said, quickly closing the image on the screen and opening another one. I just sat blankly staring at the screen.

I've never used a computer.

Granted, technology was never Master's thing, nor mine. He was a traditional sort of being – technology worries were left to the maniacs like Technus, or even Skulker and his never-ending quest to gain more power from his tiny natural form. Many times, when I'd run into Skulker somewhere in the Ghost Zone, he would always use me as target practice for his new innovations.

The knowledge of life amongst the living had been infused into my brain, but there seemed to be some lacking information in the technology department.

"It's called Wikipedia," Tucker continued, clicking away on the site. "It's an encyclopedia that anyone can edit. Granted, I guess that means that some of the information can be untrustworthy, but you can find anything on here!" I sat in the chair beside him, my eyes trailing over the words on the screen.

"That's pretty cool," I said, genuinely interested. Anything?

"I can't believe you don't have a computer," Tucker said again, reacting as if I had told him I was an exchange student from the bottom of the Indian Ocean.

"Well, we just don't really need one," I admitted. At least it was truthful.

"But how could you not need one?" he asked, turning to me, his green eyes wide with confusion. I laughed at his reaction.

"I don't know, I guess it was just never that important," I said, trying to find ways to justify my technology deficiency. Tucker spun around in his chair a couple times before noticing someone in the far corner of the room.

"Hey, I think that's Jazz," he said, pointing. I looked to where he was pointing and sure enough, my hostess, Jazz, was diligently typing away at a computer, a book open in her lap. Tucker got up and scooted across the room over to her, peering over her shoulder and reading what she was typing.

"Hmm, yes, interesting," he said in a mock deep-voice, his hand rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Jazz glanced up in surprise, and frowned angrily when she saw who it was.

"Creepy Freshman!" she cried, and I laughed as I walked over to them. Tucker began laughing too, and the two of us stood beside her, doubling over. I had to use Tucker's shoulder to steady myself from all the laughing we were doing.

I suddenly became aware of my chest heaving with all my laughing, my heart racing with the sudden exertion that came with such raucous laughter. I was panting by the time we had both calmed down. Laughing had never felt this painful when I was still all ghost.

Then again, it never felt this good, either.

"I'm writing my college essay," she said, turning around to face us. "Most of the colleges I want to go to require a personal essay."

"Interesting," Tucker said, leaning on the table. "I thought you were a Junior."

"I am," she replied, moving her books so I could sit on the table on her other side. "I just want to make sure that the essay I hand in is the best one that I could possibly write."

"What's it about?" I asked, leaning forwards. I knew a little bit about the school system (a little bit more from yesterday), but not enough to really understand it fully yet. But I did know that a 'personal essay' is normally about something that you experienced in your life.

"It's… it's something very important to me," Jazz said slowly, taking her hands off the keyboard for a moment. She breathed deeply and stretched her hands. "It's something that no one really knows… about my past."

"Oh?" I asked, curious. Jazz looked at us, then back at her computer.

"It's really private," she admitted, saving the document.

"But strangers are going to read this," Tucker said incredulously.

"My Lit class is going to, too, and I'd rather have them read it before two people I barely know," Jazz replied.

She did have a point. She had met Tucker for the first time on Monday, yesterday, the same day I had. And she just met me four days ago. Who could blame her?

"Besides, the version that I have here will most likely be revised about a thousand times over, anyway," she said, grinning. "One thing that you have to learn about me now is that I'm a total perfectionist." And with that, she promptly turned the machine off and picked up her books in one arm, dangling her car keys from the other hand. "Well, I think you've had enough of Tucker's bad influence for one day," Jazz said with a suddenly brightened disposition. Tucker frowned; I laughed.

"So, you're leaving me? On your first day?" Tucker said in a mock-dramatic voice. My chest felt like it was on fire but I still laughed, regardless.

"I suppose so," I said, grinning as I followed Jazz out of the café and to her car.

"You supposed right," she answered, hopping into her car. "C'mon, it's time we Fenton-ized you more, you Yankee."

I could honestly say I had no idea what she meant by that, but I smiled all the same.

Wow, thanks for all the encouragement, everyone! I was shocked when I opened my email and saw 37 messages all from Granted, I became less excited when I saw that some of them were for different stories, but it was still very encouraging. Since I already have the next chapter typed, I decided to post it. Now, unlike TW, I'm not already 7 chapters ahead; I'm working on Chapter 3 as we speak. I'm still developing the story, and I'm trying to make it at least vaguely interesting, heh. I'm trying to mold like 3 different subplots into one plot, give me a break, here. Anyway, this chapter's pretty boring, but necessary, I guess. But the next chapter gets more interesting! I hope.