Author's Notes: Fina-freaking-ly! Huh?!

For the Growth of the Flower of Love: You must sow the seed

Episode Three:

This is NOT the club I would've picked

Structurally speaking, Saint Martin's High School of Florida is (for lack of a better word) somewhat eccentric. Designed by an eclectic architect, it is composed of two major buildings arranged with clear influence of the abstract artist Malevich; a hollow square reminiscent of military buildings of the Dark Ages, and another long thin building that pierces the aforementioned square diagonally from one edge to the other, almost like an arrow, except that it's boringly rectangular with no pointy aspects. Within the square, the lower portion of the long rectangle allows passage from one side of the inner patio to the other with the help of Romanesque arcs. Meanwhile, Gothic tradition has lent its gargoyles, one huge one on each corner of the square's roof; they hide doors that give access to the rooftop. The rest of it is actually very minimalistic. Long windows appear at the higher portions of the walls with no symmetry but much regularity. Meanwhile the walls colors are flat, painfully so—mustard yellow for the square and indigo blue for the rectangle; it makes this wonderful institution for the education of tomorrow's society look more like a pre-K than a High School. But then, I should probably count my blessings, had it been painted white or gray it would have looked like a prison; then again, aren't those synonyms?

You may be wondering how I know all of these fancy words and artistic facts, but you'll be surprised by the things you can learn while falling asleep during the first day orientation.

Not as surprised as I have been for the last few days, or as dumbstruck as my friend here looks though. Seriously, were this a Bugs Bunny cartoon his jaw would have hit the floor like twenty minutes ago.

"If you're going to continue to look so moronic you should let me know now." I say, popping a pink chewing gum into my mouth. "So that I can replace you with one of the gargoyles. I'm pretty sure they can hold a conversation with me." Not that I really wanted to be talking about this.

"W-what?" He babbles, the wheels in his head finally beginning to turn. "Anna you need to give me a second to put one and one together!"

"That's going to take a while." I jab. I know, I'm being mean, but I just can't help it right now. It's not me, it's the topic.

"Don't be a bitch, bitch." He says, and hits me on the forehead with a ball of paper that was probably half of his homework. I don't fight with him over it because his comment made me laugh. Instead, I continue to lay on my back and stare at the clear blue sky while he finishes his time consuming mental process.

A few minutes pass while I wait, and then a few more minutes go by and I have never really thought much about stereotypes but I'm beginning to wonder if there's actually some kind of weight behind the whole 'dumb blond' insult.

There's a wind picking up, swift and chilly yet comforting, and still he says nothing. Three fourths of our lunch break have disappeared and the boy still can't internalize it all. Impatient as I tend to be, I try to motivate him by chewing loudly and obnoxiously. He hates it, and I love that he hates it. But my efforts are futile and I find myself being unable to wait for his commentaries any longer.

With a roll of my eyes I turn my head to the left to gaze up at him. "Seriously Kristoff? How long can it take you to understand such a straight forward problem?"

He's sitting Indian style a few feet away from me. A notebook in his lap and a smirk on his face and oh, that bastard.

I glare at him while his smirk widens. "Less than it takes you to realize I'm making you wait on purpose." He laughs then.

I roll my eyes again, admittedly somewhat amused, and return my gaze to the heavens. "You hoe." I try to insult him, but his grin is a clear indicative that the words have not accomplished their task; Kristoff likes to think of himself as such a player even though everyone knows that he's an irrevocable sweet guy.

"Okay, okay, I'll be serious now." He says, settling down. I give him a skeptic look but keep my jokes to myself. "It's just that is really…well, unbelievable man! I mean, if you hadn't spent the whole morning fuming I would have thought you were joking!" I nod, I would have thought I was joking too. He continues, "An arranged marriage? In this time and age!" He shakes his blond locks down at his notebook with an incredulous half smile in place. He's marveled, instead of appalled.

"I know." I shake my head to the sky.

"And to a girl you had never even heard of!" He shouts. His hands have shot up in his excitement, making mannerism at some imaginary friend.

"I know." I repeat plainly to his excitement; why this is exciting for him? I have no idea.

"It's like you were promised at birth!" He tells me as if I hadn't noticed that. It is kind of what happened, but not exactly. I mean it was not at birth.

"Almost." I correct, pushing myself off my back to face him and copy his pose.

Silence engulfs us for minutes. I play with the loose gravel of the roof while I try to keep my thoughts to a minimum; some kind of meditative exercise that I can never quite get the hang of.

"Well?" His notebook has long been forgotten, thrown to the side towards his just as ignored back-pack.

"Well, what?" I shrug my shoulders.

"What do you think?" He asks eagerly.

I frown slightly. In these past days I've spend a lot of time doing much feeling and less thinking. Because really, what's there to think? (Aside from trying to find a way to get out of it!)

So in actuality, the only thing I can deadpan is that, "There are not enough bad words in the dictionary for me to express how I feel about this situation Kristoff."

His response to that is a huff. He even 'tsked', "That's not what I'm talking about! What do you think of her?"

I roll my eyes and tsk as well. I forgot I befriended this doofus for how sensitive he was (note the sarcasm). Whatever, it might actually be better to speak of her than of my less than ideal situation.

I play at thinking about it. I look up to the sky, put my index finger to my lips. Make his eager ass wait like he made me. Retribution is sweet, no matter what anyone else says.

But I don't make him wait too long. I brush my hand on my jeans and raise my shoulders for ultimate nonchalance before I say, "Honestly, I haven't decided yet if she's a psycho, a sociopath or a robot."

"What? Are you for real?" He dares to doubt me.

"Of course I'm for realz!" I put a little ghetto accent in there because I'm serious! I'm seriously serious! There was something really wrong with that girl. First she's all silent, then she's awfully polite, then silent again, then she tries to make friends with me like a hypocrite, then she gets all frosty when I call her up on her shit. Yeap, she's off her bonkers.

"But… why? Did she do something weird?" Kristoff inquires. He has placed his palms on the floor to lean forward, as if we were whispering secrets of the state; the fact that we are alone on the roof makes that doubly ridiculous.

"Yes." I assure him. She did many weird things, which I've already mentioned…well thought about. For the last few days I've done nothing but think about that girl and her weirdness. Over and over and over…I really need her out of my life.

I realize I have gone up in my head there for a while when I come back down to find Kristoff staring at me expectantly. "What?"

"What do you mean, what? Explain! What weird things did she do?" He pushes.

"Well, she was quiet." I start, and he nods urging me to continue. "And awfully polite!"

He's frowning confusedly now. "I think that's normal, Anna. No, actually, I think that's required by law."

"No it's not. I mean, it's not a law!" I disagree.

"Are you sure?" He frowns thoughtfully.

"I'm sure! And I don't mean normal polite. Normal polite is when you come in and say things like Good Evening and thank you for the food, not things like lovely and what a beautiful home you have and the stew was delicious Mrs. Callaghan!" I find myself without breath, and take a second to take some.

Kristoff is nodding in a very placating manner. It's irritating me even more. "I see. So she was…ten times more courteous than you."

Nope, that irritated me even more. Why can't he see all that's wrong with her behavior? With her?

"That's not courteous Kristoff, that's plain weird. Creepy even." I remark, resting my weight on my extended arms behind me. I feel like I might be pouting a bit, but he just doesn't get it. "Besides, that's not all. She's also bipolar."

To that, he laughs. "Are you serious?"

Utterly annoyed, I snap, "Its serious today's word?"

He raises his hands defensively. "Easy now. I just find it really funny that your future wife is both a psychotic sociopath and a bipolar robot."

"Don't call her my wife." I huff.

He chuckles. "Alright, what should I call her then? Actually, what's her name?"

"Elsa. Elsa D'Acres." I pronounce it with the French accent and everything.

"D'Acres?" He mocks.

"D'Acres." I smirk back.

"She's rich isn't she?"

"Yeap! Stinking rich like a princess."

"Man I'm so jealous!" He suddenly screams, practically jumping from the ground.

"You are jealous of my forced marriage to a psychotic, sociopath robot of a fiancé?" I ask up at him, disbelievingly. I can't even imagine what kind of strange little fantasy he has conjured up in his head for him to be jealous of that.

"You bet I am! Do you know how many cameras and equipment I can buy with my rich wife's money!?" He exclaims, taking out his camera from his bag and waving it at me.

I exaggerate a gasp. "You gold-digger!"

He grins as he fiddles with the lenses of the camera. "Hey, one more thing."

"What?" I ask distractedly while I wrap the overly-chewed gum on a small piece of paper and throw it on a pocked of my back-pack to dispose of later (save the earth!)

"Is she hot?"

My head shots up to stare at him. Did he really just ask me if my undesired fiancé is hot? By the wiggle of his eyebrows I'm going to have to go with yes.

"Uh, um…" I stutter.

"You are stuttering." He points out. Thank you Captain Obvious.

"I'm not!" I deny vehemently, with my eyes everywhere but on him.

"You're not looking at me." He adds, picking now to notice irrelevant things like that.

"I'm not!" I run to reply. A mistake.

"Exactly!" He points out, literally, and tries to move into my line of vision. I suddenly fine interest in my left pigtail. I think it's a bit of a mess, too many hairs out, so I will pick this precise moment to redo it. Or I was going to, but Kristoff has taken it out of my hands a bit savagely. "Hey no pulling!" I shout.

"I won't. As long as you spill!" He gives a little tug.

"There's nothing to spill!"

"Like shit there's nothing to spill! Don't be embarrassed! Just tell me. Is she hot?" His stupid eager puppy face has gotten so close I feel like he could see into my brain.

The pressure's too much. I give in by rushing out, "Dammit Kristoff! I don't know if she's hot. I mean she's not ugly, she's kind of gorgeous, not that I'm attracted to her or anything, 'cause' I'm not like that! I could never like a girl like her, or any girl, at all! And I'll admit the first thing I thought was 'fuck', but not in the way you are thinking about. Although I don't know what way you are thinking about, but it's probably not good because you are a sick boy. And I'm not sick. I did not have time to be sick, not that I would have been if I had time. I mean…ugh Kristoff, I don't know okay!"

"Wow…that was a lot of rambling. Even for you." He's looking at me like I'm some silly animal at a circus. So I yank my pigtail out of his grasp and level him with a glare. "Which means…"

"What? What does it mean Christopher?" I mock. He ignores me.

"That she must be super hot!" He says, rising in a burst of energy from his kneeled position before me.

"I never said that!" I argue.

"I think you said gorgeous somewhere around in that speech." He nods to himself.

"No I didn't! You are putting words in my mouth!" I get off the ground to get in his face.

"Whatever, you implied it, and that's enough for me!" He sings.

I cross my arms over my chest, completely irritated by this conversation. I came in search of comfort and found nothing of the sort. My gaze travels over the roof and down towards the inner patio of the school in search of some reprieve from my annoying friend. But it seems that today is not my day just like this week was not my week, for the first thing that latches onto my sight is precisely the second person I wished I never had to see again in my life; the first person is my father.

I return my eyes to Kristoff, who's still happy within his made-believe victory. "Why don't you judge for yourself?"

He controls his grin to ask, "You have a photo of her?"

"Nope, but she's right there." I point out towards the patio, towards a few tables in the middle. Sitting on one of them is Elsa, with her shiny blond hair styled in that same braid I saw all those days ago, but she's not wearing a gown this time. I'm surprised to find she actually owns summer dresses, albeit designer summer dresses; that one looks like it cost a few years of my allowance. But at least it's not pompous. It's sleeveless but modest, and blue; I get the feeling that's her favorite color.

"Which one?" Kristoff asks when his eyes land on the place I'm signaling.

"The one in the blue dress." I say, because Elsa is not alone.

If I'm correct this is Elsa's first day at St. Martin's High School. Actually, it's her first day at a public school, or any kind of school for that matter. Which then makes it kind of odd that she could have made friends so fast; if I take into consideration her introverted personality I mean. That in mind, I am quick to be filled with suspicion, followed by thoughts that wonder if maybe she was even a bigger hypocrite than I had taken her for. But then I notice who's sitting with her.

The vultures.

The vultures are a group of girls who think they have control over the entire school. They walk around the halls like they own them, press up against all the jocks who will have them, and bully every other girl and/or cowardly boy who is not willing to abide by their rules. It goes without saying that I have a lot of problems with them. Actually, I had a fight with two of them that same day in which my life ended.

Whiney Shirley and Fat Janice are impossible to miss even from this distance. They do not lead the vultures, but they are pretty high in their ridiculous ranking system, and are often surrounded by minions that are not half as cute or even remotely useful as the ones in "Despicable Me".

Right now, Elsa is surrounded by these vultures. Shirley and Janice are almost hanging off her arms while three other girls sit on the other side of the table. They seem to be talking Elsa's ear off, chattering excitedly and smiling exhaustingly. But do not be deceived by their pseudo-friendliness. That is just the beginning of the vulture's ritual.

"You mean, the one that's surrounded by the vultures?" Kristoff says, making a face at Elsa's misfortune.

"Yeap, that one." I acquiesce, watching as Elsa politely smiles at the vulture's incessant jabbering.

"Damn. She's hot." I hear him say, but not in his previous excitement. I suppose that he too has realized what's wrong with that fact. "That's not good." He adds sedately, crossing his arms over his wide chest. I nod again, because he's right.

Elsa continues to smile and show attentiveness. I have seen her mutter a few words to which the vultures have laughed boisterously, ignorant of Elsa's obvious confusion. I don't doubt that the princess finds them odd, which they are, but what my blond fiancé ignores is that they are also dangerous. These are the girls that will yank her eyes out if she as much as shows a thread of weakness. In fact, they will probably try even if she doesn't show any sign of frailty. They will test her, just to be sure. Yet Elsa is so naïve that she hasn't even picked up on their fakeness.

"And it's about to get worst." Kristoff mutters to my left. I am confused but for a second, right before a mop of gorgeous hair enters the picture.

Every high school has its resident hunk, and St. Martin is not an exception. With beautiful red-brown short locks that are swept to the sides charmingly, a princely gait, handsome features, dreamy green eyes and pheromone bursting muscles, Hans Davis is our very own Prince Charming. He is only a year older than me but already carries himself like a senior, which makes every girl stare wistfully after him (or at him, in my case).

Suddenly, the vulture's peaks cease their squeaking as Prince Hans makes his presence known at their commoner's table. They all look like poor peasants staring up at a feast. All except for Elsa, whose own effortless grace rivals Han's pseudo-nobility.

He's leaning on the table, a stretched arm sustaining his weight in a smooth pose that helps him hovers over Elsa. I must admit that they look beautiful together, like taken out of a fairytale. Or that's how they would look if the blond had a less indifferent expression on her face. That's the only reason why I'm not brewing with jealousy over here. I've had a crush on him since sixth grade, but clearly Elsa is not very impressed with him. Unluckily for her, her newly made friends don't seem to care that she has no interest in him, because he's interested in her; what's even more evident than Elsa's disinterest in the prince is the vulture's envy and malicious intent.

"That guy works fast." Kristoff comments as we watch Hans take a paper from Elsa's hands. He looks at it for a few seconds, and then proceeds to shrugs his big shoulders as if what he had just read was the easiest thing. He points to the middle building and motions with his head for Elsa to follow him. Elsa gives a politician type of smile to the vultures, and slides off the bench to follow her guide.

We stare in silence as they disappear within the central building of the school.

"You know you are going to have to save her from the harpies, right?" Kristoff turns to me.

"As if." I turn my back on the courtyard.

"But she's your fiancé! And she's hot!" He argues elfishly.

"Kristoff, if I don't care that she's my fiancé, what makes you think I will care that she's hot when I don't even like girls?" I counter his illogical logic as I turn to pick up my back-pack. The bell is about to ring and although I don't feel much like going to class I don't feel like skipping again either; the real tough choices of a normal teenager.

"Oh come on, don't get homophobic on me now!" He retrieves his own back-pack, and carefully deposits his camera inside.

"I'm not homophobic you ass, I'm straight!" It's quite simple, so why won't he get that? Why won't anyone get that?

"Right, right." He chuckles and dismisses me with a wave as he makes his way to one of the gargoyles.

"Asshole." I mutter to no one since Kristoff has already disappeared within the statue.

I give one more glance to the vultures that are still in that same bench on the patio and find them gossiping still, no doubt making malevolent plans that involve my fiancé, I mean, Elsa.

"I hate you." I mumble to…someone; to Kristoff, to Elsa, to my father, to the vultures, to myself? And then I turn to follow Kristoff into the school.

I think I should make some rule about classes and skipping. Like, if you are in doubt on if you should skip class or not skip class on any particular day, then you should definitely skip it. Yeap, no hesitance about it, just skip it.

However, if I had thought about that wonderful life saving advice ten minutes ago, just barely ten minutes ago, I would have been so much happier right now. But I didn't, so instead, I'm miserable.

I'm especially miserable because while I was off daydreaming about what I am sure is going to happen after the last cliffhanger of "Big O", the bitch of Whiney Shirley had a stupid idea that the teacher claims is nothing short of brilliant.

She has proposed me for this year's class representative in the student council.

"No, no, no, no, no." I jump from my seat and chant while shaking my head vehemently. Nope, no way, nope, not happening, nope!

"And why not Anna? From what I know you have not joined any clubs yet." The teacher, a skinny thing with too much hair, cocks his head at me.

I ransack my brain for an excuse. Anything that will get me out of this. I just cannot be part of the teacher's pet club. I can deal with being called a geek, an otaku, an antisocial bitch even! But not a teacher pet!

Maybe if I'm partially honest, "We-well, because I'm horribly irresponsible!"

"That's not true!" Shirley says, smiling at me as if I was being modest. "Mr. Martinez, Anna was responsible enough to walk away from a fight just a few days ago. I saw it with my own eyes, and I for one think that's the kind of person we should have representing this class."

That bitch, whore, hoe, wench! They are eating it up! The teacher is nodding at her words and the classroom is about to burst in applause and I'm beginning to feel a vein throbbing in my forehead. How I wish I could punch that grin off her ugly, pimple-full face.

I turn to Mr. Martinez to try complete honesty this time, "Be that as it may, I just really don't want to Mr. Martinez." I whine, like something is hurting me.

"Anna, this will be good for you. You can expand more, grow your branches!" He exclaims.

I have no idea what the fuck he's talking about, expand? Grow? I'm pretty sure this was about student council and not agriculture.

Anyway, I take out the big guns. I sigh deeply and lie with lots of faith, "Okay, the truth is, I have a horrible disease that won't let me be of any use to the student council. I won't even be able to go to most meetings!"

"What disease?" He squints his beady little eyes at me, but I push through.

I don't blink, I don't breathe, honestly I don't even think because what comes out of my mouth next is, "Cancer!"

'Coqui', 'coqui'…The tiny Caribbean frog can be heard throughout the classroom.

"…cancer?" Mr. Martinez deadpans.

I gulp. "Yes, cancer." Well I already said it, might as well roll with it.

"What kind of cancer?"

Fuck, what kind of cancer? What kind of cancer won't let me participate in student council? Think brain, think! "Uh…anxiety induced cancer!" Wait, what?

'Coqui'…snicker…'coqui'…snicker…The tiny Caribbean frog is fighting with my unsupportive classmates.

"Anna that's not even a real illness!" Mr. Martinez shouts making me cringe. Around me everyone burst out laughing and I feel my ears heat up. I smile sheepishly at the teacher and wait for my punishment. He rolls his eyes but lets his sudden anger slip out with a burst of air. "The first meeting is today after classes end. Be there!" He says and picks up his book to continue with the lecture.

I fall to my chair and pray for the class to end. It does, in about ten more minutes, but my mortification doesn't. During my last class I concentrate on ignoring the sniggers that follow me and texting my misfortune to Kristoff:

LOL! It's his first response, as always.

Not the response I was looking for...

Oh, sorry….that bitch!

Better.

It's funny though.

For you!

XD. Hey, how about I hide a rat in her locker?

You are my best friend.

I know! XD!

It actually made me feel much better. The chat I mean, not the rat in Shirley's locker….ah who am I kidding? That was definitely the cherry on top!

My spirits remain high for the duration of the class, but they are quick to drop when the bell sings the end of the day.

I am the last to leave the classroom. Slowly putting my books away and accommodating my pencils in their case and adjusting the straps on my shoulders; to then just take it off 'cause' it's making me walk like I have a rod up my ass. I drag it along the empty hallways, while I consider not going to the meeting at all. I could say that I got lost. Or that I forgot which room it was. Or that I thought the teacher said it was tomorrow!

I can say a lot of things, but none of them will help me fill the requirements I need to graduate.

Therefore, I force my feet to drag me to the student council room. It's on the first floor, the closest to the entrance of the school. If I sidestep, I could be out of here in no time! But I don't do that. I take a quick look inside to find that there's this nerdy looking kid already writing things and talking to himself, or the board, who can tell? There's a number of chairs organized in a semicircle to give its occupants a better view of whatever he's writing. I quickly spy an empty chair and use my incredibly stealthy skills to make my way over to it. I'm like a raccoon, you won't see me until after I've filled my cheeks with your chocolate cookies!

Hmmm…chocolate!

I make it in no time. I think no one noticed, or I noticed no one noticing me. Either way I'm here. Now to imagine what will happen in "Big O" once I can finally see the episode tonight. If my theories are correct, it is all a big…

"Anna?" A mixture of a shout/whisper almost knocks me off the chair.

I find a face with a very surprised expression to my right. Fuck my luck, it's Elsa.

"What are you doing here?" She says, now more in control of her vocal chords; not that anyone is paying attention. I wonder what interesting thing the nerd is talking about.

I try to take hold of my composure, but I'm not sure it's even in this room. I'm pretty certain Whiney Shirley took it with her. Still, I take a breath and sit properly. "What are you doing here?" Amazing counter attack, right?

Or so I think, but Elsa only raises a delicate eyebrow and replies, "I thought it would be a good experience."

Of course you did, you overachieving princess. I nod in acceptance of her answer and turn towards the nerd. He's facing us now with his nose in a book. I don't understand a thing he's saying.

I feel a prick on my right cheek, like when you feel like someone is staring at you. Probably because someone almost always is in fact staring at you. Like Elsa is doing right now.

"What?" I spit. Her serious expression morphs only slightly to let me witness expectation in her beautiful, I mean sparkling, I mean blue, blue, eyes.

Oh, I guess I never answered what I was doing here. Well tough luck 'cause' there's no way I am telling her I was bullied into this!

I shrugs my shoulders, "I'm here for the experience too."

I barely hold from laughing at the incredulous look on her features, but quickly exchange the sensation for one of concealed indignation. How dare she be suspicious of me but not take a moment to second guess the vultures!

She seems to have gotten a wave of my feelings though (I'm never good at hiding them) because she reins her expression in, "Pardon me. It's just I never paged you for someone who would be interested in this sort of thing." She says and I want to tell her to stick her words and opinions and thoughts where the sun doesn't reach. I want to tell her to shut it, because I don't want to talk to her, and I know she doesn't want to talk to me so why bother? But I don't, because to my bemusement, I feel her genuine.

And so I level with her, "I'm not."

Then I turn back to the nerd and slump on my seat while I proceed to regret the lazy decision of not picking a goddamned club beforehand.

To be continued…

A/N: So you had to wait forever for this, I know. I'm sorry, but went into surgery and that kind of takes your time away from you. In any case, I hope it was worth the wait. I'm not completely satisfied with this chapter, but I would like to know what you think of it, so leave me a review! Thanks for reading!