Teehee. Not as great (well, I don't think it's as great) but whatever. I'm still in need of plotline ideas. This was just a tidbit that was already imprinted in my brain.

Thank you for submitting ideas. I really appreciate it, and I'll try to use all (or most) of them in later chapters Jeez, I had no idea anyone would like this.

Oh yeah, and it has nothing to do with what the song "Misery Business" is actually about, but I figure this situation is pretty miserable for Mizuki.

"Miracle" © Paramore

Ouran High School Host Club © Bisco Hatori

Osoko Mizuki & this story © moi, yours truly, Chuckinator

Three

We've learned to run from

Anything uncomfortable

Shit. Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit. Super shit, if you will.

Running was exactly what she wanted to do, even though the particular song said something about how running from anything uncomfortable wasn't an option.

Well, maybe the protagonist of the nonexistent story the song tells should see what an amazingly screwy situation Mizuki in.

Okay, running it is. Mizuki whirled around and twisted the doorknob frantically. Of all the times for the friggin' doorknob to be stuck. Or maybe she was so frenetic that her fingers and hands weren't functioning correctly.

"Ne…usually girls really want to see us," she heard someone say.

"I, uh…"

Mizuki cursed and cursed (inwardly) at the image of these people, their appearances corrupting her head.

Okay, she was being a little dramatic. (Or melodramatic; she didn't know the difference between the two terms.) She was horribly inadaptable to drastic changes, such as moving from a middle-class high school ruled by bitchy punks (such as her) to a fancy private "academy" with uniforms from a corny fairy tale and completely pink-shaded interior and exterior.

"Oh! I get it! Maybe you like other girls?"

That stopped her in her tracks. She whipped around. The one who spoke was the blonde, not the midget Mitsukuni from her class, but the taller one with violet eyes. She'd heard his name before, something-something-something…the 2nd year boy who was the son of the superintendent—

"I got it!" she yelled rather spontaneously. She whirled around, her long neon-green-and-pink-streaked brown hair whipping sharply.

Mizuki walked—no, something between a stomp and a stalking prowl—up to him and pointed a finger in his face. His eyes got wide in fear.

"Suoh!" she said. "That's your name! Suoh!"

Suoh Tamaki shrank under her unusual grey-eyed glare. "Y-y-yes…"

"Accuse me of being a lesbian again and I'll kick your ass before bashing your head into a brick wall," she said, jabbing her finger at his face. "I am not lying, I've done it to a kid before 'cuz he—"

"Aah, Osoko Mizuki, heiress to the multinational technological company…interesting." She imagined the speaker wearing a "cool type" smile. She was right.

"And what are you, my stalker?" She turned on the black-haired boy, the one with glasses. She definitely knew who he was; he'd even once set foot in her house when her family invited his for dinner. She hadn't formally met the boy (and, clearly, hadn't even bothered learning his name), but she automatically declared him and his family a group of cold bastards who believed they were in a higher, godlike status above everybody else. Dinner had been tense that night. If she remembered clearly (which she didn't, which was probably why her opinion was senselessly callous), there had been a few criticisms that didn't come from her family.

Ah. A memory jogged. His name was Ootori Kyoya.

"Osoko Mizuki," he said, reading from a file with her name on it. "The 'brash, impolite, possibly ill-bred' seventeen-year-old heiress to Osoko Industries—"

"Well, I give 'em some credit for getting the 'brash' part right."

"—expelled out of two previous boarding schools, for outbursts of violence…ah, the file even says you gave one of them a nosebleed—"

"Ahaha, a victory. Wait—a file?!"

"—an avid fan of independent rock bands, playing the guitar in one herself—"

"GOD! The school knows about that, too?! YOU know about that?!"

"—she likes the unique style of her clothes, and rather dislikes schools such as this one." He closed the folder. "Well, I suppose the school does know, considering it's noted in the files." He smiled pleasantly.

Mizuki narrowed her eyes and let out an animalistic growl, something the Host Club did not expect.

She grabbed the folder from Ootori Kyoya's hands and smacked him across the face with it.

Now, that left the rest of the Host Club absolutely stunned. The brown-haired (well, the brown was almost invisible with all the bright neon streaks), abstractly-dressed (her awful butter-colored dress was accented with clashing punk accessories); unusually brash new girl had fearlessly smacked the Shadow King.

Well, for Mizuki herself, it was no different from the large number of bitches and bastards she'd mercilessly beaten in her last school. (For the record, the threat she gave Tamaki was a truth.)

"Stalker!" she said, pointing at Kyoya. "I'm amazed you do well with girls. Unless the girls at this joint are too stupid to realize that a guy who knows everything about them—without actually having to talk to them—is creepy!" (No, that sentence did not make any sense. At all. But if you inform Mizuki of that, she'll…well; I'm not going to stress the gory details.)

Without bothering to listen to the protests and things from the rest of the Host Club, she smashed the file into a nearby vase, crushing a few flowers as well. A strange reflex caused her to pick up the vase and spit in it.

"Lessee if they still want me 'choosing a type' or whatever," she said jubilantly.

With her vibrantly multicolored hair whipping behind her, Mizuki stomped out, her mood in a funny, unbalanced state of cantankerousness and triumph.

But mostly triumph.

"Um…Osoko-san…?"

It was of the most timid girl in her class, Ichiraku forgot-her-first-name. She was a pretty petite thing, with short, flaming red hair and emerald eyes. Maybe she was growing narcissistic, but Mizuki had this feeling the redhead idolized her somehow.

"Ootori-kun wanted me to deliver this to you, since he heard our dorms were next door to each other…" She handed Mizuki a small piece of fancy poster board-like paper.

"Ootori-kun." Maybe she's a faithful customer of the Club, Mizuki thought vaguely.

"Thanks, Ichiraku-san," Mizuki smiled. "G'night, see ya tomorrow."

And much to her chagrin, this was what the note read:

You managed to leave something very valuable behind during your quite strange visit today. Come by tomorrow to pick it up.

-the Host Club

"Eh…weird," she comment. She tossed the note onto her nightstand and searched for her headphones—

"Shit," she said simply. "My iPod."

Entered here would be a long string of colorfully composed curses that was cut out, because it would surely make this story's rating skyrocket.

Oh my God. This sucked. Lol, I'm sorry. xD

Review. Or I will die. (Or the story will die, from lack of motivation. And I think that would kill or at least somehow depress whatever readers I have…lol.)

Oh. And if you have any ideas, please say so. But I already have a lot (THANK YOU ALL WHO SUGGESTED THINGS, YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE), so if you have a good idea, I guess I'll just make this story very randomly long.