Chapter Two

The Perfect Song

Amy Fleming POV:

Good Lord, I'm in hell.

That single thought had filled my head for about twenty minutes as I sat in the "waiting room," or so it was called, outside the principal's office. The room was small, almost a cramped-kind of-small, with pale blue walls covered in annoying motivational posters. Against the south wall, beside a door with the principal's name etched across the window, was a large desk, clearly made out of fake wood, behind which sat a tried-looking secretary whom I swore was going to fall asleep over her paperwork. A filing cabinet hosting an over grown green plant sat beside the desk. Against the east and part of the north walls were a collection of hard, black plastic and chrome steel chairs, which only three students, myself included, sat at. In the far east corner was a metal bookshelf piled high with papers and books I couldn't name from a distance, and an extremely out of place antique grandfather clock. It reminded me of my grandfather's house, even my own house back home, except...well, ours' looked better.

I thought about my homeroom teacher, Mr. Jakes, an extremely tall, extremely thing man apparently reaching middle age, and how he had completly dismissed my questions on where the hell my first classes were, and the quarterback-like freshmanwho I had been seated next to, not to mention the Britney Spears clone sitting on my other side. Oh so maturely, a number of "ohs" and practically cat calls had rippled throughout the room when I had been called down to the office during the morning announcements, and Mr. Jakes had only made the effort to calm the class down when I had given him an irritated death glare.

I glanced at the clock on the far side of the room. Three more minutes since last time I had checked. What was the point of making me late on my first day just to introduce yourself as the principal? I didn't like being late; people stared at you when you were late, and I didn't like being stared at. Lord only knew it was gonna happen any way, though.

My fingers smoothed over the metal of my iPod as I stared at in my lap, my backpack, loaded down with more textbooks than I could have imagined I would need, sat on the chair beside me, successfully keeping other students that came in periodically from sitting down next to me. I stared down at the iPod screen, glowering at the brilliantly handsome face of my favorite artist, his smile, which normally made me drool, now making me angry as I watched the album cover practically dancing before me. That smile was way to chipper for how I felt this morning.

I see her layin' by the poolside every day

She ain't got a lot on, she ain't got a lot to say

I grimaced, despite the tune being one of my favorites, and quickly changed the song.

State the obvious, I didn't get my perfect fantasy

I realized you love yourself more than you could ever love me

Ah, no. The last thing I needed right now was to hear about some famous singer's relationship problems. Damn it, why the hell couldn't I find a song that fit my mood?!

I let the song play for a second as I looked up at the clock again. Great, I was going to miss my science class, and probably whatever I had second period, too, if I was kept any longer. Wonderful. A few seats down, I noticed a girl the secretary had early addressed as "Ms. Grant," had moved over at least a seat or two. I could only guess she was there for a severe dress code violation. Her shirt was outrageously short, barely coming half way down to her thighs, and her thight T-shirt was threatening to rip right down the front. I was also having a hard time telling whether or not there were four of five coats of mascara on her eyes.

If you feel so empty

So used up, so let down

You're not the only one

Refusing to back down

...Okay, I might be upset about this whole forcefully being moved nearly half way across the country thing, but I was no where near starting a riot.

"Ms. Fleming?"

I smacked the pause button twice before the song finally turned off, and looked over at the secretary. She only stared at me before I took a moment to roll my eyes and stood up, slinging my backpack over one shoulder and stuffing my iPod into the front pocket as I walked over to the desk.

"Second period is about to start, so why don't you head on to your next class?" the secretary, whose name was Mrs. Elaine, according to her plaque, told me. "You have Geometery in room 121, with Mr. Sullivan, correct?"

I nodded an affirmative.

"121 is here on the first floor, right down the hall," Mrs. Elaine pointed to her right, though I could only look at a cat dangling helplessly from a tree limb on one of the posters. "And after Geometery, you'll need to go to Mrs. Achers room to meet your guide."

"My guide?" I questioned.

"Yes, we have a senior who has offered to show you around the school today."

"Okay, then. Where is Mrs. Achers' room?"

After the secretary had told me where the classroom was, somewhere on the second floor, if I heard her correctly, I headed out of the office and down the hall to my right. The stark white walls were barely visible behind row after row of light green lockers, many of them missing locks. Fishing wire held paintings on canvas and sketches on white paper over the lockers, amazing drawings I only wished I could do. Maybe I focused too much on my writing...

Lost in thought, I almost walked right into the door for Room 121. A dark blue poster covered most of the large window, but I couldn't read what the black lettering on it said very clearly. I knocked on the door after a moment's hesitation, and was met by a tall older man with gray hair and large bifocals.

"Mr. Sullivan?" I questioned, a littler frightened by him for some reason.

Wordlessly, the teacher stepped aside, allowing me into the room. I assumed that was a yes. As I followed him into the classroom, I was actuely aware of the handful of other students staring at me, but tried to ignore it.

"Amy Fleming, correct?" Mr. Sullivan looked at me over the top of his glasses.

"Yes," I nodded.

"You'll be sitting in the back of the room there," he pointed at a desk practically stuffed into the corner, "until I'm able to squeeze you into the seating chart." I suddenly felt fat.

"Yes, sir," I took the worksheet he handed me, my eyes glancing over the difficult-appearing problems as I walked back to the seat he had assigned me. I slid into the chair, dropping my backpack to the floor. Placing the sheet on my desk, I quickly grabbed a pencil from a pocket somewhere on my pack and scribbled my name across the top of the paper before turning my attention to the front of the room. I could barely see behind a tall, broad-shouldered student who I could only guess played sports.

Barely able to see or hear, from that far back in the room, I wasn't quite sure what was going on in the class until the beg only what seemed like minutes later. I had gotten a few of the problems done, incorrectly, I assumed, but guessed I could just ask some one for help later. Shoving the paper carelessly into the pocket among my textbooks, I remembered that I had to meet my guide in Mrs. Achers' room, and flew out of the class.

212...212...212...Ah! 212!

The door was closed, and I debated on whether to knock or just walk in. Noticing that pretty much every one was in the hall, I decided on the latter, and quietly slid open the door. The room held about eight long, black-topped tables with two tall metal stools at each, a large teacher's desk at the front of the room behind an out-of-place white board - and this desk actually looked like real wood. I glanced at the posters that covered the walls as I walked down the center aisle towards the front of the room. It sort of reminded me of the classrooms at my old high school. Sort of.

By the teacher's desk I noticed a windowless wood door, "Guidance" written across it in black paint. I was confused for a minute. Guidance offices had always been in plain, rather annoying, sight at my old school. I tried to remind myself that this was a new school, not St. Anothony's Academy, and turned away from the door, trying to read a poster at the back of the room from a distance, when I heard the door swing open behind me.

I spun around, expecting to find a teacher, but instead found another student. A male one. A male student I was, suprisingly, not relatively afraid of. He was tall, lanky, but obviously had muscle - Very well-defined muscle - with dark brown hair that hung over the top rim of his glasses. I wondered why he wore glasses, my immedate thought being that he had the most beautiful green eyes I had ever seen. The glasses, not that I minded, hid his eyes fairly well.

He was cute.

"Um, hi," I managed. He was staring at me. "I'm, uh, Amy Fleming."

"Ty Baldwin," the boy said.

Still staring.

"Mrs. Elaine told me to, uh, come here...after third period," I stammered. "Something about a senior guide or...or something like that, I think..."

"Yeah, guide," Ty said. "Mrs. Achers asked me to do it."

I couldn't help but notice the way his eyes clouded a bit at the mention of the teacher.

"Well, um, I have, uh, no clue where room...325 is," I said, limply holding up my schedule. "Creative Writing."

"I know, I'm in that class, too," Ty nodded. "It really isn't that hard to find your way around. Room 325 is on the third floor. It's just a matter of figuring out which way the numbers go."

I nodded, dumbstruck. I wasn't sure why I was dumbstruck, either.

"Come on, I'll show you."

I let Ty pass me before I followed him out of the room. He started left, and I had to hurry to catch up with his long strides.

"So, um, who's the Creative Writer teacher?" I asked. "And what is the difference between Creative Writing and English?"

"Mrs. Leonard," Ty replied. "She's...kind of cool, I guess. That's not even the right word; she's just a lot easier to deal with than most of the other teachers. And I have no idea."

I nodded wordlessly, feeling his eyes on me.

"Do you like to write?" he asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Yeah," I shrugged. "I guess. I did a lot of short story writing back home."

"Where are you from, exactly?"

I was quiet for a moment.

"Baton Rouge," I finally replied.

"Louisiana?" he sounded a bit confused.

I rolled my eyes. I couldn't help it. "No, Maine."

He gave me a lopsided grin that made my heart skip a beat.

"Okay, okay, I get it," he said. "I won't mess with you."

"You better not?" I grinned at him, and his step faltered.

Slowly, I felt my backpack sliding off my shoulder, and I shifted it back.

Too late. The black bag fell to the floor with a loud smack, and, almost instantly, I heard my iPod go off. I cringed, glancing at Ty, who grabbed it before I could and held it out to me, waiting. I reached for it, the song playing through the earbuds of my MP3 registering in my head as he gave me a small smile of amusement.

You take your secret smile

The one that turns me on

Hey girl, you've been what I've waited for

That was it. I'd found the perfect song.

Not the best I could have done, but some one was rushing me! Yes, she moved a little fast, but through my side of the story you get a better idea of that later ;) If all goes has planned...

High Maintence Woman by Toby Keith

Picture To Burn by Taylor Swift

Riot by 3 Days Grace

and Secret Smile by Rascal Flatts