Summary: What do you get when you mix an emotionally volatile former wild child, her rockabilly brother, a socially inept grade grabber, the Rat Pack, and Mr. Popular himself? Life in Technicolor that's what.
Author's Note: Huge thanks goes to those who read and reviewed this story and/or added this to their favourite/ alerts list!
Disclaimer: I do not own Beyblade or anything else that you may recognize!
Chapter One – The Thin Dead Line
I looked like someone else.
The limp blond hair thrown haphazardly into a matted knot at the back of my head and the thick black-rimmed glasses that framed dull and lifeless eyes confirmed this.
I felt like someone else.
The numbness that flowed through my body and the apathetic manner with which I regarded everything solidified this.
I was someone else.
The very fact that I was here in New York about to start an all-girls private school instead of in Las Vegas proved this.
Even without Miguel glancing at me surreptitiously from the corner of his eye every few seconds, with a look that clearly conveyed the belief that if he wished hard enough I'd magically revert to the wild child I had been but a few months previously, there was absolutely no denying it.
I was a completely different person now and the only thing which linked me to my old life was the slight resemblance that I bore aesthetically to the girl from back then.
To the girl who had once lived every second of her life to the maximum in bright and fantastical colors but now existed in a world made entirely of shades of grey.
The girl who had become a mere ghost of a person from a bygone past.
'And no amount of scrutinizing or wishing from Miguel is going to change that,' I thought impassively as I caught him looking at me again. Flicking my eyes back to the windscreen and the world outside his Chevy, I asked in a tone that was cool at best,
"What?"
Focusing firmly back onto the road ahead of us, he didn't answer for a few seconds while a frown found its way onto his face before he eventually replied with a mumbled "Nothing."
Liar.
I knew that he wanted to know. He wanted to know so badly that it was verging on desperate. I could tell. It was in every glance that he shot me, the ones that he used in vain to try and decipher who had replaced his sister, and in every word he spoke, each underlined with a hidden question; 'Why are you here?', 'What happened in Vegas that was so bad that Mom made you move in with Dad and me?', 'Who are you?', 'Why won't you talk to me!?', the list was endless.
Thankfully he hadn't voiced any of these to me directly, for once taking heed of Mom and Dad's warnings to leave me alone, believing idealistically that I would talk when I was ready to.
Fools.
I was never going to be 'ready' because I refused to be friends with reality.
And even though I had a small niggling feeling at the back of mind that I might once have recognized as guilt over the fact that Miguel seemed to be the only one out of the loop of what used to be my life, I still couldn't answer any of his questions.
And I wasn't planning on doing so in the near future either, so he was just going to have to quietly accept and adapt to the new me, just like I had, like everyone had.
There was no more exchange of words between the two of us until Miguel pulled the car into the parking lot of what could only be a private school, judging by the perfectly sculpted gardens and immaculately dressed students entering the imperial buildings in their crisp and regulatory uniforms.
An all-girls private school if one was to be more exact, and judging by the simultaneously appreciative and disgusted look that adorned Miguel's face, he had recognized this as well.
He quickly turned his bright blue eyes to me as I was about to make my exit from the suddenly too warm car, indicating in the process that he was going to say something by opening his mouth.
"Seriously Rumi, are you sure that you really want to go to school here? I mean you absolutely hate, no loathe, private schools. You think they're all just a bunch of prissy snobs with their heads so far up their asses that they wouldn't know their way out of their own mansions if they didn't have someone to hold their hand and lead them out."
I just stared back at him without answering, which merely fuelled him to continue his little rant.
"Kurumi," he was using full names; he really must be serious, "If I recall you nearly had a heart attack when Dad forced Mom to enroll you in that Lodge Academy for the Gifted or whatever it was back in Vegas and then you went on a hunger strike until they signed you up for public school. So why exactly would you suddenly develop an appreciation for such an institution as this one huh? It isn't you. At all."
Precisely.
It wasn't me. In fact, it was so far removed from the old me that it was perfect for the new me.
Although I didn't voice this out loud, just simply averted my gaze from that of my somewhat angry brother and instead turned my attention to patting out the non-existent creases in the blue tartan tunic I was wearing.
Sighing reluctantly at the realization that I wasn't going to say anything, and with just a little hurt evident in his eyes this time, Miguel made a last ditch attempt at swaying my mind.
"We can leave right now and you can just enroll at Bakuten Public with me. It's, like, two blocks over and you'd have heaps more fun tormenting the teachers there, trust me," he added a sly grin for good measure.
Apprehending that I was going to have to reply if I wanted to get out of the car, I quietly stated "No" and thanked him for the ride before getting out so that he couldn't protest any further to my choice of educational establishment.
Giving me one last look, and with an almost flippant "Really, what would the Rat Pack say?" he bid me farewell and took off, speeding out of the parking lot and towards his school of choice, completely oblivious to the inner turmoil his parting inquisition had stirred up in me.
My heart had stopped at his words. A lump had grown in my throat. I couldn't breathe properly.
Why!?
Why had he mentioned them?
Did he have any idea what that name meant? What it symbolized? Just who it referred to? Who it no longer referred to?
The Rat Pack…no I would not think about them! I refused to think about them!
Especially…
No!
I shook my head roughly to rid it of such thoughts. Focusing decidedly on repeating the elements in the Periodic Table, the images that had previously manifested in it dissolved back into the folds of oblivion as I proceeded with my boring and tedious self-imposed task.
It wasn't until I was absolutely positive that I was back in my right mind that I stopped and turned my attention back to the school. Making a quick assessment of the grounds, buildings, and convening students I came to the conclusion that this place was the total opposite of what I had come to expect in my old life and was subsequently perfect in every way for my new life.
I could get lost here. Be anybody I wanted to be. And what I wanted at the moment was to be left alone and to be completely invisible to everyone, a mouse without any friends.
I smiled humorlessly at the thought and began to make my way along the cobbled path and towards the office for registration.
I glared in irritation at the back of the head of the brown haired-girl I was following to the cafeteria, her mouth going a mile-a-minute as it had done all day. She was, unfortunately, the same girl who had volunteered to show me around the school for the day, so I was forced against my will to follow her. As the teacher's pet she had fulfilled her duty with enthusiasm and responsibility, going as far as to selflessly find me when I had 'lost' her earlier in the morning. She had then ensued to keep a watchful eye on me to make sure I didn't take any more 'wrong' turns and had apparently adopted me as a charity case because of my apparent lack of sell-confidence and introverted nature.
Hilary Tachibana.
She had gotten on my nerves the instant I met her with her far too chipper demeanor and incessant need to know every single thing about me. When I declined to answer her grating questions with anything more than a clipped one word response, she had instead decided to fill the awkward silences with a one-sided conversation all about herself.
A fascinating topic that turned out to be.
If only she knew that I used to eat girls like her for breakfast and spit them back out before they'd even realized what had happened.
But she didn't, so I was stuck with her.
"So, how do you like the school so far?" Hilary asked as she turned ruby red eyes on me, beaming widely as she stepped into the food line that had formed in the cavernous and far too expensive looking room that was delegated as the cafeteria.
"It's alright," I muttered as I looked around me, searching for an escape route while taking in the assortment of students sitting around in distinctive cliques. Some of them stared back with disinterest while others turned their noses up at my less than immaculate countenance, whispering to their friends to check out the new student and then laughing in a derogatory manner after said friends had done so.
'Typical,' I sneered to myself as I spotted an opening forming between two tables which I could slink away through and disappear into the crowded throng behind. Flicking my gaze to Hilary I noticed that she was silently congratulating herself for getting me to speak two whole, separate words, and I took advantage of her distraction by making my grandiose getaway.
Looking back over my shoulder as I passed by the tables, I saw that she thankfully hadn't noticed the empty space next to her as I continued to walk faster and vanish among the immense population of students. I didn't stop until I was sure that Hilary wouldn't be able to spot me with her hawk-like eyes, and then it was only to find a little table that was tucked away behind one of the pillars next to the left wall of the immense hall.
It was perfect for someone who didn't want to be noticed. Sitting down, I pulled out a novel from my bag and proceeded to get lost within the depths of Nietzsche's Beyond Good and Evil as my classmates went about their days and blissfully ignored my presence.
A soft knock resonated on my bedroom door later that evening as I sat at my desk doing the mountain of homework I had been assigned during the day.
Apparently, I had a lot to catch up on.
Looking up tiredly I called out "Come in!" before fixing my eyes back onto the set of trigonometry questions I was currently attempting.
The door opened and I was met with a "So, how was your day sweetie? Is the school nice?"
"It's alright," I echoed my previous statement to Hilary right back at my Dad, as I had with Miguel to, not bothering to waste a single brain cell thinking up a different answer. It was sufficient in expressing my indifference to Yellowstone Academy for Girls.
Dad continued to stand uncomfortably at the doorway and replied with the only option he could think of, "Well, that's good then."
I didn't respond at all and the silence stretched on until Dad coughed awkwardly and stepped further into the room.
"Your Mom sent this. She thought you might want it." He placed something down on the desk next to me but I didn't look away from my work. "Well, I better let you get back to your homework then kiddo."
He rapidly fled the room, unfortunately not possessing the ability to deal with situations he didn't know how to navigate and which were no doubt exaggerated by my newfound personality.
Setting my pen down, I finally acknowledge what he had been kind enough to pass on to me from my Mother, and promptly sucked in a breath of air.
It was my laptop.
I stared at it blankly for a full minute before gingerly reaching out a finger to touch it, making sure that it was really there.
I hadn't thought about it since certain events transpired and I had entirely forgotten about it when I moved across the country from Las Vegas to New York.
Not really comprehending what I was doing I lifted up the lid and turned it on. It instantly began to load and I watched transfixed as it came to life before me, the familiar background of a stylized Coat of Arms with the words 'The Rat Pack' emblazoned on it exploding onto the screen in front of me.
But that wasn't the only thing that popped up without my consent. I realized belatedly that I hadn't disabled my Messenger account from coming up whenever I used my laptop. I was only able to see it for a split second before I closed my eyes as tight as possible, shutting out the glow of the computer, but it hadn't been quick enough. Certain names had jumped out against my will.
They danced under my eyelids, taunting and teasing me.
Zeppy. Nash. Shamrock. Diablo. Maps.
I felt as if a hand was squeezing my heart tightly, my breath was coming in fast and shallow gasps, unimaginable pain was filling every inch of my body, images of a time and people past were flashing through my mind, as the grey was beginning to fade and weak color was appearing and replacing it.
Reality was setting in.
My mind was numb as picture after picture of places and people raced through my head, images of things I'd rather forget refusing to settle back under the blanket of repression I had tried so hard to build. Happy face after happy face chased one another through my mind at such a fast rate that I could barely catch who they were of, but I didn't need to really see them to know who they were. I knew instinctively.
My friends.
The Rat Pack.
But they weren't the names which had really inspired this reaction in me. No, that belonged to someone else. And it had caused it even more so because I was sure that their status said something that I knew to be impossible: it said they were online.
I felt my heart constrict even more painfully than before and a sob choke my throat as I caught sight in my head of long flowing black hair, dark as night could be, and streaked through with electric blue highlights, belonging to a girl so beautiful on the outside that it was only put to shame by how beautiful she was on the inside.
Boots.
My best friend. My sister in all but blood. My platonic soul mate.
I felt a tear seep out from under my closed lid as I unwillingly thought about her. Taking in a shaky breath I knew that I had to look at the screen again to ascertain if what I had seen was true. That she was online.
Squinting my eyes open at the blurred screen, I wiped the tears from them and tried to quell the traitorous hope that was forming inside of me. Stealing myself for the inevitable I sought out Boots amongst the huge array of names that made up my contacts list.
After what felt like years I found it and took in what it said.
It read offline. Of course it did. All hope was quickly dashed into a thousand tiny pieces. I knew what I had seen couldn't have been real. It defied all logic.
I laughed.
Bitterly.
Because how could you possibly be online when you were dead?
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