A/N: So thank you so much to those you favourited & followed - you guys are the best and I love you. 3 I'm really, really, really, really sorry that this took a while, but hopefully it's worth the wait?

Chapter 2: Cinnamon

Frank finished the question he'd been working on and flipped over the test, very confident in his ability to get an A+, like always. He'd studied a good two hours each night since Ms. Thomas, the biology teacher, had announced the when the test was to take place. But this wasn't unusual behavior for Frank; in fact, he'd been studying for tests this hard since the 1st Grade, when there'd be weekly spelling tests with words like "blue and blew". His good habits had paid off, especially throughout Middle School when his fellow classmates' grades started slipping, while he remained a straight A student.

Frank was just about to read the sixth question, when a sudden whiff of what smelled like cinnamon interrupted all thoughts of his Biology Test. Just that small whiff of what he assumed (but hadn't confirmed) was the smell of cinnamon, sent him tumbling down memory road.

It reminded him of Saturday mornings, before his parents had started their weekly commute, when his grandmother would sit at the kitchen table, waiting for breakfast impatiently and reading aloud e-mails she'd gotten from her brother, who lived in Beijing. His father and mother would cook the breakfast. His father would make eggs and bacon while his mother cooked cinnamon rolls, Frank's favourite breakfast. The spicy, yet sweet smell of cinnamon filled the air and that signaled that the cinnamon rolls were done. Frank closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying both the memory and the smell. Then he tried to locate the smell casually, by turning his head slightly and sniffing the air either side of him. But when he finally found the scent, he discovered it was coming from in front of him; not behind him as he'd originally thought.

In front of him, though, was simply a curtain of long, dark hair. Perhaps that's what smelled of cinnamon? Frank leaned forward, his nose barely centimeters from the girl's hair and inhaled. Sure enough, it radiated cinnamon. Frank breathed in the scent for a few seconds, before leaning back in his chair, pencil poised to answer whatever question was next on the test.

It quite suddenly occurred to him, though, that hair didn't commonly smell like cinnamon. How did that girl make her hair smell so good? Perhaps she used some sort of cinnamon shampoo. Frank was confident that girls sometimes used strawberry shampoo to make their hair smell good. In fact, he was quite sure that his mother used some sort of "tropical fantasy" coconut shampoo. But cinnamon shampoo? Did that even exist? Frank leaned forward again, just to make sure it wasn't some other scent he was confusing with cinnamon. But as he was leaning forward, the girl suddenly pulled her hair into a high ponytail in a few swift motions. Frank was so close to her hair that when the ponytail fell into place on the back of her head, it whacked Frank on the nose, filling his nostrils with the strong spicy-sweet smell of cinnamon. Frank retracted quickly, his spine hitting the chair in a rather painful manner. But Frank didn't notice the pain; he was too busy making sure no one had seen him creepily sniffing a girls' hair. Pink-cheeked and embarrassed, Frank returned to his test, eager to take his mind off the embarrassing incident.

O.o

"…and that's when—believe it or not—the lizard decided to crawl out of my shirt pocket. She never believed me after that." Jason laughed at his friend's tale of the summer before high school, not sure if he was completely telling the truth or not. But it was funny, whether or not it was true, so he, and everyone that had been listening to the story intently, all laughed.

"What was your summer like?" Daniel asked Jason inquisitively, wondering if Jason had any funny stories to recall. "Ooh, I know this one," Sam said, behind Jason, "tell that one about the time when you got dropped off at the Girls' Swim Meet instead of the Boys'." Daniel, whose eyes widened at the prospect of hearing about girls in potential skimpy bathing suits, urged Jason to tell the story.

Jason, who hadn't ever been accidentally dropped at the Girls' Swim Meet, knew a good opportunity when he saw one. So he went along with Sam's little plan and told an over-exaggerated story of him ending up in the Girls' Locker Room, with Sam adding in little details ("when you told me the story you said you found the team captain in a compromising position with her boyfriend"). Eventually Daniel realized that the boys were both kidding, but he laughed along until the end of the story, when Jason found a very stern-looking Mr. Blinn hovering at the boys' desks.

"Please get back to work, boys. This is not a time for chit-chatting. This is a time for Algebra." The three boys quickly returned to the worksheets on their desks, attempting to remember yesterday's formulas and use them on the worksheet. Eventually, Jason found a question that was really stumping him. Instead of asking his friends for help (they would probably just try and throw him off) he stood up and went to the front of the classroom to ask Mr. Blinn for help.

But as soon as Jason approached the desk—before he'd had time to ask for help—Mr. Blinn said, "Oh, good, Jason. I was wondering if you could do me a favour? I need some markers for tomorrow's lesson—could you go down to the art classroom and grab them for me? That would be great, thanks." Mr. Blinn finished before Jason could even accept. Not wanting to get in trouble for his earlier banter, Jason quickly accepted this opportunity, dropping his half-finished worksheet back on his desk, picking up a hall pass from Mr. Blinn, and running towards the art classroom at full speed—which was quite fast, seeing as Jason was captain of the Boys' Soccer Team.

O.o

Question #12: Compare and contrast mitosis and meiosis. What are the results of mitosis and meiosis? Explain your reasoning.

So far, Frank hadn't found any of the questions particularly challenging. But this one was especially easy, since he'd read the section on cells just last night. He scribbled his answer in messy, but still quite readable, handwriting and read the next question. But Frank, who was confident in his ability to get a good grade almost to the point of overconfidence, allowed his mind to wander to things beside the biology test. One thought led to another and pretty quickly he found himself wondering what colour eyes the cinnamon girl in front of him had. Perhaps she had brown eyes. Or blue or green. But he couldn't quite put his finger on the girl's eye colour.

Not remembering her eye colour, he decided to try and recall her name instead. He was quite sure it was Hannah, but for some reason that didn't sound right. Perhaps it was Helen? No, that didn't sound right. What about…Hazel. Yes, that was it. Hazel. It seemed to be a fitting name for a girl whose hair smelled of cinnamon. Hazel was a beautiful name. Frank wondered what it would be like to say the name aloud. Before he could stop himself, he heard the words—however quiet—leave his lips, "Hazel" he said quietly. But Hazel, the girl in front of him, heard and turned around looking slightly annoyed. Golden. Those were the colour of Hazel's eyes. Frank turned very red in the face and busied himself with his test. With a quiet mutter that sounded and awful lot like, "Boys…" Hazel turned back to her test.

After that, it took Frank almost the entire period for finish, which was strange since he was usually the first or second to hand his test in. But he thought nothing of it, figuring it was probably just a harder test, seeing as he was now in High School. He quickly made a mental note to study extra hard for midterms; despite the fact they were over three months away. There was no way his grandmother would approve of him getting lower than a 97 average for the semester.

Frank almost laughed out loud. Like that would ever happen.

O.o

Jason paused outside the door to the art classroom, wondering if he should knock. But he thought better of it and just opened the door instead.

Art had never been a passion of Jason's. He'd never really been talented in that area, he was more of an athlete than an artist, but he'd always liked the atmosphere of art class. It was interesting to watch something so simple, such as a plain canvas and a smear of paint or a block of stone and a chisel, turn into something beautiful: a painting, a sculpture, a work of art. Jason held a special appreciation for art, although he never had really understood why he held an appreciation for such things.

Maybe half the class looked like they were actually having fun, but that was better than most classes. Some of the people were only there to get fine art credit but the atmosphere was casual and friendly and the young, bubbly art teacher was really quite lenient and just generally pleasant to be around. (Well, according to his friend, Jeremy, who was in fifth period art class.) Currently, she was helping one of the students—a boy, with caramel-coloured hair. Jason's eyes did a sweep of the classroom.

The boy to girl ratio was pretty even, but there was obviously a wide variety of personalities in the room. There were no 'art geeks' like the ones in stereotypical teen movies. In fact, the kids seemed normal. Surprisingly, Jason came to the conclusion that he wouldn't mind taking this course, even though he could barely draw a straight line on a blank piece of paper.

Jason's eyes were drawn to the corner of the room, where a girl sat on a stool, molding a lump of clay. As he watched, her hands worked, transforming the lump into the shape of vase.

She looked oddly familiar; he could've sworn he'd seen her cheering at one of his games before. But she looked different in the art classroom than she did out on the field. She looked...happy. Her face glowed and there was a certain sparkle in her eyes—watching her make the vase was sort of like watching a dancer on stage. She was graceful in her movements, her slender fingers touching just the right places on the vase to make it the right shape.

Jason soon found himself staring. He felt as if he could just take a picture right now, with the sun streaming through the windows and hitting her chocolate-brown hair just right it had the potential to be an ad for any sort of pottery-making company. Not just any ad, but a very successful ad. He knew if he saw this frozen snapshot on any magazine or TV it would be enough to convince him to do pottery. Not because of the beauty of the girl, (although the girl was quite good-looking), but because of the pure happiness that radiated from her. She conducted energy, she had found her passion… she was the centre of the room even though she was in the corner. And even if he took a picture—he took multiple ones in his mind—he was pretty sure, even though the picture was unmoving—you could see the motion as her nimble fingers shaped the pottery. You could imagine her doing what she did just now.

But then the art teacher approached him, startling Jason out of his thoughts. Jason turned to her, racking his brain to remember what he needed from the classroom. The art teacher was a short, plump blonde with squinty green eyes and a very hipster-y sense of style. She wore thick, square black glasses and had a very friendly smile.

"Hello!" she said, in a voice that sounded as bubbly as Jeremy had described, "I'm Ms. Arnold, the art teacher. How can I help you?" Jason gave her a nervous smile, still trying to remember what he needed. He felt stupid, standing their awkwardly in silence. All of a sudden he remembered: markers. How could he have forgotten?

"Jason," Jason introduced himself, "I was sent by Mr. Blinn to collect some markers."

Ms. Arnold turned to go get the markers and then hesitated and turned back towards Jason. "Any specific types?" she asked, "Felt-tip? Crayola? Sharpie?"

"Uh…Mr. Blinn didn't really say what type of marker he wanted…I guess I'll just get Crayola, then?" Jason said. It came out more like a question than he had intended. There were so many types of markers, it seemed, and Jason was decently sure there would be more types available if he prodded further. He'd coloured a lot what he was younger, but art he had soon figured out art wasn't really his forte and he'd been introduced to soccer around that time, too, so there was something new and exciting to pique his interest.

Ms. Arnold left Jason by himself to observe the students and the art they were creating. A few minutes later she returned, this time with a box of Crayola markers. Jason thanked her and headed back towards Mr. B's classroom, but the girl with chocolate brown hair who had shaped a beautiful vase on her spinning wheel so quickly and so effortlessly, was still in the back of his mind.

A/N: So if you like it or have criticism or anything, leave a review! I really do appreciate it.

xx

StrawberryofLife