Disclaimer: I don't own Sky High.

Ivy turned around. A young man stood before her. He was tall, with long dark hair, and he was handsome—very handsome. Ivy looked down at the book he was gripping in his left hand; his thumb kept the place of the page he was on.

"What are you doing?" he asked calmly.

Ivy closed her eyes again. His voice was like gravel. It sounded nice.

The two stood frozen for a moment, silent. A breeze went by, ruffling the leaves. A few birds chirped in the distance. It was a lovely summer's day.

Ivy watched as the young man relaxed, taking another step toward her.

"What's your name?" he asked.

Ivy stared at him. They shared another minute of silence.

"It's a beautiful day," he said casually.

She gave him an incredulous stare. Here she was trying to kill herself, and he was talking to her about the weather! Was he trying to save her life or take her out on a date? She took one step backward; her heel hung dangerously over the edge. His expression didn't change, but he cleared his throat. She saw him relax more.

"You know," he said, shifting his stance and looking up at the sky. "Ever since they banned students from eating outside during lunch, I've snuck out here every single day." He looked back at her. "It's a lot quieter now."

Ivy continued to stare at him.

"I'm Warren," he said, putting out a hand to shake.

Ivy looked at it for a moment, then back up at his face. His features were so… chiseled. She shook her head slightly at the thought, feeling her cheeks flush.

"Did you wanna step away from there?" he asked.

His arm remained extended toward her.

Again, she stared at him, this time examining him more carefully. The hint of a smile played on his lips. His eyes were a deep chestnut. She looked back down at his hand. It was large, rough; his fingers were calloused. She felt her heart began to beat more quickly and realized she was sweating again.

Cautiously, Ivy took a small step toward him. She lifted her arm slowly and reached out, letting her fingers hover curiously above his open palm. She could feel an intense heat radiating from his hand. It was strange, but it felt nice; it made her quiver. Glancing up at him one last time, she was about to let her hand fall gently into his when—

BRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIING!

Ivy jumped at the sound of the school bell ringing, signaling the end of the lunch period. She immediately pulled her hand away and looked up at Warren, whom she thought looked slightly disappointed. Thoroughly embarrassed, Ivy looked down at her feet. She pushed past Warren vigorously and began trotting back toward the building, where students were now pouring outside for their afternoon lessons. Before reaching the double doors, she thought she heard Layla's voice calling out to Warren, but immediately brushed the thought away. She didn't want to think about Layla, and she especially didn't want to think about him.

She didn't like the way he'd made her feel: so trusting. Ivy had made a promise never to let herself trust so easily again; but she couldn't help feeling so… naïve. She couldn't stop thinking about his eyes—like coffee; or that incredible heat that had sent shivers down her spine. It had only just happened, but it was as if the memory had been with her since conception. He was marvelous, but she did not want to confide in him.

Not at all.

Upon entering back into the school building, Ivy leaned up against the nearest wall and tried to process everything that had just happened. Moments ago, she had nearly ceased to exist, and now she stood panting and thinking about the handsome stranger that had managed to change her mind—what was left of it. She felt nauseous and out-of-breath.

"Oh, Ivy!"

Ivy flinched and whipped her head toward the source of the voice. It was Mrs. Powers. Ivy looked around. The wall she had decided to rest on was seemingly attached to the main office.

Mrs. Powers walked over to her, smiling. The rhythmic clicking of her heels soothed Ivy in a strange way; it made her feel like she was in elementary school.

"I was just coming to find you," she said cheerfully. "I saw on your schedule that your next class was the Art of Mastery."

Ivy, unaware of the order of her classes or their proper names, offered a confused shrug. Mrs. Powers gave a short laugh.

"I see. Well, grab your things. You won't be attending—not today, anyway. I've set up a private lesson for you. Come with me."

Ivy nodded, picked up her bag, and proceeded to follow Mrs. Powers down the hallway.