Author's Note: Wow, 3 chapters, 500+ hits and 21 reviews. Thanks everyone, especially the reviewers! Okay, so in the last chapter I originally said that this chapter would be in Lola's POV, but I came across a better idea for Lola's chapter, an idea that meant Dana would have to have a say first. So I went back and changed Lola's name to Dana in the author's note. Sorry for the mix-up!

Disclaimer: The songs mentioned, Zoey 101 and all related characters are not my own.

First To Know: Dana
Thursday, November 9th, 2006 (12:13 pm)

"…one where I wake up and I'm…"

Sometimes I wonder: do songwriters ever stop to think how freaky it is that they can write out a stranger's entire existence, package and sell it?

I mean, sure, the writer has probably experienced the same things as half the population, because the situations are a result of basic human nature, but still. Every once in a while there's a song that seems like it's explaining everything that's happening in my life at the time.

For example, when I first got the forms about studying in France I was listening to my iPod shuffle. And the next song in line happened to be Think It Over, followed by MakeDamnSure. Coincidence?

Fast forward a few months to the actual plane ride to France; the first song I heard as the plane was rolling down the runway (I was looking at one of the photo albums Zoey had made for me) was Going Away To College.

Throughout the year, my music never failed to amaze me. Every single time I was overwhelmed with feelings I would turn on my shuffle and a song would come on and experience the emotions with me. Even though I, personally, think it's downright creepy, it's not really a shock to me anymore; I've actually come to expect it.

So that's why right now, at twelve thirteen on a Thursday afternoon in October, as my cab races through the streets of California, I'm not surprised to be listening to The Adventure. Returning to PCA after running away more than a year ago is definitely what I would classify as an adventure.

My favourite line so far is: "I'm the first to know, my dearest friends", because it's definitely the one that best represents my situation. See, my friends don't know I'm coming back; nobody does. Well, except for Dean Rivers. But he doesn't count. He's an imbecile.

Twelve oh clock on the dot, sitting in the back of a taxi on scorching hot leather seats and I'm becoming emotional already. It's so stupid that I, of all people, am getting all choked up about coming back to some stupid school. The lessons aren't as interesting as the ones in Paris, the food isn't as exotic and the people… well, I'm not going to lie, the people are a whole other story.

Photo album anyone? I pull the large, rectangular book out of my bag, laying it across my lap. There are fingerprints all over it's once-pristine, glossy black cover, fingerprints that I'll have to wipe off before anyone finds the book. I don't want anyone thinking that Paris has made Dana Cruz a softie.

I flip open to the first page. It's the picture of Nicole and I on our first full day in room 101: I'm yelling at her and she's sitting on a chair, staring at me like I'm deranged. The caption reads, "Welcome to PCA, Dana". The next few pages are from our first month or so at PCA, just random shots where nobody is posing. Real life photography is what Zoey likes. Or liked, I should say; I don't know if she still does. There are a bazillion captions on each page, too: Zoey always went overboard with those.

Action shots from our basketball game against the boys, snapshots of the statue of the school's founder after Zoey "renovated" it; me thrusting Logan's head into a bowl of cereal after one too many repeats of "wanna make out?". The memory of that one still makes me laugh.

Audience pictures of Chase's play, Chase and Michael playing a heated game of Go Fish and photos of Drake Bell's fabulous concert. Zoey's super cool backpack ideas, our disc golf practices and the infamous school dance fiasco are also in here.

Not to mention quite a few pictures of Logan and I "dancing", surrounded by Zoey's stupid winking stickers. In the last section are snapshots of our beach party; where we got separated from the rest of our school but still managed to have a lot of fun on our own private beach. Y'know, once all the anxiety attacks were over. The last picture in this section is of Logan and I asleep in the sand, his arm over me. Of course, this resulted in a severe beating when I woke up and found him like this, but the picture's pretty cute.

In Zoey's mind, anyway.

I flip to the last page, completely immersed in memories. On the back cover (both sides), signatures are scrawled in every direction. Short messages from acquaintances, long letters from my closest friends; even Nicole's comments made(make) me happy. But I never told her, of course.

I kept in touch with everybody via e-mail, phone calls and letters, but I mostly received said things from Chase, Zoey and Logan, with the occasional mp3 file from Michael. On my birthday, everybody got together and sent me a web cast, with a giant card and everything. It was pretty mushy, but I was thankful. Returning to your former friends isn't so nerve-wracking when you know(hope) they still care about you.

I close my book and sigh contentedly. That book never fails to raise my spirits, not that I really need any uplifting right now. It's twelve seventeen and my cab is rolling steadily onto the campus of Pacific Coast Academy. Of course, I'm excited, but I'm not squirming in my seat or squealing with anticipation; I do have an image to maintain, even through these tinted windows.

Alright, maybe one squirm. And a small squeal. But that's it.

Tyler, the cab driver, stops the car in front of the administration office and gets out, opening the door for me. I'm perfectly capable, but whatever.

"Thanks," I say as I step out onto the paved sidewalk, the scent of the ocean caressing my face. Oh yeah, it's definitely good to be back.

× × ×

So after a long, tedious meeting with Dean Rivers, during which I discovered that I'm not in the same room as Nicole and Zoey, I trudged along the corridors of our new dorm hall (Brenner or something? I dunno, I wasn't really listening) looking for room 104. Somehow Zoey ends up getting room 101 every year, no matter what hall, so it's safe to say that I'll be seeing her soon. So here I am, twelve twenty-nine, standing in front of room 104. The door is bright orange with a lime green trim. This is going to be an interesting year.

I knock, no answer. I knock again; empty. Suits me just fine. I pull my new key (compliments of the administration office) out of my pocket and insert it into the doorknob, twisting. The door clicks and I kick it open. Instantly relief floods through me; I won't be living with a complete stranger. Empty beakers sit neatly on the floor under tables and a fragrance that smells suspiciously like bananas and apples enters my nose. I'm boarding with Quinn.

I drag my bags into the spacious room and dump them on the nearby bed; I'm assuming the other one is Quinn's, as it has a llama stuffed animal. If it isn't her bed, I'm going to have to wonder why she puts random stuffed animals on empty beds.

I give the room a once-over, checking out Quinn's brainy decor. Tables are smothered in loose papers and bubbling vials; I don't dare to touch anything. I'm definitely gonna have to request my own personal design space. I let forth a small grin, thinking of everything that could possibly happen to me while living in this room in the upcoming year. My smile soon turns to a grimace, however, when I come across one unfortunate incident involving me, a pogo stick and a blue felt pen.

Ready to go searching, I take one last look around and find somebody looking at me on the far side of the room. I jump, holding a hand to my mouth as I realize it's my reflection. Damn I'm jumpy; I hadn't been counting on finding a mirror in here.

I venture closer, deciding to critique my appearance one last time before I leave. My favourite shoes, darkwash skinny jeans, long gray tank top, dark brown zip-up Hurley hoodie, white watch, mouth, nose, two eyes; perfect.

Except for this one piece of hair that won't stay down.

"Whatever, nobody will notice," I reassure myself, wiping an imaginary speck of dust off my thigh. Maybe I should have a gummy foot. Not that I'm nervous or anything. Rustling through my bag, I come across my aviators; black and flashy. Even holding them reminds me of of the small French boutique in which I bought them with some Parisian friends I made. Discarding the glasses (along with the memories) on the floor, I grope around the large interior of my carry-on, but to no avail.

Finally: just as I'm about to give up, my hand brushes smooth plastic.

"Aha!" I yell, grabbing the offending item and yanking it upward. The entire bag of gummy feet rips open, showering the room with delicious, colourful raindrops.

"Shit," I mumble as I scramble around, trying to locate every missing candy. I find them on the bookshelf, behind the chair, under the chair, on the windowsill… wow, some mess I made. Confident that I've found them all, I drop them in the garbage can, looking at them forlornly.

"Sorry guys; I wish I could eat you, but it's not sanitary. Especially in this room," I say in condolence. I pick up the bag to discard all evidence and I feel something inside of it. Excitedly I withdraw the perpetrator: an orange gummy foot. I happily pop it in my mouth as I toss the bag in the wicker basket. Spotting my aviators on the floor, I ponder for a moment or two.

"May as well," I decide, picking them up and sliding them into place on the bridge of my nose. I walk towards the door and turn the knob, taking a deep breath, trademark smirk in place.

Twelve forty-two.

Look out PCA: Dana Cruz has arrived.

Again.


Author's Note: Okay, now Lola is up next for sure this time. The songs I mentioned (in order) are: Think It Over by Wave, MakeDamnSure by Taking Back Sunday, Going Away To College by Blink-182 and The Adventure by Angels and Airwaves, as well as one line from this last song at the beginning.