Disclaimer: If I were Gaston Leroux, I could say that I owned the Phantom of the Opera. If I were Andrew Lloyd Webber I could say that I owned the musical. I'm neither of those two people, so…you get the idea.

Chapter Two

Christine blinked, astounded. She had expected the Drama Ghost's voice to be an ugly hiss, but it was actually a smooth, rich whisper.

"Welcome to Hayfield High," the ghost whispered, taking a step closer to Christine. "Welcome to my kingdom of the arts."

Christine let the ghost's voice wash over her, taking in the soft warmth of the sound. It sounded welcoming and familiar, yet dark and mysterious. She closed her eyes, reveling in the sound of his voice.

"Christine!"

Christine's eyes snapped open. She had forgotten that there were other people in the room. Meg's outburst reminded her that she was talking to a criminal…

"Security, we've got a Code Black on the stage!" Mr. Henfricks yelled into his walkie-talkie.

The Drama Ghost laughed. It was an evil laugh, the kind that villains practice in their spare time. "As you can see, mademoiselle, I'm not very popular amongst my subjects. In fact, they created a special code just for me. When the school is alerted of a Code Black, they know I've made an appearance at center stage."

"Are you French?" Christine whispered curiously. She couldn't help herself; the word "mademoiselle" had sparked her imagination. She could just tell that the Phantom was raising an eyebrow at her.

"Perhaps," was his only reply. Suddenly, there was a bang and a puff of smoke, and he was gone. Coughing, Christine realized that there was a trapdoor inches from where she was standing. She peered into it, but it closed before she could get a good look inside.

"Christine!" Meg shrieked, running over to her intern. She grabbed Christine by the shoulders and shook her. "You never communicate with the Drama Ghost! Never! The first rule you have to learn here is that if you see the Drama Ghost you run! Do you understand me?"

"Yes!" Christine yelped, rather taken aback. "Let go of me, jeez! I'm not five!"

"Christine, the Drama Ghost is dangerous!" Meg wailed. "He's almost killed people! Why'd he take an interest in you, anyway? What'd you do?"

"Nothing!" Christine insisted. "I swear!"

Meg sighed wearily. "You don't understand."

"I understand completely!" Christine retorted.

Meg shook her head. "No, you don't understand at all. If you really understood how dangerous he is, you'd be scared right now. Scared to death!"

Christine shrugged. "I guess I don't understand, then. I don't get why you're so scared."

"They never do," Meg whispered, not looking at Christine. "Come on. We'd better get back to class before the bell rings." She exited stage right, her baffled intern trailing behind.

"Christine! Hey, Christine!"

Christine wheeled around to see Meg fighting her way through the crowd toward her. "Hey, Meg!"

"Hi!" Meg panted, leaning against Christine's new locker. "All right…wanted to point out some people to you." She surveyed the crowd and pointed out a tall girl with red hair and way too much makeup. "That chick is Carlotta, and she stars in all the school musicals. She's not a really good singer though, and she's pretty much a biotch. That poor guy standing in her shadow is Piangi, her boyfriend. He doesn't speak-a de Eeenglish too good." Meg said the last sentence with an Italian accent.

"Okay…" Christine said, committing the faces to memory.

"Lessee…those two blokes are Richard Firmin and Giles Andre, and they want to take over our Journalism class. As much as I hate Sandy, she's definitely a better editor-manager than they are. Okay, that librarian over there is Mrs. Giry, yes, she is my mother, but I try to ignore her. Why? Because she's weird. Okay? Okay. Let's move on…"

Meg turned to the other side of the hallway. "Oh, look. Here comes the football team. Yeah, typical jocks. Good at throwing balls, but can't think for the world. That tall guy with the shaggy, brown hair and the Redskins jersey is the quarterback. He goes by 'Da Flattener', but his real name is…"

"Raoul!" Christine finished for her, gaping happily. "Oh my gosh, it's Raoul Chagny!"

"How do you know his name?" Meg asked curiously.

"We went to elementary school together!" Christine whispered blissfully. "Up to the third grade! He used to call me Little Lotte. I guess you could say we were childhood sweethearts. But then I moved, and I never saw him again…" She looked up hopefully as the team passed by, but Raoul didn't even glance at her. Christine smiled glumly and shrugged. "He wouldn't recognize me."

"He didn't see you!" Meg insisted. "You know what? I'm going to make sure he sees you! Chagny! Hey, Chagny!"

By that time, the blushing Christine had disappeared and was well on her way to fourth period English.

After being in Journalism for three weeks, Christine had learned a lot about the way the class was run. Actually, it wasn't really a class. Christine saw the elusive Ms. G. once during the three weeks, and that was when the teacher was giving her new student her press pass, which was a thick, laminated card that came on a lanyard. No lessons were taught except through hands-on experience. It was all business. Reporters reported, editors edited, and low status students (i.e. Christine) were given the "messy" jobs like folding newspapers.

"I hate this job," Christine grumbled. She fumbled with a newspaper that didn't want to fold. "Have you seen a spare front page lying around?" she asked Meg, who was smirking at her from the doorway of the little closet.

Meg tossed her a page. "Here. I remember when I had this job…ages ago."

Christine scowled at her. "Why can't I do this during class? Why do I have to stay after school and spend hours doing seemingly pointless work when I have nothing to do during school hours?"

"Because the paper wasn't printed then," Meg reminded her triumphantly. "Keep going- there's a lot left to do in the press room." She spun around and walked away. "I'm going to the library! Everyone else went home already, so you're here alone!"

Christine sighed and finished folding the pile of newspapers. She trudged over to the press room to find that all the newspapers had already been folded and stacked neatly around the printing press. She wondered who did it until she spied a rose sitting on top of a pile. When she picked it up she found that there was a black ribbon tied around the stem.

Christine smiled, almost sheepishly. "Thank you, Drama Ghost," she whispered, looking around the room. "I don't know who you are, but I really appreciate your help." She turned to leave.

"Christine…"

Christine wheeled around, her heart beating fast.

"Christine…"

"Are you…the Drama Ghost?" Christine whispered, looking around the room with wide eyes.

A snort made her jump. "Rather. I'm frankly partial to music. The other forms of art don't interest me much."

Christine didn't know what to say to this. The ghost spoke again in her silence.

"What about you? Do you like music?"

"Yes," Christine whispered. "Very much."

"Do you sing?"

"I used to," Christine replied quietly. "I don't anymore."

"Why not?"

"It's a long story…" Christine didn't want to talk about it.

"The late buses don't arrive for another hour," the ghost said. "You've got plenty of time. Unless you have something else to do."

"What else would I do?" Christine mumbled. "Study for that Latin quiz? No thanks!"

"You don't like Latin?"

Christine made a face. "Not really. The fact that it's a dead language kind of throws me off. I only signed up for it because my mother used to go around talking in Latin." She didn't know why she was telling the ghost all this, but it somehow seemed perfectly natural.

"Really? Why did she speak in Latin?"

Christine paused for a moment. She felt tears come to her eyes. "I…I don't remember," she whispered. "It was so long ago… She died when I was in fifth grade." She took a deep breath, willing herself not to cry.

"What happened?" The ghost sounded slightly sympathetic.

Christine wiped her eyes. She never liked to talk about this, but she just couldn't hold it in any longer. She had to tell someone! "I was in the school musical. I had gotten the lead, which usually went to a sixth grader. On the performance night, my mother, father, and I arrived at school, and I realized that I'd forgotten part of my costume. My mother went home to get it, but she didn't get back before the show started. So I was up there singing a solo, and I couldn't help seeing the clock." She let out a small sob. Her voice started sounding like a whine. "It was 6:34 p.m. At that same exact time my mother's car was run off the road by a drunk driver. She was…" Christine gulped. "She was dead before the car came to a stop!"

"I'm so sorry…"

"I just can't help but feel that it was my fault," Christine hiccupped, tears streaming out of her eyes. "If I had never gotten that part…"

"It was not your fault!" The ghost sounded angry. "You said so yourself- a drunk driver ran her car off the road."

"I know," Christine whispered miserably. "But I was the reason she was out on the road to begin with."

"So is this why you don't sing anymore?"

"Yes," Christine said. She snuffled. "The guilt burns hotter than any fire. And when I sing I remember that clock on the wall…my eyes were drawn to it that night! I couldn't look away. I knew something bad was going to happen." She was silent for a moment. "My mother loved to sing. She used to sing me to sleep. My favorite song was called "Sailing the Stars". She had the most beautiful voice."

The ghost didn't say anything. Christine thought for a moment that he had left, but then she heard something strange...music. She immediately recognized the sound of a violin. The tune it was playing was beautiful, sad, and familiar…

The ghost started singing. His voice was strong, quiet, mysterious, and confident. Christine listened and felt her sadness leave. She dried her tears and felt the music fill her up to the brim with happiness. It was like he was casting a spell over her… Christine closed her eyes in bliss and fell to her knees. Her head swung back to face the ceiling as she sang the last few lines along with the ghost.

"If I could then I would take out

That boat of ours,

And then we'd go sailing,

Sailing the stars…"

"That was beautiful," Christine whispered. "Simply beautiful." She sat in silence for a moment, savoring her feelings bliss. Then she had to ask it… "Are you an angel?"

"What?" the ghost laughed.

"An angel," Christine repeated. "The Angel of Music."

"What makes you think I'm the Angel of Music?"

Christine smiled. "Your music couldn't possibly come from this world. My mother always used to tell me stories about a girl named Little Lotte and the Angel of Music. She promised me that when she was in Heaven she would send the Angel to watch over me. I think you're that angel."

"Christine, Christine, so sweet and innocent," the ghost whispered. "If you want me, then I will be your Angel of Music."

Christine smiled. "My Angel of Music…"

"YO CHRISTINE! MEG'S IN DA HOUSE!"

"MEG!" Christine shrieked. She knew her angel would have disappeared by now. "Meg, you freakin' ruined the moment!"

"What moment?" Meg peeked inside the room. "Wow, you got those folded really fast! Here's an idea- let's go get a slushie at the gas station. I'll drive you home you home then."

Christine sighed. "All right. I just have to clean up quick."

"Kay. I'll meet ya outside the school in my new convertible!" Meg said, winking and clapping her hands like some weird seal-cheerleader mix. She skipped (actually skipped!) away. Christine sighed again and picked up the rose. She glanced around the room, than exited, hugging the rose to her chest.

A/N: Sorry it took so long for me to update! I've been really busy this week...two band concerts, after-school band rehearsal, project, exam, quizzes, homework, masquerade dance, Scouts, orthodontist (ugh...torture). Here's chapter two- questions? comments? concerns? As always, reviews are appreciated! Thanks for reading!