Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom of the Opera. Tell me something I don't know, right? Pop-Tarts don't belong to me, either. Except for the box in my pantry.

Chapter Five

HONK! "CHRISTINE, WAKE UP!"

Christine ruefully woke up from her dream about masked men and cute jocks. She took one look at the clock and groaned. She rolled out of bed and stumbled across her dark bedroom to the window. Her worst fear was confirmed- Meg had arrived early. Christine opened the window.

"Meg!" she yelled down to the figure in the silver convertible. "I've got fifteen minutes left of sleep!"

"Too bad!" the blonde girl shouted. "Come on, I need to talk to you!"

"Couldn't you just call me or something?" Christine hollered, now thoroughly ticked.

Meg honked her horn again. "No! This is important!"

"Would you knock it off with the honking?" Christine bellowed. "My dad is sleeping! So are all the neighbors!"

"We were, anyway." Christine pulled her head back inside the window and turned around. Gustave Daae was standing in her doorway in his pajamas, and he did not look happy. "What's going on?"

"Sorry, Dad," Christine apologized. "It's just my friend…she arrived forty-five minutes early to pick me up."

"Is it the blonde maniac you were telling me about?" Gustave asked, making his way to the window.

Christine grinned. "The one and only Meg Giry."

Ten minutes later, Christine was slouched in the passenger seat of Meg's car, nibbling a Pop-Tart. "So what did you need to talk about that was so important you couldn't wait half an hour?"

Meg peered around a corner and accelerated, her tires squealing. "I think my mom's involved in some way with the Drama Ghost."

Christine frowned. "Really? And you just ran a red light. And you're way over the speed limit."

Meg glared at her. "Backseat driver."

"I'm sitting in the front!"

"Passenger-seat driver!"

"Anyway," Christine said, "why do you think your mom's involved with D.G.?"

Meg turned to look at Christine. "She got a phone call last night, around 9:30. She looked upset when she hung up about fifteen minutes later. I only caught a bit of what she said, but it was enough to freak me out. She said, 'Whatever you have to do, don't get caught…and don't hurt anyone.'"

Christine abandoned her pop-tart, suddenly feeling sick. "Wow," she whispered. "That's really…MEG! WATCH OUT!"

Meg swerved back into the right line, barely avoiding an oncoming truck.

"Jeez, Meg!" Christine yelped. "Do you want me to drive or something? You're going to get us killed!"

"Sorry!" Meg cried, gripping the steering wheel so tightly Christine thought it would come off. "I didn't mean- I just got distracted- I'm sorry!" She took a deep, shuddering breath and relaxed. "I didn't know you could drive."

"I'm sixteen, Meg," Christine reminded her. "I can drive, I just don't have a car with which to do so."

"That reminds me," Meg said, scratching her chin. "Raoul Chagny's parents just got him a red convertible."

"That was random," Christine remarked after a moment of silence.

"Has he remembered you yet?" Meg asked.

Christine shook her head ruefully. "No. And I doubt he ever will. We live on two different planes of existence. He's in the popular plane, and I'm in the normal plane."

"Technically, you're in the popular normal plane," Meg pointed out. "You're a star reporter now. When those newspapers start selling this morning, your name will be all over."

Christine giggled. "I can't believe Bee Diddy actually came to our school! I can't wait for the concert today."

"Should be fun," Meg agreed. She was quiet for a moment. Christine could see in the dim light that she was chewing her lip. Finally she spoke.

"Okay, I don't mean to pry, but how did you know how to get into that construction zone? And how did you write such a good article? Your writing used to be cra-"

"Meg!"

"You wrote badly," Meg corrected herself. "But now you're really good. And where in the world have you been hiding at lunchtime? You're never around anymore."

Christine didn't say anything. She wrung her hands, wondering whether or not she should tell Meg her secret. Part of her was dying to tell someone, but the other part wanted to take the secret to the grave. Finally she decided to tell. She could trust Meg, couldn't she?

"Do you remember that story I mentioned in my article?" she asked quietly.

"The one about that chick…what was her name? Little Lot?"

"It's pronounced 'Lottie,' Meg," Christine corrected.

"Well it looks like Lot!" Meg argued.

"It's not," Christine sighed. "It's Lottie. Anyway, Little Lotte was visited by the Angel of Music. And…so was I."

"What are you smoking?" Meg asked, squinting suspiciously at Christine.

"The Angel of Music has been teaching me how to write!" Christine insisted. She paused for a moment, smiling. "And he sings to me, too. He has the most beautiful voice, Meg! It's deep, and rich, and strong, and just so darn mysterious!"

"Have you ever seen this angel?" Meg asked, totally unconvinced.

Christine shot a sideways glance at her. "That depends on how you define 'seen the angel.'"

Meg shook her head. "I dunno, Christine. For all you know, it could be the Drama Ghost who's talking to you."

Christine sat back in her seat, staring straight ahead. "I know for a fact that it is."

SCREEEEECH! The car came to a stop in the middle of the road. "WHAT?" Meg exploded.

Christine shrank away from her furious/surprised expression. "Well…"

"Christine, how many times have I told you this guy is dangerous? He's done so many bad things!" Meg wailed. "You don't want to go associating with him! He could hurt you!"

"Meg, he's not going to hurt me!" Christine cried. "He watches over me, helps me, texts me! He tipped me off about the gap in the fence!"

"He watches over you?" Meg gasped. "Like, he watches you change? Christine, this guy could rape you!"

"He wouldn't do that!" Christine argued. "Meg, you don't understand!"

"Like heck I don't!" Meg snarled, accelerating once more. She didn't say anything more until they reached the school parking lot. She turned to Christine, concern in her eyes. "Christine, I just don't want to see you get hurt," she whispered. "If you won't stop seeing him…well, I guess you don't see him, but…just be careful, okay?"

Christine nodded. They got out of the car and headed toward the school. Because Meg had looped around the county once or twice, there was half an hour before school started. Students were arriving, but instead of going inside, they gathered in a clump around the auditorium.

"What's going on?" Christine asked Meg. "Is there a protest scheduled for today?"

Meg shrugged. "I have no idea. Let's go see."

They pushed their way to the front of the crowd, Meg mumbling something about the press and being a reporter. When they got to the front, though, she was silent.

Yesterday white letters spelling "AUDITORIUM had been nailed to the wall over the doors. Somebody, however, had taken off the letters and left them in a heap on the ground. The person had spray painted "OPERA HOUSE" in strangely fancy script over the blank patch of wall.

"Whoa…" Meg breathed. She looked at Christine. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Christine nodded seriously. "It couldn't have been anyone else."

Meg looked at the scene a moment longer, then got out her cameraphone and snapped a picture. Then she and Christine had to run to the cafeteria, where the newsstand was being set up.

"You're late," Kaila Towerson informed them as she struggled with the folding table.

"Yeah, we know," Meg grunted, pulling on one of the legs. "Did you see what our friend the Drama Ghost did?"

Kaila looked up, frowning. "No. What'd he do now?"

Meg showed her the picture. While they were looking, Christine sighed. "I wish I had a cameraphone."

Meg put the phone away. "I had to save for years to get it," she said. "Give me a hand with this table, Christine."

The girls expertly manned the sales table, selling papers to the growing throng of curious students. They worked until the first bell rang, signifying that there were ten minutes before school started. Christine hole-punched one last subscription card and handed it back to its owner with a newspaper. Beside her, Meg counted a pile of change.

"We need to pack up, Meg," Christine said.

Meg nodded, then handed a newspaper to the student. She nudged Kaila, who poked Jessie, who tapped the shoulder of Sam, who picked up a yardstick and jabbed Firmin in the ribs, successfully waking him up.

"It's quittin' time, Boss," Sam informed him. "Since you didn't help sell the papers, we'll just let you clean up by yourself."

Christine giggled. "Good idea, Sam."

"I'm just full of 'em," Sam said proudly, picking up her bag. "We'd better get to homeroom. If we're late, Mrs. Flipski will…flip!"

All five girls burst out in laughter. They weaved their way through the crowd, chatting and gossiping like the teenagers they were. At one point Christine heard someone shout her name.

"Christine! Hey, Christine, wait up!"

Christine wheeled around, but she couldn't find the person who had called her. Had she just imagined it? Shrugging, she continued on.

Meg stopped suddenly, and Christine bumped into her. "I hear something," Meg announced. "A Bee Diddy song."

The girls stared at each other for a moment before Christine jumped and started digging through her purse. "Oh, it's my cell phone! Someone text messaged me…" Her Caller ID read Unavailable, so she went right to the message.

Come today instead of tomorrow.

-AoM

Christine flipped her cell shut, trying not to smile but not succeeding. As they walked down the hall, she had to endure relentless teasing from the other girls, but she really didn't care. They arrived at Mrs. Flipski's trailer in time for her to launch into a tirade about germs. The English teacher went on for five whole minutes, stopping only when the power clicked off.

"What the heck?" Christine heard Meg mutter. She herself couldn't help but wonder if a certain ghost had something to do with this. Her suspicions were confirmed a moment later when the electricity came back on and the intercom beeped.

"Good morning, Hayfield Tigers," a scary-sounding voice greeted them. "This is your ruler, the resident Drama Ghost, and I have a few morning announcements to make."

Christine and Meg shared a scared look, both thinking, "This can't be good!"

"I would like to express my amusement that all of you have been so afraid of me when all I really wanted to do was help. As some of you may recall, I ordered that a few changes be made to the art programs of this school. Those who refused to change were given warning; I daresay the drama instructor would encourage them to comply with my demands."

"Did Journalism comply?" Christine whispered to Meg. The blonde girl shook her head, eyes widening slightly.

"I've given you plenty of time to act. Now my patience has run out. All of you will suffer, and Journalism will be the first to go down. Only the Music programs shall remain untouched, for they met with my demands willingly. And let it be known that the Music programs will be the only to receive help from me. All others should beware. Since only the musicians will be getting my attention, I have changed my name to O.G., standing for Opera Ghost. Anyone who calls me 'Drama Ghost' will suffer severe and torturous punishment. Have an excellent day, Tigers!"

"Oh…my…God…" Meg was hyperventilating. She turned to Christine with wide eyes. "We're all gonna die!"

Christine was shocked. She could say nothing. The person she had been defending less than an hour ago was now threatening the entire school! The bell rang, letting the students know it was time to go to first period. The class got to their feet and traveled as a pack to the Journalism room. That was the one good thing about being in a class together. There was safety in numbers!

It was very hard to work that day because the entire School Security was hovering around the cubicles, muttering into their walkie-talkies. Christine did, however, get her own cubicle that day, and she convinced Joe to move out of his so she could get the one across from Meg. That made her head a target for Meg's favorite way of communication- paper balls.

Christine winced as yet another wadded-up sheet of paper bounced off her head. She whipped out her notebook and tore paper out of it, scribbling "IM" on it in big letters, then crumbling it up. Then she poked her head over the top of the cubicle to make sure the School Security wasn't watching her and let it fly. A second later, Meg IM-ed her, asking whether or not the concert would still be on. Christine could tell she would want to talk about this for a long time, so she just dragged her feet across the aisle to tell her in person.

"I honestly don't think they'll cancel it just because our lives are at stake," she said sarcastically.

Meg shuddered. "Don't say that! Ugh, you're such a pessimist!"

Christine shrugged. "If you say so. But I don't think they'll cancel it. This is Bee Diddy we're talking about here!"

The intercom beeped. "Please excuse the interruption, teachers," the secretary said, "but all students need to report to the Theater immediately."

Loud cheers erupted from every corner of the school. The students burst out of their various classrooms and ran to the theater, pushing each other to get a good seat. Nobody sat down anyway. They jumped up and down, screaming for their favorite pop star.

The concert was a hit! Bee Diddy sang five songs and then went around signing autographs and talking to each and every student. Christine got her to sign her cell phone, purse, and laminated copy of The Hayfield Times. Although Bee was a little frazzled at the end of the gig (frazzled meaning she had lost her hat, majorly messed up and frizzed her hair, sweated until she stunk like a skunk, and somehow gotten ketchup on her pants) she made it well-known that she had an excellent time. The concert ended just in time for fourth period.

Meg groaned. Then she sighed. Then she groaned again.

"Meg, what's wrong?" Christine felt obliged to ask.

"Why couldn't Bee have dragged it out forty-five minutes longer?" Meg groaned as she and Christine walked toward the gym from the locker rooms, dressed in the ugly orange and black gym uniforms. "Or even fifteen! Even then we probably would have gotten out of gym."

Christine shrugged. "I thought you liked gym. Has ogling the football team lost its merits?"

Meg nodded, sighed, groaned, sighed, and groaned again.

"Would you knock it off?" Christine hissed, jabbing Meg in the ribs.

"Sorry!" Meg said, looking offended. "Excuse me for expressing my depression!" She thought for a moment. "Hey, that rhymes! Expressin' my depression!"

"I'm going to be expressing anger if you don't quit being annoying," Christine warned through gritted teeth.

Meg was silent for about three seconds. "So what are we doing today?" she asked.

"More waltzing." Christine grimaced.

"Haven't we been doing that for three and a half weeks now?" Meg wailed. "All this close contact with nerdy boys is damaging my mental health!"

"It's funny how you always get paired with nerdy boys," Christine giggled, pushing open the door to the gym. "Of course, I always get paired with nerds too, but it's not so funny for me."

Mr. Cookley was obviously feeling nice today. He switched on the music (and turned the volume up so loud that it covered up the hockey game that was taking place on the other side of the gym) and called out, "I'll let you choose your partners today! If you're not dancing with someone in five seconds, though, I'll pair you with someone!"

Christine yawned and stretched. She knew no boy would ever willingly dance with her, so she didn't even hope. She was shocked when somebody grabbed her hands from behind and spun her out across the gym.

"Little Lotte let her mind wander…" Christine was pleasantly surprised to find herself in the arms of Raoul Chagny.

"Raoul!" she exclaimed.

"Little Lotte thought to herself, 'Am I fonder of dolls, goblins, or riddles?'" Raoul went on, grinning broadly at Christine with his pearly white teeth and dazzling green eyes. "Or of shoes?"

"Or those picnics in the attic?" Christine whispered, her heart beating as fast as Meg drove.

"Or chocolate?"

"Listening to Father play his violin…"

"…as we read to each other, dark tales of the North."

Christine raised her eyebrows at Raoul. "'No,' Little Lotte said, 'what I like best is when I'm asleep in my bed, and the Angel of Music sings songs in my head…'"

"The Angel of Music sings songs in my head…" they whispered together.

Raoul shook his head, smiling. "I've missed you, Christine. I can't believe you've been under my nose all this time and I hadn't recognized you."

Christine shrugged. "It's been a while. We've both changed…although I recognized you the moment I saw you."

Raoul chuckled. "Now you're just trying to make me feel bad. You always used to do that. Your name sounded familiar, although I just couldn't figure it out. I even talked to you the other day, and I just couldn't figure out who you were. As soon as I read that part in your article about Little Lotte, though, I knew it was you."

"I'm so very glad that I wrote it, then," Christine said mischievously. She and Raoul jumped as a hockey puck sailed over their heads. "Wow…it's getting rough over there!"

"I like hockey," Raoul commented. "I used to play ice hockey. Now I play football, as you know."

"Anything else?" Christine asked. "If I remember correctly, your mom was always signing you up for sports you didn't like."

"She still makes me take fencing," Raoul admitted. "The most useless sport in the world."

Another hockey puck whizzed by. "They must be aiming for us or something," Christine murmured. "No one could possibly be that bad!"

"You'd be surprised," Raoul told her. "The freshmen this year seem to be very un-athletic."

WhizzzzzzzzzzzzzTHUNK! A hockey puck connected with the side of Christine's head, and everything went black.

Christine opened her eyes blearily, then shut them again as she was blinded by bright lights. Her head absolutely throbbed! She opened her eyes and squinted through the light. She lying on the floor of a very big gym, surrounded by teenagers dressed in ugly gym suits.

"Où suis-je?" she muttered, rubbing her head.

"Is she speaking French?" she heard someone shout. The teens around her weren't talking in French…was it English? Yes, it was. She could understand them, but oh how she detested the English language…

"Christine?"

A guy kneeled down next to her and took her hand. There was something familiar about him. Christine sat up slowly. "Qui êtes-vous?"

The guy frowned at her, looking confused. Then he grinned, answering her in French. "Christine, I am the little boy who fetched your scarf out of the sea!"

"Raoul?" Christine gasped. "C'est toi?"

"Ouais, c'est moi," Raoul said, smiling. He continued speaking in French, fluently, but sort of strained, as if he were out of practice. "I think you've lost your memory, Christine. What year is it?"

Christine frowned, finding herself at a loss. "I don't know. Where are we? Why are all these people speaking English?"

"We're in America," Raoul told her. "You and I moved here. We're sophomores at Hayfield High School. I'm the quarterback for the football team, and you're a reporter for the school newspaper."

Christine stared at him. "I am?"

"Yeah." Raoul pronounced a strange-sounding English name. "The Hayfield Times."

It was as if a tidal wave slammed into Christine's head. Suddenly she remembered! Everything flooded back into her head; the move to America, learning English, coming to Hayfield, writing for the newspaper, her Angel of Music, Raoul…

"Are you back?" Raoul asked, in English this time.

Christine nodded, blinking. "Yeah. I think so. Whoa."

"Just in time to go to lunch, too," Mr. Cookley announced as he walked by. "You all right, Daae?"

"Yes, sir," Christine said quickly. She scrambled to her feet.

"Get changed, and then we can have lunch together," Raoul suggested. "I'll buy you a root beer."

What? No! "That sounds really nice, Raoul, but I need to go do something in the Journalism room," Christine said, sounding as sorry as she could. She realized that her Angel would definitely not be happy about this…

"If it's homework, then you can do it in the cafeteria," Raoul said, jogging away. "Two minutes! Hurry up!"

"Oooooooooh shitake mushrooms," Christine muttered. "What a mess…" It had come down to this; ruin any chances of getting together with Raoul and go see her Angel, or destroy the relationship she had with her Angel and get together with Raoul, which was against his rules anyway…oh dear.

Meg's advice predictably, was to go with Raoul. "You do not want to ruin chances of being his girlfriend!" she insisted, opening her gym locker.

"But-" Christine started.

"But nothing!" Meg cut in. "And you can't go in that!" she added, looking distastefully at Christine's outfit. "Here…"

Christine stared, bug-eyed, as Meg pulled an entire closetful of clothes out of her locker. The blonde maniac certainly had good taste in clothing. She lent Christine a cute sweater and a skirt that matched. The stockings Meg forced her to wear were a little baggy, but Meg fixed that problem with a few rubber bands.

"Sure, it'll cut off your circulation," she said cheerfully, "but there's no way those stockings are coming off!"

"I still don't see what you could possibly be doing up here that's more important than eating lunch," Raoul grumbled, tossing a nerf ball at the ceiling of the Journalism room.

"You boys are always thinking about your stomachs," Christine mumbled. She typed pointlessly on her computer, trying to think of ways to get rid of Raoul. Inspiration whacked her head with a cast iron griddle. Why hadn't she thought of that before? "You know, Raoul, I would really appreciate it if you went down and got me something to eat," she said hopefully.

Raoul shrugged. "Okay. No problemo."

"Thanks!" Christine handed him some money, thinking, "Don't let the door hit 'ya or the Good Lord split 'ya."

Raoul strolled out of her cubicle. A few seconds later she heard the door shut. She tiptoed over to the door, made sure no one was watching, and locked the door. She liked Raoul a lot, but she refused to let him mess things up. Christine jogged to the press room and shut the door behind her. The lights went out instantly.

"Thinks he's smart, doesn't he? Stupid jock can't even take a hint."

Oh no! "I'm sorry, Angel!" she cried. "I told him not to come, honestly I did!"

"I know, Christine. I saw it all."

Of course you did, Christine thought. Oh, the guilt burned! She opened her mouth to apologize more, but something weird came out instead…

"Angel I hear you! Speak, I listen!

Stay by my side, don't leave me!

Angel, my heart was weak, forgive me.

Enter at last, Master!"

Silence met her words. "What the heck was that?" she thought.

"Flattering child, you shall know me.

See why in shadow I hide.

Look at the mirror beside you…

I am there, inside!"

Her heart beating a mile a minute, Christine turned slowly around to face the mirror. Standing where her reflection should have been…was a man! The man was dressed entirely in black and was wearing a black cloak. The most mystifying thing about him, however, was the white mask he wore on one side of his face.

"I am your Angel of Music…come to me, Angel of Music…"

Was he singing or whispering? It seemed to be both at once. His voice made shivers run down Christine's spine. Trance-like, she moved toward the mirror. A sort of fog filled her brain, making her unable to think about anything except the masked man in front of her.

Her mind dully registered someone banging on the door and shouting, but she honestly didn't care. She moved forward slowly, step by step.

"I am your Angel of Music…come to me, Angel of Music…"

Miraculously, Christine stepped through the mirror. She had no idea how, and she didn't care. The most pressing matter on her mind was that she was standing mere feet away from the masked man…

The man held out a black, gloved hand. Just like in all your silly fantasies… she thought.

Trembling slightly, Christine took the hand of the Phantom of the Opera.

A/N: All together, now! DUUUUUUUUUN…dun, dun, dun, dun, duuuuuuuuuuuuun…..

That part was fun to write! I rather detested the RC part, but it had to go in. So you can predict what's going to happen in the next chapter…should be fun! "Où suis-je?" means "Where am I?" Or at least the Google translator says it does. Please review! Remember…happy authoresses write faster! Thanks for reading!