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It was a short walk to the Dollar Store, which was a few streets down the corner, I had finally found out from the ever-so-helpful redheaded Castiel who couldn't figure out how to make a decent B-minor without my help. Aunt Sarah had called in a favor to the clerk and owner to put it on her tab. I hadn't been aware of that, but the second I entered the little local business, the clerk had called my name, a thick and happy grin on his face. He took my picture, handed it over, and then sent me on my way, leaving me with a confused look on my face.

Nevertheless, I had my picture now.

I walked home. My short talk with Castiel had made me realize how much skin I exposed. So I gave a smile at my new neighbor and stormed my way into the house. My aunt's house was pretty in a simplistic way, so unlike Auntie Sarah. The living room had one single painted wall the color of a good apple wine. It was a calm, mellowed color that had been there when Sarah had moved in. I knew it annoyed her, but Auntie was too lazy to change it herself; she said it would be something she and I did one day: Slap colorful paint wherever it fell and call it art. Those were actually her exact words. It'd made me laugh.

There was a large, three-person couch that was more my aunt's style: It was a burgundy color with little threads of yellows and greens. It was comfortable place to sit, a place to curl up with a book and a hot cup of chocolate. It smelled like that, too: Hot chocolate. Probably from all the times Aunt Sarah had spilled it all over the poor couch. Next to that couch was a mismatched arm-chair. It was the color of her spilled chocolate and leather. It was facing diagonally to the little flat-screen sitting on the side of the staircase, which ran from the right of the back wall to the left side. A few paintings were on the diagonal wall. Paintings made by me when I was little.

On the coffee table, a picture of Sarah and Mom when they were little rested. The five-year-old version of Mom grinned a cheeky grin at me; it was the kind of grin I was never capable of. She smiled, her green eyes shut tight, the dimple in her cheek dipping. She looked so innocent. Sarah's young version had Mom under her arm, looking ready to give a noogie. But she was smiling too, the dimple in her chin coming out as well. Next to it, a picture of me as a baby rested. I pawed up at something invisible, eyes closed, mouth in a wide, yawning O.

I smiled at the pictures for a second, then walked up the stairs. My room was the third to the right. There were butterflies everywhere. I liked butterflies. When I first moved in last week, they were pink. I hated pink, so first-thing, I grabbed my acrylic paints and redid the winged creatures in black. The drawers were pink too, so I blacked them out too. I sold the pink rug second thing. Then I smiled up at my auntie and told her everything was perfect. Everything that wasn't black was white and when we could afford to get the walls painted, the walls would be purple.

My closet was small, just big enough for any clothes I brought and just some left over for any more I would like to add or buy. I had a few outfits. My favorite included a midriff leather jacket with long rumpled sleeves. I looked like an epic biker-chick. I pulled off a greenish-blue sleeveless turtleneck shirt with a triangle in the center, exposing just a tiny bit of cleavage. A pair of black shorts hung on a hanger. I got dressed. I pushed my thin-rimmed glasses up on my nose and snapped the collar of my jacket. I got a pair of boots out of the closet and donned them too.

There.

Now I felt better, less exposed. I had no problem exposing my legs; I liked my legs, they were nice and long. The layers on my chest made me feel safer.

Contently dressed, I went back out, locking the door behind me. The courtyard that entered the school was amazing, leaving me breathless again. I smiled. Castiel was still there, picking away at his Joan Jett Blackheart. My heart ached for that guitar. I took a deep breath and walked to him. "Hey," I said.

Castiel gave me a nod of acknowledgment, and I had a feeling that was all I'd get from him.

I groaned. "Hey, you, redhead," I called. "A hello would be amazing, you know?" I saw the corners of his lips quirk. "A smirk works almost as well," I allowed. My fingers played with the softness of the leather sleeves. I usually wasn't a talkative person; I was happy with companionable silence, most of the time. But I was new here, and meeting this one redhead had made me feel as if I wasn't as alone as I thought I was. If I were him, I'd be pretty dang annoyed with me. I knew that. But I couldn't help myself; I sensed a kindred spirit. So I plopped myself down next to him on a bench. "You know any songs?" I asked.

That peaked his interest. "I know a few," he admitted. Then he took a look at me. His gaze made me uncomfortable, like he was uncovering the deepest sides of myself to him with just a single look. Like I was naked. I shifted my weight. I didn't like that he could make me feel like that when I'd only met him once before. Castiel frowned. "None you would like."

I shrugged. "Try me," I challenged.

Castiel couldn't resist a challenge. He gave me a triumphant smirk. "Alright," he agreed. His fingers strummed a cord as he thought. Most likely thinking of a song I'd be least likely to know, let alone like. Then a light bulb went off in his head and he started playing. I could name it right away.

"Practice Makes Perfect by Cute Is What We Aim For," I named, a smile on my face. Castiel's fingers stopped and he looked at me, one of his red brows lifted, a look that said he was impressed on his face. I frowned. "Who told you to stop, redhead?"

Castiel smirked at me and started to play again, singing. I grinned at him and sang with him.

His deep voice covered the song in chocolate, singing it almost as well as the lead. For about four minutes, the world was perfect. Just me, Castiel, the Joan Jett Blackheart, and Cute Is What We Aim For's lyrics. For about four minutes, Castiel actually looked like he didn't mind my presence. Then I was brought back to the world and there was nothing but adequate tolerance for me.

But I smiled, warily, at him anyway. "Why'd you choose that song?" I wondered.

Castiel shrugged; his red hair fell in the way of his eyes. "It's one of my favorites," he admitted, as if it were no big deal. But I saw in the way he adverted his gray eyes that having told me this was unexpected to him. I doubted he so much as told others his favorite color, let alone song.

Just like me, something in the back of my head told me. I ignored it and smiled at him. "Well, now I know we've got something in common."

Castiel rolled his eyes. "Great," he snorted. "Just what I wanted."

"Damn right it is," I agreed. I pulled myself off the bench and stuffed my hands in my pockets, leaning back slightly on the balls of my feet. He gazed up at me for a second, rolling his eyes, then turned his attention back to the Joan Jett Blackheart. I gazed upon the beauty of his guitar longingly before turning away. I waved at him just as I had this morning. "Peace out, girl scout!" I shouted over my shoulder.

I heard a soft rumble of his complaints at being called a girl. I grinned and walked into the school. That boy had a voice of pure gold. The hallway was empty and quiet when I entered it, unlike this morning when Mrs. Wan Gong had been there to imminently greet me. There were no windows in this main hallway, like there had been at my old school. This place was closed in on all sides, making my skin tingle with the beginnings of claustrophobia. I walked into the student council room, not only did it have windows but the school president was bound to be there.

The window looked out into what I thought was the school garden, green and fertile-looking; it made the claustrophobic shiver that ran down my spine go away. Nathaniel was sitting at the head of the circular table, papers spread all around. His cheeks were flushed an angry red and he ran a hand through his golden hair, a bitter sound escaping his lips. He grabbed a page off to his right, apparently not noticing me, and threw it down in front of him, almost growling at it.

I frowned lightly, curiosity and slight worry sneaking into my emotions. "Hey..." I said awkwardly, making my presence known. "No need to beat up the papers. They're only messengers."

Nathaniel glanced up, the annoyed flush of his cheeks spreading through his face in embarrassment. "Oh, eh, hey, Alise," he greeted, awkwardly standing up from his work. He rubbed his neck. "Did you get your school ID?"

I pulled out a laminated picture from my pocket. "Yes," I told him, waving it around. "Would you by any chance happen to need it?"

He gave me a small grin. "I actually do," he said. He reached out for the picture and I handed it to him. He glanced at it for a second and smiled at me. "You take nice pictures," he complemented.

I swallowed, shifting my weight and averting my eyes. I rubbed my arm, pressing my lips together.

Nathaniel's smile slipped off a bit when I didn't answer, but it came back into place as he filed the picture away. He gave me that smile and sat back down, apparently seeing no reason for me to stay any longer.

I sat down a few chairs away from him and lifted a paper. It was the school's budget. My eyes widened a bit, but I tried playing it down. It didn't fool Nathaniel. He saw my expression and humphed a bit, leaning back in his chair. It was no wonder he was upset; the school was broke. Flat out broke. Sure, it had enough for maybe a couple of pencils and new textbooks, but that was about it. None left over for after-school functions or even the epic dance Aunt Sarah told me this school always had. "Yikes," I said.

Nathaniel frowned. "I know."

I shuffled through the other papers. In my old school, I wasn't exactly school president, but I knew a little bit about the on-goings; my friend Lizzy had been the school prez and she hadn't exactly been silent about the happenings. "How are you going to raise money? This school needs it."

"Are you insulting my school?" he asked, arching a brow. I shrugged. Nathaniel shook his head. He took a paper from my hand. "I have no idea," he admitted.

I pouted for a second, leaning back in my chair and thinking. Out of the window overlooking the garden, kids were pulling things out of a dirty pick-up truck. "How about a car wash?" I asked. I'd seen the kids in this school; they would all look pretty good in a bathing suit. And horny men wanting to relive their youth by watching teenage girls clean their cars with their breasts always brought in truckloads of cash. Perverted lusty mothers always brought a few bucks in too.

Nathaniel rose an eyebrow at me. Yeah, I probably sounded rather perverted at the moment. I felt Nathaniel's gaze rack over my body for a second before I looked up at him. "Sounds like a good idea," he agreed. A scarlet blush rose to my cheeks and I looked away. "Would you like to help me plan it?"

"How about I just show up and help when it is planned?"

Nathaniel shrugged, but he smiled at me. "I promise to be your first customer."

I blushed again and rolled my eyes. "All you teenage boys are the same," I complained, grinning slightly. I piled the papers together and handed them over to him.

The blonde shrugged again, looking shied. "I guess you could say we all have good taste."

I stood up, rolling my eyes at him again. "Or hyperactive penises."

Nathaniel's face lit up like a Christmas tree, but he grinned at me. "Or that," he agreed. His light brown eyes looked paler compared to the tomato-red blush that dusted his cheeks. He had hairline trigger-phrases, apparently. Innuendos were fine, but saying the names painted his cheeks red. Huh. I would never understand teenage boys.

I gave him a grin and walked out the door, ready to go home. There wasn't much for me to do today. The school was about the be let out, so maybe I'd stay outside with Castiel until they did so I could meet them.

The school bell rang. Kids spilled out of the classrooms, looking eager to run out into their next classes. By this time tomorrow, I'd be heading for art. I'd already gotten my schedule. I shoved my hands in my pockets and started walking out. I kept my gaze down, trying desperately not to let these people that I didn't know see me. Maybe tomorrow I'd be more outgoing and like my usual self, but at the moment I didn't want a teacher confusing me with the students right now.

Because of that, I bumped into someone. My head snapped up at the impact. I opened my mouth to apologize, but the blonde snapped at me. "Watch where you're going, emo-dweeb," she shouted.

One of my eyebrows rose at the sound of her rudeness. So she was one of those girls. I'd gotten into my fair share of fights with those girls. I'd also gotten out of them without so much as a scratch. "Sorry," I apologized sarcastically. I rolled my weight onto the balls of my feet. "I didn't see the five feet and seven inches of pure bitch in my way."

The girl looked scandalized. I smirked at her, crossing my arms. She looked like one of those girls who had a posse on her at all times; the fact that she didn't now was either very good or very bad news. It struck me for a second that her hair was the exact same shade as Nathaniel's, but I didn't hover on that much.

"Tch," I scoffed at her and walked away. "Sorry if I got any of my emo on you," I called over my shoulder.

The sun shone strong outside. I expected to see Castiel outside, plucking away at his heart-melting guitar. I'd forgotten he was a student in the Candice City High School. I frowned, sighing. Guess I'd have to go home after all.