:: ::

It was dark outside when I woke up. I wondered for a second if I'd slept through the last two days, because it really did feel like it. I'd have missed the first two days of my new school. Somehow, that didn't seem like to big of a loss. My skin was pulled taut across my cheekbones; I felt as if saltwater had dried on them, but they obviously hadn't because when I touched my face, wondering if I'd actually teared, they came away dry. My face wasn't even sticky.

I turned around in the darkness of my room, searching for the clock. The white LED light told me it was four in the morning, on the day exactly after I'd fallen asleep. The light also told me that the alarm was off, which was odd, because I'd turned it on sometime before I left to see Mrs. Wan Gong. There was a yellow sticky-note on top of the snooze button. In Auntie Sarah's thick, inelegant scrawl that bared no resemblance at all to the thin, tastefully swirling script of her party-planner self, the note said, "You're probably freaking because you're late for school. Go back to sleep, honey."

I rolled my eyes. Of course she thought I should skip today. She was Sarah. Irresponsibility was her thing. She was childish and fun. She thought skipping would make everything better as I adjusted to Candice City and pranced around town like a girl that had never in her life experienced grief. She wasn't like me. I had to get back to normal as soon as possible, to get used to what would soon become my new normality. But even though she didn't exactly get me, I smiled, because she was trying.

I had to try too. Try to move on.

I grabbed my phone. It was natural and normal to skip directly to the T's. Tobiah's name had the little tilde symbol next to it. I texted him because he woke up to the slightest noise. Wake up, Tobi, I'd sent him, then rubbed my eyes against the brightness of the phone, grumbling. My arms felt like led even as I pushed back the thin little quilt that Auntie had covered me in when I'd fallen asleep. I needed to take a shower, just to loosen the tightness I felt spreading all across my body. I grabbed a pair of underwear and a bra, figuring I could get dressed later and that if Aunt Sarah woke up early she was family so what did it matter.

I filled the tub with scalding water, because I needed it hot. My phone buzzed when I was slipping into the almost overfilled tub. Go 2 bed, the message said.

You've got to wake up soon, I sent. It's four. Tobiah usually woke up at five.

The warmth of the water penetrated every pore of my body, easing the tautness of my skin with a scalding idleness. I ducked my head quickly underwater, my black hair sinking slowly with me. I felt some sort of relief as the water knit through the strands of my hair. It took a few minutes before the heard the buzz of my cell again, loud enough to be heard through the water. I resurfaced to dry my hands.

Time diff, the boy reminded me. It's MIDNIGHT here midg.

I frowned. I'd forgotten about that. Please. I need to talk to you. I sank back down under, letting out a breath to watch the bubbles drift upwards. It reminded me of what I used to do when I was little. I used to bring a silly straw and blow air into the water so I could watch the bubbles up and pop on the surface.

The phone vibrated. Ur lucky i love u wats up midg.

It isn't like you want to go to school anyway, I typed. I wanted to tell him about the slide-show, about the song, but it sounded weak in my thoughts. I didn't know how to start. I wished I did. I wished he were here so I wouldn't have to explain, because he would see it in my eyes, because he was just that good. Tobiah was a year older than me; his parents had been good friends with mine, so much so that I'd called them Aunt Helen and Uncle George. The whole school thought we were cousins, and neither of us had gone out of our way to correct them. He was a good guy. I knew him better than the back of my hand. My parents were so comfortable with him that they let me sleep over at his house—had been.

The reminder was like cold water; it chilled me even inside the burning water. I was shivering inside the bathtub. My lip trembled.

The phone buzzed. True, the message read. Wats up cuz.

I know you too well.

I lathered soap over my body, realizing that I was sweating in my sleep. I usually wasn't a sweaty sleeper. If I had sweat, it was because I'd had a bad dream. I was glad I didn't remember it. The soap smelt of cocoa, sharp and bitterly sweet. I liked cocoa.

The phone vibrated. U havent told me wats up, I read.

Damn boy sure was good. Met a boy, I said instead of bearing my soul uncomfortably. I wasn't good at it. I expected people to let me in, hypocritically, but I couldn't do it. With Tobi, I never needed to let him in; he forced his way in with knowing looks and smart deductions. The clock on the phone said 4:30; I'd been texting Tobiah since four. He must be really fighting off sleep to be answering so slowly. His answers were usually instant. That was what I liked about texting him; there was never any need to wait.

U woke me up at MIDNIGHT 2 tell me bout a boy.

I could picture him typing that, angry and sleepy, brown eyes drifting close as he thumbed away. It brought a bittersweet smile to my face. No, I texted.

Idle anger must have woken him up a bit. His answer was instant: O, i see. ill call. The phone rang a second after I read it and Tobi's groggy voice—always deeper when he was tiered—said the instant I picked it up, "What's up?"

It was good to hear his voice; I hadn't talked to my cousin in so long. "You know that song that we thought had no lyrics?" I asked, my voice just as groggy as his. It would be easier to pretend I was talking about the song and not anything else.

There was a tentative pause. I could hear him dig his head into his pillow and murmur something, then I pictured him frowning. He sounded like he was chewing on his lip when he asked, "Your mom's favorite?"

I pressed my lips together and nodded, then I realized that he couldn't see me. "Yeah," I gulped. I sunk down deeper into the water, chin deep. "That's the one."

Tobi's deep voice was almost like a warm blanket. I wished he were here in Candice City so I could at least have someone familiar and welcome with me in the school with the cheesy name. Tobi would be so much better than Kentin. "What about it?"

I swallowed. "I found out what it's called," I told him. In the midst of sobs and senseless babbling, I'd managed to ask Aunt Sarah what it was called. "It's called Tears in Heaven."

"That sounds..." Tobi swallowed. His voice was warm and sleepy. "Um."

I had to force a the words through a knot. "Would you know my name," I started, and my voice shook as if there was an earthquake inside of me, "if I saw you in heaven?"

Tobi swallowed. "I..." He was at a loss for words. It was ironic how appropriate that song was. "Sealie," he called my nickname. Only he called me that. There was something in his voice and I knew he wanted to be here to comfort me right now. "Oh, Sealie."

I sobbed, just one quick gasp of air. "Yeah."

Silence, uncomfortable and teetering on the edge of depressing, fell over us. I swallowed through the knot in my throat, and pulled the plug on the tub, getting up to dress myself. "You know," Tobiah said as I put the phone on speaker, "Mom and Dad were talking about you." Great, gossip. I never thought Helen and George would be feeding them, though. "They were thinking we could come over soon."

Depression had made me suspicious; now I felt bad for it. Helen and George wouldn't do that to me, they were family. A dim light at the end of the tunnel. "How soon is soon?" Hope was a tangible thing in the air around me.

Tobi gave a groggy laugh. "Sooner now that I know you've met a boy," he warned. If he were here, I knew he'd be wagging a finger at me like a disapproving mother. "What's he like?" Talking to him was just as good as talking to a girl. "Is he pretty?" he asked, mocking all the conversations he'd heard me have with Lizzy. "Is he dreamy? Is he delicious?"

"Cookie-dough ice cream delicious," I answered, playing along, giggling.

"Ooh," Tobiah gasped. "That good? So I'm guessing he has black hair?" He knew me well; black hair was a turn-on for me.

I grabbed my phone and walked across the hall to my room. I threw my closet doors open and turned on the light. "If it weren't red, yes," I admitted. There were a pair of faded jeans with holes in them, fit for fishnets. I loved fishnets.

"Straying from the path of predetermined genetic greatness?" he asked, sounding almost shocked.

I scoffed, fishing in my drawers for fishnets. Talking to him made everything seem almost normal. "The red isn't natural," I informed. "He dyed it."

"A man with a dye job?" Tobi asked, yawning. "And he's straight?"

I pulled out the nets when I found them and tugged them on. "Actually," I disclosed, "I'm not sure." I put on the hole-y skinny-jeans. "But I'm determined to find out."

Tobi laughed. "I thought so. That's my Sealie, my midget." He almost sounded proud. "Go get 'em, midg."

"He plays guitar," I told him, knowing he'd be interested. Tobi played too. We'd learned together. "He has a Gibson USA Joan Jett Blackheart."

Tobiah floundered for a second in silence. "Gurl," he said, and I could just picturing splaying his fingers out as if examining his fingernails, "if he's gay, I'd be happy to screw a few bucks out of him. And maybe a guitar."

I laughed. "Who'd be on top?" I asked.

"I don't care!" he said, and though sleep was threading through his voice, I could hear the chuckle beneath the words. "If it got me a guitar, he could be on top. He could ride me like a goddamn bull if it got me that Blackheart."

"I'll let you know," I told him. "Maybe you can screw two Blackhearts out of him." I laughed. I tugged on a dark purple off-the-shoulder t-shirt; it matched nicely with the black fishnets visible underneath the pale faded denim.

"If he's straight—if—it'll be up to you to score us new guitars," he warned. He yawned. "But because it's a far fetch that he is, what's his name? I need to know who's gonna be sticking things up my butt."

I laughed. "Castiel," I answered. "His name is Castiel. Start practicing how to open that hole wide, Tobi. But you should have a nice full night's rest before that. Night."

Tobiah yawned again. "I'm missing two hours of sleep already; it won't be a full night's rest. I'll call you when I get out of school," he promised.

"Sounds good. Sleep." The phone beeped when I hung up; I tucked it into my back pocket and smiled, feeling normal. Or as normal as I could get in Candice City with my parents dead. I wondered if I should be feeling the grief all the time as a dull ache in the back of my head or as I do, in deep, knife-sharp anguish. Was one healthier than the other? Probably.

I grabbed my old book-bag from my closet and flicked the lights off, walking downstairs in darkness. Aunt Sarah usually slept in late; she was a party-planner, she worked on her own hours. Usually nine to five, but sometimes not at all, or longer. When I went downstairs, the kitchen light was on. My brow furrowed. "Sarah?" I called.

"Alise?" she called back. "What are you doing up so early?"

I dropped my bag onto the sofa and turned on the radio, lowly, to a station I knew always played Panic! At the Disco. Lying Is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off was almost ending. "I could ask you the same thing," I said. I was usually an early riser, on school-days anyway. Aunt Sarah wasn't. "I woke up early. You?"

Swing, Swing by The All-American Rejects came on. "I took a wedding on," Auntie said, sounding regretful. I walked in to the kitchen to see her shaking her head and pinching her nose. She had wedding invitations all around her. "Brides are handfuls. Maroon, she says, not red, maroon. Ugh. This is why I do kids' parties. They don't care if it's maroon or burgundy or red. They just care that it's there. Plus they're fun." She made a frustrated sound, somewhere between scoff and growl. "Brides are not fun. Remind me to never, ever do a wedding again, Alise. Ever."

"Why didn't she just go to a wedding planner?" I couldn't help but asking.

"Because she's stupid and I thought I was up for the challenge," Auntie spit. "I'm just as stupid."

I laughed. "You know you don't like weddings."

"Yeah, well," she snapped, more at herself than at anyone. She grabbed a spray bottle and squirted a bit of it onto a card, close enough that the smell would catch but the liquid wouldn't go through.

"When's the wedding?" I asked, grabbing a card. It was between an Austintine Chase and a Travis Chase. It was a vow renewal. The date was soon: April seventh. "The seventh's a Monday. She can't expect anyone to come."

Aunt Sarah crossed her arms, leaning back to the chair. "Yeah, I told her that. But she insisted. Seven's a lucky number and blah, blah, blah."

"Tell her to try another seventh," I suggested. "There's gotta be an open seventh weekend."

Auntie squirted another card. It got the liquid on it and she growled, tossing it into a discarded pile. "Tried that too."

"And...?"

"Said she can't do it," Auntie went on. "She and her husband will only be in town together this one month."

My brows knitted together. "Um. What?" I wondered as I went to get Eggos from the fridge for us both.

Aunt Sarah did another card, satisfied when it didn't get wet. "Apparently she's some hotshot hostess in some hotshot restaurant across state and her husband—Travis?—is a pilot."

"One hell of a family life," I grumbled, putting the chocolate chip waffles in the double toaster. I poured Sarah some OJ and myself Welch's grape juice. Normally, Aunt Sarah would have done the responsible guardian thing and told me to watch my language. Now, annoyed and stressed, she didn't give a damn. "You going to the wedding?"

"I'm the planner. Do I have a choice?"

I shrugged. "Guess not."

"Neither do you."

The Eggos popped and the radio changed to 3 Doors Down's Kryptonite. For a moment I just stared. Then: "What?" Parties were not my thing. Strangers' parties even less.

"You heard me," Sarah said, although she sounded as if she were pleading. She really didn't want to go alone to these things anymore, did she? "Please? They've got a boy around your age and I'm sure they'll be others."

I groaned, placing the waffles onto our plates. "You know I don't like people," I complained. "People aren't fun. People are mean."

"Come on, Alise, please, just this once, for me?" Auntie begged. Her red eyes shimmered, reminding me just how much she and Mom looked alike; they had the same eye shapes. "Just so I know you're adjusting?"

I knew in the end I would say yes. "I didn't even go to parties back home," I insisted. Aunt Sarah pouted, lowering her head, the stray reddish-pink strands of her bangs falling forward. "Ugh. Fine. But when Tobiah and his parents visit, Tobi gets to sleep over."

My aunt knitted her brows together. "Tobiah Ericson? The boy with the brown hair—which he really needs to get cut—who wouldn't let you go?" she wondered. When I was at the airport, the Ericsons came to bid me farewell. Helen and George had each kissed my forehead and told me to keep and touch and keep safe; Tobi, on the other hand, had squashed me like a bug to his chest and begged me not to go, not loosening his grip until I was absolutely purple. "I don't know..."

Where was my childish aunt when she was useful?

"Why not?" I wondered. I handed her her plate and bit into my chocolate waffle. "It's just Tobi. He's practically family. I used to sleep over at his house. You can ask Aunt Helen and Uncle George if you want to."

"I'll think about it," she promised. I smiled.

:: ::

Homeroom was relatively uneventful. It was mixed with all different grades, which was new for me because in my old school, our homerooms were arranged by grade. Here it just seemed random. I was happy to see Ken wasn't in my homeroom; Nathaniel was, though, and I had settled down by him, clutching my books to myself protectively in this new environment. He introduced me to Leigh, who dressed in Victorian-era clothing. I'd seen him at the clothes store Aunt Sarah had shown me. He was refreshingly different. It shocked me that he was eighteen. Apparently, he was only in the school because he'd failed two or three classes and had decided to make up for them to get his diploma and make it into a fashion school.

The class president had then introduced me to his sister, Amber. I smirked when I saw her eyes widen when she saw me sitting next to her brother. She didn't say anything, just huffed and turned her back, going back to her little posse—I knew she had one!—of three, with a little Chinese girl and a brunette.

That was about it for then.

My first period class was Honors English. It was easy enough, I guess. Mary Shelly's Frankenstein was on the reading list, which was pretty cool since I had the third-edition copy with Steampunk illustrators by Zdenko Basic and Manuel Sumberac that made the whole thing worth reading in my backpack. I had Poe in my bag too, and Edgar Allan Poe was worth reading without all the Steampunk in and of itself. When I pulled out both mint-condition books, my teacher—a Mr. O'Neil—freaked out more than I had. And I'd had a spaz attack when I saw them in Amazon, and almost a heart attack when I saw them both in the mail. He asked to borrow them. I flat-out said no. Didn't even try to cushion the blow. I didn't tell him that these were the last things my parents had gotten me before they gave up the ghost. I didn't want him knowing that. So if he saw me as rude, so be it. That didn't change the fact that I was going to be as greedy as possible with these two books.

Most English classes were two periods, but Honors was only one. I had second period free to do as I wished, even though I'd chosen "Independent Study" to fill this one period. I walked out into the courtyard, surprised at the disappointment that swelled inside me when I didn't see Castiel. But I ignored it and dug a candy bar out of my bookbag because hot damn I needed one right now. Sweets were good for me.

There was something different about the courtyard when you were actually a student. Something about the huge sign that said Saccharine Amadoris High. The school was named after the person who founded it, but I had a hard time believing that someone would name their child a synonym for sweet, especially when their last name sounded so close to the Spanish word for love. Poor guy, named Sweet Love. No wonder the kids shortened it to Sweet Amoris High. I couldn't even imagine the ridicule.

I shook my head at the sign, then pulled my iPhone from my pocket. It was a while before I noticed that the breeze brought the sudden warmth of a body. I turned to see redheaded Castiel, sitting across the courtyard, looking at me. My brows furrowed in an attempt to figure it out, but I shrugged and offered him a smile. "Skipping?" I asked, raising my voice a bit for him to hear me.

"Not exactly," he answered. He looked so calm and collected, as if skipping was an every day occurrence for him. It probably was, seeing how often he was in the courtyard. I turned my eyes back to the phone, hyperaware of his towering presence just on the other side of the courtyard. "But you are."

I turned my attention to him again, more than happy to look at him. "Nope," I said, popping the p. "Independent Study."

"Yeah," Castiel said. I could practically hear him rolling his eyes. "Texting is definitely independent study."

I smiled. "I'm not texting," I told him, and it was the truth. "I'm researching." I tapped the screen with my nail, a quick taptap, to get the point across. "Very independent study-ish."

"Researching what?" he snorted, seeming unconvinced.

I shrugged. "Blink-182, Foo Fighters... You know, music." I looked back up at the SAH sign. "I also might right a report—independently—about the idiots who would name their child Saccharine in the first place."

Castiel laughed. "I've wondered that myself."

"Anyone who's ever seen this sign has," I assessed. I locked my phone and unlocked it, having fun hearing the click of it "locking." "It needs to be researched. Anyone who calls themselves a Saccharinizes needs to know why." I shivered at the horribleness of it all. "They also have to stop calling themselves Saccharinizes, but that's an entirely different line of investigation."

"You might just be onto something."

I grinned, tucking my iPhone into my pocket. I looked at him, his tousled red hair and gray-brown eyes, the sharp lines of his face and the smooth curve of his lips. For a second, I wanted to tell him about Tears in Heaven, but I couldn't bring myself to. Instead I let a comfortable silence settle around us. For a long while, it was just Castiel and I, and the silence of the breeze. Then I broke the silence. "I mentioned you to a friend," I told him, because I wanted to hear the smooth baritone richness of his voice again.

He rose a perfect red brow; the dye was fading and the black of his natural color was peeking through in strands. "So you're gossiping? Didn't think you'd manage that quite that fast."

I shook my head. "No, nothing like that," I assured, not even insulted that he'd jumped to that conclusion. "My cousin Tobi and I—we were talking guitars. I mentioned that I knew a guy with a Blackheart."

Castiel rose another brow. "You spend your free time talking about guitars?"

I smiled ruefully at him. "It's the safest thing for me to talk about right now," I admitted. I was glad when he nodded, didn't pry, didn't ask, content with not knowing. "He asked me if you were straight." Even from a distance, I could see the slight twinge of annoyance in the depths of his eyes. It made me smile. "I told him I didn't know." I could see the insult about to dart from his tongue, but I just smirked at him. "He told me to find out and literally screw you out of it." I laughed. "Then he said that if you were gay, that he would do it. And he's straight."

I saw the little bit of irritation slip away to amusement. Castiel scoffed a bit, rolling his eyes.

"I'm not gonna lie, Castiel, it sure was an interesting image," I admitted. His cheeks flared red. "And kind of funny. I mean, you—drilling Tobi?" I laughed. "Tobi would be the seme in that relationship."

Castiel's face was brighter than a Christmas tree; it was a sight I was sure I wouldn't be able to see again. But he took the poking and teasing like a man and rolled his eyes, getting up from his side of the courtyard to stand over me, dwarfing me, reminding me of exactly how tall and strong he was. "What makes you think that?"

I smiled. "Well," I drawled, pulling my phone back out and unlocking it. "This, for example." I turned the phone to show Castiel a picture of Tobiah. He was standing next to extended measuring tape in the kitchen that used to be mine, with me holding it still above him, having to stand on a step-latter just to reach above him. Where Castiel could be six feet, maybe a bit less, Tobi was obviously 6'6", with broad enough shoulders to play football without needing the padding, and the muscles to back it up. I had to fight the girls off him with a stick back home. I mean literally, I had a bat around for just the occasion when girls got too handsy and Tobi sent me the Sealie, help me look.

Castiel crossed his arms. "Okay," he admitted reluctantly. "I admit that would be pretty funny."

I smiled like a pervert at him, giving him a slow wink. "I'm not saying I didn't enjoy the thought."

Castiel flushed red again, but sat down next to me on my bench. "Speaking of enjoyably funny images," he sighed. "I hear you had a bump-in with Amber yesterday."

I shrugged. I didn't see the big deal with that. I stood down those girls plenty of times. It was girls like me that I'd needed that bat for. "Yup. How'd you hear?"

"From the Queen Bitch herself."

A snort escaped me. "And did she turn her spin on things?" I didn't know the girl, but I knew how her type thought. I knew she'd try to make me the villain.

"As queen bitches tend to do."

I sighed, crossing my arms. Seemed I would have to pry it from him. "And...?"

Castiel smirked; I knew it was revenge for making him the uke. "Said you rammed into her, insulted her with words 'too grotesque for a lady such as herself' to repeat, then stormed off without so much as an apology."

"I hope you know that's a lie."

Castiel shrugged, but more like he was siding with me than against me.

"You want to know the truth?"

"Never hurts."

"It's true that I did bump into her. I wasn't watching where I was going and that's my fault," I consented. "I was going to apologize, but she insulted me. I still did apologize though." A look of disgust threaded through his face, but I rolled my eyes and smirked, ignoring the butterflies in my stomach. "I told her I hadn't seen the five foot seven of bitch in my way and that I was sorry that I got any of my 'emo-dweeb' on her."

That made Castiel smirk. He patted my head like he would a dog, and I growled at him. "Down, girl," he teased, making me grin.

I noticed there was something familiar in his jacket pocket. Rectangular, green and white. I was fast, and I took it from him before he could even register my movement—three years of karate classes did that to a girl. "Newport?" I asked, examining the box. "You brought cigarettes to a school? More importantly, you smoke?" Castile tried to take them from me. I was too fast. "Answer and maybe—maybe—I'll give them back."

"Yes and yes," he said reluctantly, unused to following orders. I could tell he hated it.

I stood up and dropped them to the floor. My foot squashed it to nothing but dust and plastic.

"What the hell?"

I shrugged, twisting my foot, clad in strappy black sandals, over the box. "Smoking's bad for you," I said simply.

"That doesn't mean you can tell me what to do!" he shouted. He took a step closer to eyes were blazing with a fire from within. He towered over me, reminding me just how small I was, and the straight line of his angry lips looked terrifying. He was trying to intimidate me—unknowingly, but still.

Intimidation didn't ever get very far with me. "I'm not telling you what to do," I announced, twisting my foot again. "You can go ahead and buy another pack. Fine by me." I stood on my tiptoes, crossing my arms, looking incredibly smug. "But you can't tell me what to do, so when I see them, I'll make them mincemeat." I smiled smugly. "I'll get you nicotine patches. Promise."

I sat back on the bench as if nothing had happened, smiling a sugary sweet smile at him. He stormed away, and I felt the butterflies die in my stomach. I wondered if he'd talk to me again, and if it was worth it.

:: ::

I forgot to mention that Alise (Ah-leese) is based off my character in the game, which you can see here: www . mycandylove profil / Therapist You can ALLbe my friends if you review!

As you can see, this one is longer than the last because I felt bad about making you wait.

R&R!