Hey gang! Just a heads up, now that we have transitioned out of introductions, these chapters will be slightly shorter because they will not feature everyone. Each chapter from here on out may focus on a select group of students so that I may properly tend to separate storylines individually and with care. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please review consistently!

Chapter 5: Princess Pride

Date: September 7th, 2nd day of school

Time: 7:20 a.m.

Place: Wawanakwa Academy; North Wing

"Good morning Gophers! These are your morning announcements. There will be a pizza sale after school today, in the Conforti lobby. Come get a yumyum in your tumtum before it is donedone!" The hallway intercom projected the pitch of the boy's voice in wavering frequency, before a few mocking chuckles surfaced in static. The voice continued, "Get your school spirit gear. Order forms are due by..."

Forsythia had already droned him out before the presumably young man could finish his sentence. She had much more important matters to attend to before she could monitor early morning toneless humor. The fifteen year old's speed was mocking to the average passerby. She marched through the hallway, a complementary mix of blue-green eyes darting from a crumpled piece of paper, to the students hindering her path. Room 3428: that's where she needed to be, not stuck in a manmade traffic jam. Forsythia shut her eyes tightly and reached to clutch her purse. Whoever was in the front of this line was wasting her time. Class would start in ten minutes, and this negligence was going to make her late. First impressions were everything, and so far, Forsythia didn't have such a pleasant one on this school. Her speed easily increased against the current. She tried to sandwich herself between a tall brunette boy, and a smaller ginger female who seemed to be attached at the hip.

"Ex- excuse me," she groaned, pushing herself through. She had almost verbally thanked her petite physique. The couple stared at the girl who had separated them, with matching icy blue eyes. The boy specifically, furrowing his eyebrows together. Forsythia fixed a smile upon her features, looking to the male of the pair.

"What? Is there something in my hair?" The question had come off as sarcastic, but still Forsythia didn't refrain from scrambling to affix her sunhat. As she pushed her way politely amongst the crowd, more eyes began to focus on her. It's not like she was too difficult to distinguish from the average Joe. Besides, there weren't many girls in this school who wore childish gloves in seventy plus degree weather. When she successfully snaked her way to the forefront, a group of girls who had spread themselves across the hall presented themselves as her final obstacle. The four girls walked as a unit, correction, the slowest unit that Forsythia had ever had the displeasure of laying her eyes on. She shortest of the girls rolled her eyes, clearing her throat before speaking. This wasn't working in her favor. The numbered classrooms passed by with apathy. As she approached room 3421, she guessed that her class was located at the end of the hallway.

Forsythia exhaled, placing one clothed hand on her hip, and tapped the shoulder of the tallest girl in the group. The girl didn't fully turn to acknowledge Forsythia, but in her peripheral vision, she cast her gaze on her.

"Yes, hello. I see you have chosen to walk in the middle of the hallway," she continues, "Traditionally, walkers have selected the right side of the hallway to engage in their craft because this opens up the left side of the hall for other purposes. Although, allow me to explain you're not the only one in the hallway, I'll wait for a minute until that sinks in."

Forsythia innocently balances on the platforms of her shoes, both hands placed contently behind her back, "But you know, that's just my opinion."

The blonde girl gave her an eye-roll, separating from her friend to the left of her and allowing Forsythia space to pass. She grinned to herself, and took advantage of the space, her head help up high to the sky. From behind her, Forsythia could hear vicious murmurs of, 'Oh my gosh, how rude!' and 'I can't even right now'. High-school preps are such beautiful things, she thought to herself. Just a few more steps. Forsythia looked to the right of the hallway to land on room plate '3426'. Her classroom would no doubt be right next to it. Ah, here we go. The golden, polished door knob attracted the girl to see what was inside. She smiles, turning the knob slowly and pushing the wood open to see an assortment of desks, most already full with adolescents. A small clutter of two desks sat empty in the direct front of the group, right where the teacher sat. Forsythia instinctively smooths out her frilly, yellow skirt and sits herself down in the desk. Her hands fold over each other and her lightweight bag rests draped over the back of the steel chair.

Mindless chatter surrounds Forsythia, and suddenly she is entrapped in her own bubble, a hushed mull running through one ear and out through the other. She was always one for particular detail. Her eyes focused on a short, balding man, scribbling words. She could recognize the scent of green apple expo marker as the utensil made a squeak against the white board. Forsythia perked an eyebrow, her copper colored sausage curls adjusting themselves to the side. A bell echoed above her simultaneously as the short man turned around to face the students. The chatter died down and Forsythia couldn't help the smirk that surfaced on her face when she landed on the words that the man had wrote. In large, bolded letters, the board read, 'Welcome to AP European History'.

The tan skinned man smiled as his hands shot to adjust his spiffy black tie. He scanned the students carefully like a lion stalking its prey, preparing itself to pounce. The fifty year old man opened his mouth.

"Who here can tell me why we study history?"

The students exchanged glances to each other, a few laughs surfacing amongst them. The man hadn't even told them his name, and yet he had began to put them to the test. One student raised his hand, two desks behind Forsythia. The moment he spoke, the red head cringed at the oblivious way he smacked his gum.

"Because we need to pass this class to graduate." The boy high hived with another next to him as the older man let out a chuckle. His eyes focused on the floor and suddenly Forsythia began to wonder whether he was completely in the right line of thought. A smirk played on his slightly chapped lips.

"There's always one," he mutters to himself before looking up.

"Yes, that is a valid reason. But, what else is there to it?" His question is rhetorical. "Here's another point: Why study European history, huh? I mean we live in Canada right? Well, think about this. A quote from one of the most recognized politicians in European history, David Cameron said, "From Caesar's legions to the Napoleonic wars. From the Reformation, the Enlightenment and the industrial revolution to the defeat of nazism. We," he pauses to point to the students. As the man looks for a reaction, a cool chuckle admits from him once more.

"We have helped to write European history, and Europe has helped write ours.' Europe has a great culture and an amazing history. Most importantly, the people there know how to live. I regret to inform you, but I'm afraid that here in Canada, we have unfortunately forgotten all about it."

The man pauses, his baldness glistening under the artificial lights. Forsythia leans forward in her seat. She seems to be in some sort of daze. He rushes over to the board once again, this time picking up a blue expo marker and writing something under his previous calligraphy. She had to squint to read it properly.

The man placed down the marker abruptly, not bothering to turn and look at the group of about eighteen.

"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it. Who knows who said that?"

Forsythia fidgeted in her seat. She knew who said it. She had read about him in one of her aunt's antique magazines on eastern culture. She hesitated momentarily before raising her hand out to him, her fingers outstretching upwards.

He quickly turned to face her. Upon noticing her eagerness to answer, he travelled closer to her, saying nothing at first but then offering her a generous, "Yes?"

Forsythia grinned, placing her arm down and resting it atop of her school desk.

"George Santayana," she said confidently. Her answer came out with unmistakable clarity.

The man smiled to himself, shutting his eyes lightly.

"That is correct Ms..."

Forsythia perked up, "Ainsworth. Forsythia Ainsworth."

He moved his mouth to the side, focusing to himself. He repeated softly, "Ms. Ainsworth." A grin replaced his hard expression. He looked to her "It's a pleasure to meet you Ms. Ainsworth. My name is Mr. Turner." Forsythia offered him a generous smile, her muscles relaxing into her seat. This man was definitely peculiar but the quality seemed to resonate with her.

Suddenly the boy behind her along with a few of his cronies burst out into malicious laughter that resembled hyenas. Mr. Turner furrowed his eyebrows together, looking past Forsythia politely.

"What's so funny, sir? I think the whole class would like to laugh too." Although his words suggested more, his voice was almost soothing.

"Nothing Mr. T. I was just paying close attention to your lesson that's all." His cronies nodded in agreement. Forsythia scoffed audibly, crossing her arms across her chest. Typical high-school boys.

"Hm, really..." Mr. Turner droned, "Well, if you were so invested in the lesson, why didn't you have an opinion on who you thought said the quote?"

The boy adjusts himself in his seat, and easily adopts a smirk. "Sorry, teach. I couldn't see anything over her farm hat." He points an accusing finger at Forsythia and laughs. The girl is losing her patience. The urge grows inside of her to whip around and lash out at him.

"I don't think Ms. Ainsworth's complimentary fashion sense is the problem here. She, as you would know that I mentioned before if you were paying attention, is living. She is being individual- a trait that I hardly see now adays in the youth of our Canadian school system. It's because you chose to be a drone, talking up the 'latest' slang, the 'latest' fashion sense, the 'latest' attitude that you are in fact not living, but instead imitating the works of someone who lived not to appease an expression of themselves, but to appease you: a kid looking for someone to follow. What is your name sir?"

The class is dead silent by then.

"J-Josh John-" the teen doesn't get the finish.

"Well Josh, my name is Mr. Turner. And I've noticed something in you that I noticed in at least a few kids every year since I have been teaching. You keep moaning and groaning about the aches of instructors telling you to pay attention, pay attention... that you started to question, when will attention pay me? Well Josh, it's about time you learn that the world does not owe you a cent. We all have attention to pay. It's our debt for allowing us to take residence in this broken down world. I suggest that you start paying yours... besides you did mention that you needed to pass this class to graduate correct?" He turns back not waiting for an answer and instead takes residence at the board. Forsythia couldn't help the malicious smirk that grew on her face. She smirked deviously, looking to the man in wonder. Is it just the desperate air of first day jitters speaking, or had she just found her very own epitome?

"Well, class..." he started. Forsythia sat up from her seat expectantly. Mr. Turner grinned to her, looking back up to address the class as a whole. "Let's start from the only place that would be appropriate. The beginning."

Time: 8:30 a.m.

Place: Wawanakwa Academy; East Wing

The first class of the day had run smoothly on Rickie: 10th grade Art. His instructor, Ms. Kizzek had taken it easy on them that day, only going over the syllabus briefly and dismissing them to do whatever they wanted, or 'chill' as she put it for the rest of the period. But now, it was second block, and things would most definitely change. He traveled through the less crowded hallway, a charismatic smile on his face. His orange-like dreadlocks bounced with each heavy step he took, and his attire along with his aura screamed at bystanders, confident new kid. At least that's what the girl next to him in art class had called him when she asked to borrow one of his freshly sharpened pencils. The gesture was unusual. Who doesn't bring a pencil to the first day of school? But Rickie viewed it as a rather welcoming gesture. She must have been awfully kind, he thought. Rickie slowed his pace in the hallway, looking down on his paper schedule and checking the room number again.

'Honors English 10 : Room 1226'

He grinned, cautiously walking down the hallway making sure to look left and right at the room numbers. He was definitely on the right path. Maybe finding his way around this school wouldn't be too difficult. Rickie halted at the door of the class. He peeked inside to see a handful of students congregated in a group together. He breathed, blinking his round brown eyes together. This was it. He just needed to be himself and everything would be dandy. Be courageous. For he who is not courageous enough to take risks will accomplish nothing in life.

Rickie smiled brightly, stepping into the classroom. His charisma seemed to draw the attention of everyone in the room. The four kids who had assembled in the middle of the classroom watched him skeptically. Rickie cowered slightly under the harshness of the light. He sheepishly smiled at his classmates before they resumed their conversation. Rickie let out a breath of air in relief. So much for being courageous, he says to himself. He decides to sit in one of the empty desks closer to the teacher. There was only one other boy who had been conversing with the her deeply. It wasn't until Rickie heard the teacher burst in laughter that he decided to take out his notepad from his backpack; the same notepad that he had read over the day before. He flipped open to a poem that he had documented over the summer. He remembered the day like it had been his most recent memory. As he flipped to it, 'If' by Rudyard Kipling, everything came rushing back to his mind; the warm, powdery sand that collected between his toes, the rush of the serene waves. Rickie shut his eyes in an attempt to relive the moment.

"You know, I love that poem too," he suddenly heard a voice from behind him.

Rickie jolted in reaction, letting out a subtle yell. His heartbeat naturally sped up, and he whipped his head around to meet the owner of the voice. When he turned around Rickie relaxed, looking to the red headed boy: the same boy that had been conversing with the teacher.

"Oh, hi," he muttered. The other boy smiled brightly and put up his hand to wave.

"Hiya. I'm Matthew. Matt for short. And what should I call you?"

Rickie raised a curious eyebrow. All day, all anyone has been to him, is distant. But suddenly, this boy comes along and opens up so easily, that it excites Rickie.

"I'm Rickie Harrison." Matt grins, nodding his head.

"I suspect you're new here?" he questioned.

Rickie nods quickly. A blush grew onto his face. "Yes, how do you know?"

Matt beamed, leaning one hand against a neighboring desk, the other on his hip.

"You looked pretty conflicted when you came in here so I just assumed..." Matt trails off, looking to the plastered walls of the classroom.

Matt lies his gaze on Rickie, studying him intensely. If he were to put him into narration, he would describe him as mix of crispy chicken and savory waffles. He was an odd combination of physical traits. Bright dreadlocks, brown skin, pink lips. But, surprisingly- they went well together. They inexplicably came together to personify this fifteen year old boy. They worked in harmony with one another. Matt appreciated that. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"First day jitters? Don't worry I'm new here too," he says. Rickie widens his eyes in disbelief. This guy must have been pulling his leg.

"But you already seem so comfortable with the teacher," Rickie commented. Matt smirked running a hand confidently through his locks.

"Mm, hm. Nancy and I were just speaking about my book. She just so happens to be a fan."

Rickie nulls over the comment, jutting his lips to the side. "You wrote a book?" he suddenly asks.

Matt nods slowly. "Yeah. Ever heard of Cyberland?" Rickie racks his memory. He had definitely head of the book. Who hasn't? It was number three in Ontario. But getting around to read it, that was a negative. Rickie just couldn't believe the author of such a popular novel was standing right in front of him, and he was only one year older than him. Age is really but a number.

"Y-you wrote that?" Rickie started. He cursed himself for stuttering. "Cyberland? Cyberland by Matthew Drake?"

Matt let out a cool chuckle, trying not to sound too prideful. "Yes, that's me. I'm glad you recognize it."

Rickie smiles, his eyes unchanging. "Wow. I never got around to reading it, but I heard it was amazing; a complete plot twist at the end."

Matt smiles genuinely. "Thank you." The bell vibrated over the two as Matt easily took a seat in one of the empty desks next to Rickie and the woman who was previously at her desk, got up from her position and adjusted herself in the middle of the classroom: her short, black hair fixed into a purposely messy bun on her head, and her thick rimmed glasses contrasted greatly with the whiteness of her smile.

"Good morning class. I hope you had a lovely first day yesterday at the activities fair. My name is Mrs. Andrews and I will, quite obviously be your instructor for Honors English 10 this year." A cough was her only response.

The woman adjusted her pencil skirt momentarily before continuing.

"Just a little about myself. I am twenty five years young," she let out a geeky laughter before continuing. "This is my first year teaching in this district, second year teaching in total. My hobbies include gardening, site-seeing or curling up with a good book along side my husband." Her smile says it all. "Now I would like to hear something from you. Please, I want each person to stand up, say your name and tell the class something about yourself."

Ice breakers... It's a shame that by the time kids get to high-school, teachers fail to recognize that these games were designed purely for elementary school students who didn't know how to handle themselves.

The first student across the room started. He had scruffy blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a fit build. Everything about him screamed artificial Ken doll. He smiled brightly, looking to the young teacher.

"My name is Kent," How ironic, Matt thought. "And I like to get hoes." He ended with laughter, sitting himself down with a satisfied smirk. Of course, every class had to have the douche bag 'player'. It just wouldn't be high-school without one.

Matt rolled his eyes, looking down to a notepad he had rested in front of him.

Mrs. Andrews awkwardly looked on, a smile still on her face.

"Um, okay. Thank you for sharing. Next." Patiently, Rickie watched each person go, their presentations being far more appropriate than Kent's. He wondered how that guy had even gotten into an honor's class. Rickie had tried to remember the names that went by and match them to the faces. Sandy, Rebecca, Dillon, Andrei, and... he was about fifty percent sure that one girl's name was Isabella. Before he knew it, it was his turn to speak. Rickie cleared his throat before standing up before the class. He could feel their eyes bore into him.

"Hi, my name is Rickie. I like to, um..." his mind went blank. "I like to surf. And, I also like art." He spoke simply before sitting back down into his chair. A light blush rushed over to his cheeks. Matt was next. He stood up confidently and smiled.

"Hello. I'm Matthew, please feel free to call me Matt for short. I'm a huge fan of sci-fi, and I really enjoy writing."

Short, sweet, and straight to the point.

"Very well," Mrs. Andrews said. She got up once again to hand out the syllabus for the year. The first thing that Rickie noted was the novel, 'Pride and Prejudice' first on the list.

"As most of you probably recognized, the first book we will be reading in this class is indeed Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen: a lovely book."

She goes over to her desk and pulls a hat from a small drawer. In the hat, multiple strips of paper.

"I know we haven't started the book yet, but I would like to set the standards. In this hat are differing symbols, motifs, and themes that this book portrays. Each of you will let fate decide and pick one of them out. The one that you get is what you will center your first in-class essay on, when we finish reading."

The lady wasted no time in going around to each clutter of tables, some students taking too dramatically long to dive their hand in and pull something out.

Matt nudges Rickie gently, whispering over to him, "I hope I get courtship. It was always my favorite aspect of the novel."

Rickie doesn't know what to do other than nod. He looked down at the marble encased desk and began to twiddle his thumbs together. Mrs. Andrews pushed the hat in front of him. He sighed, reaching out to whatever slip of paper felt most appropriate. When spreading the crumpling of his choice, he read aloud, 'Class'. His theme was class.

Ms. Andrews smiled at Rickie. "Ah, that's a good one. The theme of class is related to reputation, in that both reflect the strictly regimented nature of life for the middle and upper classes in Regency England. I think you'll enjoy it thoroughly. Miss Bingley is a good example of someone who holds herself higher than those who are not as socially accepted as her."

Rickie nodded slowly, "So you mean, she's like a princess?" Ms. Andrews smiled knowingly.

"Princesses aren't always like that. It's work. It's not just about looking beautiful, or having the most proper grammar, or wearing a crown. It's more about who and how you are inside." She walks off leaving him with that thought. Rickie sits, staring off at a clutter of classmates conversing at one side. He sighs before pulling out his designated English notebook and flipped to the first clean page. He documented,

'Tuesday, September 7th...'

Time: 10:23 a.m.

Place: Wawanakwa Academy; Student Cafeteria

Forsythia easily paced into the cafeteria, a light but elegant bounce depicting her waltz. Her neatly packed lunch, bringing the attention of many others who surfaced around the cafe. She quickly finds an empty table, a little too close to where the trash cans were located for her taste, but still acceptable. Forsythia adjusted one leg over the other. She opens her packaged lunch and removes her gloves carefully to apply an overwhelming amount of hand sanitizer to her palms. She grins before beginning to chew on a piece of biscotti that her aunt had prepared for her, her gaze running over to all of the cliques that began to congregate at their own table.

Meanwhile Smith, Dove, and Claira traveled together, entering through the cafeteria's doors. Smith smiled, running her hand through her bright red hair.

"It was really nice of you to join us today Clair," she says. She leads the way to the three's regular lunch table, a content board near the back of the room. But the usually empty table, had a new resident. Smith raised a curious eyebrow, approaching Forsythia.

"Hiya," her wave was light but attention grabbing. "What's the haps?"

Forsythia seemed taken aback by her loose approach, but kept her composure as she finished chewing on her treat. She simply stares at the girl as if she was expecting her to make some kind of romanticized gesture.

Dove coughs awkwardly at the pending silence. She pushes her curly hair out from her line of vision.

"Hey there, my name is Dove. And you are?"

Forsythia grins, easily pulling her gloves back on and getting up to curtsey at the girl.

"Forsythia Anisworth," she announces. Claira thought for a moment, relating the situation to predator versus pray. She smiled sheepishly thinking that this girl must of gone to some prestigious English school before landing here. Her high-school must have not been the same for her to think that this was some regular day occurrence to bow when introducing yourself to others. This school would eat her up alive. She knew it. Social status quo was too great for anyone to say she fit in; whether it'd be as a prep, a goth, stoner, jock, musician... She just didn't fit. But, Claira was admittedly drawn to that.

"Hi, nice to meet you. My name is Claira. And this is Smith," she starts.

Forsythia raises a dark eyebrow at Claira, folding her hands together.

"Smith? I've never head a girl's name to be so strange," she started. No filter necessary. Smith grinned brightly, speaking jokingly, "Blame my parents."

"Strange." She then extends a hand. "Why don't you ladies come sit?"

Dove stopped to marvel, staring at Forsythia peculiarly. A smirk played on her features.

"Whatever you please, Princess Ainsworth." Dove begins to laugh, but upon realizing that no one else was laughing with her, she shied away. Her cheeks grew hot.

Forsythia held her nose up high, her eyebrows furrowing together on her pearly skin. She cleared her throat before beginning, "I'm not a princess I'm..." She trails off trying desperately to think of another word. Everywhere she went, every person that she had spoken to, she would get the assumption of her royal heiress. But in honesty, that wasn't Forsythia. She didn't consider herself to be an actual princess. Her mind trails back to first block European History class as a faint smile overtakes her. She recites Mr. Turner's words in her head diligently before drawing her attention back to Dove.

"I'm not a princess, I'm living," she settles. Dove shyly grins, nodding her head vigorously.

"Of course, of course. I'm sorry I didn't mean to offend you."

Forsythia calmly nods, taking in to account the girl's turbulence. The shaky hands, the trembling legs. She had known it all too well before.

"You are excused." The other three girl's seemed to just stare at her in awe. Most definitely, neither of them had ever encountered a girl like her before. She was everything that you would see in some old-fashioned Victorian era movie. Smith easily grinned as Forsythia looked up from her lunch.

"May I offer you girls some biscuits? My auntie made them herself." In that moment, she beamed an unusual charisma. Suddenly, all of the small comments that she had received earlier that day: those obnoxious girls in the hallway, that ambitious boy in her European class, none of that really mattered anymore.

Time: 11:26 a.m.

Place: Wawanakwa Academy; West Wing

The bell to signal the end of lunch echoed abruptly over the dining students' heads, and the crowd easily dispersed into a handful of stragglers. Fifth block. All Kara had to do was get through two more classes and she'd be home free. She looked down at her paper schedule tightly enclosed inside of her three-ring binder. A single white earbud played a soft rock album from The Beatles' album into her right ear and she protectively clutched a small notebook in her hand. She reminisced each time she had to walk alone, about how it was before. She thought about her friends laughing with lively chatter alongside her. She laughed back and smiled, her cheer uniform pressed neatly upon her skinny frame. She thought about the looks that people would give her. The looks that prided her for the day. Then suddenly, she was back, but her friends weren't. They were gone, and she was still alone. Kara sighed, being one of the late stragglers, and walked out from the cafeteria's doors. She had to remind herself to look straight ahead. People were still giving her weird looks. She was used to people looking at her, but this time these looks denounced her instead. Her speed increased as she made her way to her cooking class, finding the classroom easily. She pushed the door open.

Lab tables, just as expected lined up neatly with one another along the classroom floor. She should've known that the school's promise to get new cooking stations for the school year was a lie. She looked over to the teacher's desk, reading over her nameplate, 'Ms. Swanick'. A young, spunky bold redhead who had just graduated from culinary school. She was certainly a nut, but she was a nut that knew how to cook. Kara relaxed in an empty two seater lab table, flipping effortlessly through the albums on her cell phone. She decided on something a little too corny for her taste, but appropriate nonetheless, 'All Out of Love,' by Air Supply.

Ah, cooking class. The most greatly anticipated course in the case of eighteen year old Gyro. He rushed in excitingly, his eyes glistening under the gaze of his brown sunglasses. He tightened the grip of his backpack and went closer to observe the stoves, pots, and classroom materials that there was to offer to the student, grinning when he recognized many of the least common utensils.

Ms. Swanick easily approached him, her brown hands folded together in front of her.

"Welcome newcomer," she announced. Her teeth had a very subtle yellowish tint to them, but Gyro didn't let that bother him. His body language spoke many words already.

"Hello, how are you?" he tried to be his laid-back self but didn't want to risk seeming disrespectful.

Ms. Swanick nodded faster than the road runner. "Perfect. Today is a perfect day. I really appreciate your style, you know? You walked in here with energy and conviction." She got closer to him, getting in his face and taking in the detail of his glasses.

"Very cool shades." This woman obviously hadn't grasped the concept of personal space as a child.

"I can tell you're talented. You stand out." Her sharp words were blunt but complimenting and Gyro suddenly began to wonder whether this woman had a filter.

He sheepishly smiled, "Thank you, 'mam." She had already bounced away to talk with some other student who had been hanging lonely around the window blinds. Gyro shrugs curiously. He guesses she had just been extremely passionate about her job. He looks around the classroom, desperate to find an empty seat. His eyes eventually landed on a seat next to a rather aloof-like girl. He grinned as she looked around the room, sitting down next to the brunette.

"Hi. I hope this seat wasn't taken," he says.

"Oh no, it wasn't."

Her voice elevated dramatically and suddenly Gyro felt insecure. He smiled cheaply.

"Right." He sunk slightly into his chair, keeping his eyes on Ms. Swanick.

Things were getting bad. This was the third consecutive time that Kara was listening to the hit song by Air Supply. She knew it was a terrible idea to scavenge through her, 'emotional' audio folders, and now she couldn't stop herself. She just couldn't. The girl rested her head on the table, groaning to herself. Why had she decided to do this to herself?

Kara felt a pang of guilt overwhelm her, failing to notice the boy who had taken residence in the seat next to her.

"Is everything okay?" she heard a soft male voice say to her. Her cheeks automatically burn up at the thought that someone was watching her wallow in emotional pain. She threw her head up a little too swiftly, a group of golden blonde strands falling into her eyes. She quickly went to comb her hair back with her fingers, looking at him in shock. It was the same boy that she had bumped into at the activities' fair which made this situation even more embarrassing. She racked her brain for his name. It started with an E, that much she was certain. Eli?

The light haired boy looked at her, a generous smile on his features. Kara nodded slowly, looking to him.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just, a little tired. Um, Eli right?" She knew her excuse was pathetic, but hoped that he would buy it. He looked at her uneasily before letting out a cool chuckle.

"Got it on the first try, that's impressive, Kara?" he says her name as a question. Kara smirks easily.

"Mm hm," she replied.

Eli lit up, a sly smirk to compliment him. "Mission one: remember each other's names is a monumental success."

Kara couldn't help but genuinely laugh despite the fact that a song still played softly inside of her head. She looked at him for a little too long that it became staring. She admits, she thinks he is a little cute- okay, a lot cute and from observing him, her cheeks heat up again.

"Good morning class," Ms. Swanick announces over the deteriorating chit chat. "For those of you who do not know me, my name is Ms. Swanick. How about we skip past the embarrassing ice breakers and just cut straight to it. So, guess what? Fate has spoken on this glorious Tuesday evening. It's decided that the person that you are currently sitting next to is going to be your culinary partner for the remainder of the semester. You will address each other as equals, communicate and work together to perfect a new dish each week for the ultimate..." The woman's voice explodes into one that would resemble a reality show host's. But Kara had already zoned out her speech when she saw Eli smile over to her. She grinned back before looking down to her phone. On the screen, 'Now Playing on Loop: 'All Out of Love' by Air Supply'. She sighs before clicking the square stop button and taking the ear bud from her ear. Maybe she was ready to get a little of her pride back.

Time: 2:34 p.m.

Place: Wawanakwa High; Main Entrance

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Forsythia waited impatiently outside of the front entrance of the school. Her black Mary-Janes play a beat against the tough pavement. The girl pulled out her pocket watch from her small bag, her eyes focusing on the time. School had ended over fifteen minutes ago, and her aunt was late with the car. When was she going to get here? It's not like her home was two towns over and when she called her, she said she had already been on her way.

"Waiting for pick up?" a voice echoed behind her. Forsythia jolted suddenly, wasting no time to whip around and point an accusing glare at the owner.

She was met with a kind spirited girl with blue-grey eyes and the most unmistakable shade of red hair.

"Smith," Forsythia gasped. The other girl's smile was contagious. Forsythia found herself grinning subtly, her eyes squinting at her.

"Hiya, 'Syth. I hope it's okay if I call you 'Syth. I just wanted to apologize, if myself, Dove, or Claira offended you at lunch today. We just wanted to be friendly,I swear! We think you're totally unique, and living... and all that jazz." The girl's voice was alarming to the point of humorous.

Forsythia blinked twice before answering, placing her hands upon Smith's shoulders.

"You did nothing of the sort," she said.

Smith looks relieved, a coy smile taking her face.

"You know, the yearbook club is throwing a shindig in town tonight. You should totally come!"

Forsythia shakes her head. "No, thank you. My aunt and I are taking a short stroll through town tonight, you know," she thinks of a slang term that might resonate well with Smith, "to see what's good." Her sentence ends awkwardly.

Smith pauses, her shoulders to her ears. She cocks a confused eyebrow but doesn't spend too much time pressing on the issue.

"Suit yourself."

As if her aunt were waiting for their conversation to come to a halt, an antique car rolled up in front of Forsythia. Her aunt who sat in the driver's seat, waved to Smith who she had assumed was a friend that Forsythia had made. Smith waved back.

"Hey, listen. I got to run, but I hope to be seeing you again. Have fun, um... exploring tonight." In a flash, the girl is off. Forsythia recomposes herself, her aunt getting out easily to open the car door for her and taking her own seat again.

"Forsythia, how was your day today? Did you make any new friends?" her aunt questions.

The girl stares out the window, watching the cars whizz by in an assortment of metallic shades. She exhales deeply before looking to the older woman and attempting a smile.

"Yes, I suppose I have."

Her aunt doesn't answer but instead hums what sounds like an old folk tune while Forsythia focused on the soft purr of the automobile's engine.

Hiya. Thanks for reading. I hope you peeps enjoyed it. Just note that since we have the first and second day of school covered, I will now be skipping ahead from week to week. The story will not go from day to day as it has been. This is obviously for the sake of time and for not being too tedious with details. Thanks again. REVIEWS ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED. Until next time!