Missing You

Chapter 2: A Tardy for Two

[The Night World Series]

The weekend passed quickly for me, as usual. Too quickly. It was quite irritating, actually, especially because it was only over those two days that I could ever get a decent night's rest.

So without warning, it was suddenly late Sunday night, and I was in my absolute freak-out mode because I had just realized I had a three-page English essay due on Wednesday. And I hadn't even started the outline.

Basically, I was completely and utterly screwed.

I swore, and started to crumple the assignment out of frustration before I remembered that I actually needed it for the instructions. I swore again (just for good measure) and dialed Karin's number. I could have pressed 1—or was it 2?—for the speed dial, but I was already so familiar with her number that it was faster just to dial it out than try to remember which number I had to press for speed dial.

Ring

Stupid technology. Half the population didn't even know how to use the stupid contraptions.

Ring

"Pick up, pick up, pick up!" I muttered.

Ri—

"Hello?"

"Karin!" I half-screeched, before remembering that my parents were probably already asleep and that my younger brother was tucked away in bed. I lowered my voice, "Karin, I'm in deep trouble. You know that outline for English?"

"That one? Of course. Mrs. Reddy reminded us, like, fifty times last week to finish it by tomorrow."

I winced. My participation grade in that class needed some improvement. "Does that mean that you've already done it?"

"Yeah, I finished it when it was fist assigned," she paused and then, with a hint of amusement, added, "let me guess—you didn't do it?"

"Not quite yet," I said sheepishly. "Can I—"

"Copy mine?" Karin cut in sweetly.

"Funny, that's exactly what I was going to say," I said. I heard Karin's laugh, slightly tinny over the phone.

"Really? Then yes, of course you can. It's the least I could do for my best friend and the girl who saved me from failing all those classes."

I grinned. This was another particularly admirable quality about Karin. She had an unerring sense of honesty. I couldn't remember a single debt that she hadn't repaid or a single promise that she broke.

"Thank you so much! You're a life saver, I swear. A hero in a past life," I told her dramatically.

"Yeah, yeah. Save it for later," Karin joked, brushing off the compliments. "You can copy it over our lunch period. Lucky you have English last."

It seemed that the moment I fell asleep, the irritating beep of my alarm woke me up.

Groaning, I blindly felt around my bedside table, knocking over a few anonymous objects until finally reaching the source of the noise. I managed to hit a button that stopped the offensive noises and rolled over, hoping to catch a few extra minutes of blessed sleep.

Ten minutes later, it started to beep again. With considerably more force and better aim, I cuffed the infuriating clock and stopped the racket.

Another—regrettable—ten minutes later, the alarm rang a third time. This time, I pried my eyes open in annoyance. Through my hazy, half-awake eyesight, I read the time.

7:05

My previous state grogginess morphed from sleepy exasperation to adrenalized distress. I cursed (I seemed to be doing that a lot in the past twenty-four hours) and literally fell out of bed in my haste to get up.

You see, my school had two 'bells' in the morning. One rang at 7:10 as a warning for the students to start thinking about heading towards homeroom. It was quite misleading because the second one rang only five minutes later, and it signified that they were dead late if they weren't in homeroom yet by 7:15.

And it was 7:05 right then.

I had to bike a mile to school.

Hopefully tardiness doesn't lower your GPA too much. I grabbed a random set of clothes, barely even looking at them, and changed out of my pajamas. And presto, I was down the stairs and ready (well, somewhat presentable, at least) at 7:07 exactly.

"Breakfast?" My mother asked, taking in my flushed face and rumpled clothing with a silent but disapproving look.

"Sorry, no time!" I shouted over my shoulder and raced past my family, heading for the door to the garage. Along the way I remembered to snatch my bag, coat, and helmet.

Thank whoever's up there for the idea of getting my stuff together yesterday.

I opened the garage with a press of a button and pedaled away, with one hand fumbling to snap my helmet straps shut.

It was exactly six minutes later (hey, there's a bit of a hill!) when I arrived at the front of the school. I rode right up to the bike racks and wrenched the kickstand out. Without bothering to lock the bike up (usually, it blends in with the other locked bikes and nobody notices it) I sprinted into the school.

I burst into homeroom right when the second bell rang. Mr. Fern—my homeroom teacher, of course—frowned disapprovingly.

"You're late," he acknowledged.

Meekly, I ducked my head to avoid eye-contact that would give away my resentment. After all, I came right on the bell, didn't I? To make things worse, I heard a few of the exceptionally brainless members of the class snigger.

"You," Mr. Fern shifted his frown to someone behind me. I risked a quick glance up at him, and I noticed that his frown deepened, if possible. "You are late, as well."

I turned to see who my moody teacher was outright glowering at and almost hit the guy with my shoulder. I took a few surprised steps backwards and accidentally met his gaze.

There were two things I noticed immediately in the brief moment that we made eye contact.

One: blue.

That was a very obvious and very stupid observation, because he did have blue eyes, and we did just make eye contact.

However, at the same time, it was also a very remarkable point. Not because of the color, in particular, but because of the very fact I noticed it. I'm not a very observant person, not like Karin, so generally I wouldn't remember a small detail like someone's eye color.

Yet the very first thing that made an impression on me was the color of his eyes.

Two: recognition.

A thrill when we made eye-contact caused my heart to constrict.

And more than that, I felt a sort of familiarity. Like that person I've seen in the hallways but never actually met. Except…different. I didn't recognize him in any way, but there was a strange gut feeling that we've met before.

Flustered, I broke eye contact with the sort-of-stranger and looked for my seat. Only when I was safely past Mr. Fern and away from the stranger, I allowed myself to take a good look at him.

He had an odd combination of pale skin, blue eyes, and black hair. In normal cases, I think it would come off as geeky, and to top it that off, he was tall. Somehow, though, he managed to pull it off. Better than that, he looked almost regal.

"Excuse me, but my name is Charles Uncia. I am the new transfer student."

A few girlish gasps sounded around the class. Low murmuring started up and swelled in volume the minute Charles mentioned that he was the transfer student. A pair of blue eyes darted around the room and took it in with a hint of amusement.

It almost reminded me of a cat. Too proud and noble for the likes of common people—everyone seemed to be a mere toy in his perspective.

Mr. Fern looked at the class with a barely restrained annoyance, "A transfer student, and late on your first day. Detention, both of you."

"What!" I exploded out of my seat. "That's completely unfair—I wasn't even late!"

"I wasn't familiar with the school layout." The statement was almost said defensively, but not quite. There was no whining fluctuation; a cat doesn't beg.

Mr. Fern glanced at the new student with an unreasonable amount of displeasure, "You came after the second bell. Detention. Lunch period. Find me in this room."

I shot a panicked look across the room over to Karin, who returned it helplessly.

"Now for seating…Mr. Uncia, sit, oh, I don't know," Mr. Fern carelessly glanced around the classroom and pointed at the first empty desk he saw. "Over there."

My heart stuttered when he pointed towards me. It took a moment for me to realize that he was actually pointing behind me. There was an empty desk right behind me.

It took another moment for me to put the two and two together.

Charles Uncia, the new transfer student, would be sitting right behind me for the rest of the year.