Holy shit. Nothing else came to my mind besides those two words. Quite honestly, I thought they were very appropriate for the situation. I quietly got into my bed that was on the opposite wall as Nudge's and picked up my phone that was charging on the carpeted floor. Leaning over the top of the bed, my thumbs dashed across the keyboard for a few seconds. I pressed the send button and waited in the same uncomfortable position for a response. Hopefully, Arjoo had left her phone on. She texted back with a simple "It's three AM." I smiled before typing in the next sentence.

"I think I'm in love." I decided to spell everything out correctly to seem more serious. Despite her nonchalant attitude, I knew Arjoo had been worried about me and had responded quickly to my first text, but the next response seemed to take decades. My fingers tapped impatiently against my scratched up phone. Finally, the screen lit up and I pouted at the words on it:

"Okay. Goodnit." She hadn't even spelled it correctly.

"No! Not goodnight! I'm serious!" I typed in furtively. I knew that I had to tell Arjoo. Hiding my feelings never resulted in anything good; Passing out at school was evidence of that. I hated talking about my feelings; it made me feel like an asylum patient. With Arjoo, it was different. I read the text that lighted up my phone.

"Fine. Who?" I scooted into a normal position on my mattress, noticing how my purple comforter no longer smelled like home. I rested my head on the pillow. It was soft but not nearly as comfortable as Iggy's chest. I had thought that he would have been bony and pointy but I was surprised to find that I had fit so perfectly pressed against him. His eyes made me feel like I was drowning. It was odd how he seemed to actually see me. The light pupils were focused and the pale blue around them only intensified the sightless gaze. I had been tempted to just clutch onto him forever. My eyes closed, remembering how warm he felt against me, how his breathing quickened when I tried to pull him closer.

"His name is Iggy." She would probably think I was lying. Nobody's name was Iggy. My eyes widened a bit at her text.

"Oh yeah, Iggy Griffith. I have Spanish with him. He's blind, right?" Of course. Arjoo knew the guy I was in love with and had never told me about him. What kind of best friend did I have?

"Yes, he is. And now I live with him." I knew I had intrigued her because her next text came quickly.

"Lucky. He's pretty hot." I chuckled quietly. Yes, Iggy was hot … very hot … actually, he was pretty damn sexy. But he was much more to me than just perfectly tousled strawberry blonde hair, hypnotizing pale eyes, pointed features and a lanky frame. Iggy was something much more. I didn't know him, yet I could feel his compassion, his intelligence, his humor, his sad past. I didn't know Iggy Griffith, but I did know that I was hopelessly in love with him.

I glanced at the small clock on my phone. I hadn't slept and my aching eyes yearned for rest. It was something I couldn't grant them. I slipped out from under my sheets to sit on the edge of the bed. It felt like someone had unaligned my spine. Slowly, I arched my back and winced when a horrible crack rang around the room. Very gross. Angel shifted a bit in her bed but neither girl woke up. I stepped quietly to a large cardboard box I had labeled "CLOTHES" and knelt down to search in it. After a few minutes, I yanked out a long striped wife beater and a pair of dark jeans. From the box beside it, I grabbed black suspenders and worn-out Converse.

Seeing that the bathroom door was open, I slipped inside to get ready for school. The fairly large area with a wide mirror and two sinks was empty, but the door connecting the vanities to the toilet and shower was closed. Immediately, I heard someone behind the second door. I pressed my ear to the door to confirm what I had heard. Yup. Someone was puking. I looked at the white wood. I wanted to knock on it, to help or even just comfort who ever was in there. At the same time, I didn't. I still felt so much like an intruder in this family. I shook my head, making up my mind. My knuckles rapped upon the hard surface a few times. A final gag came from the room before there was a flush and the door opened wide.

Max stood in front of me, streaked hair a mess and her eyes watery. "Are you okay?" I said, feeling really awkward. I wondered fleetingly if I ever wouldn't feel awkward here. She forced a smile.

"Of course." She was a pretty good liar, but I couldn't help but continue.

"I… um… heard you –"

"No, I'm fine," she cut me off quickly. Before I could say anything else, she practically ran back into the room next to Iggy and Gazzy's that she shared with Fang. I was left standing in the open doorway of the bathroom. I wasn't exactly sure what to do. After realizing that there wasn't much that I could do, I stepped into the fairly small room to change into my clothes.

When I finally finished struggling with the suspenders, I stepped into the vanity room. Nudge had slipped in when I was changing, and looked delighted to see me awake. She was probably excited to have someone to talk to, because she didn't stop until I was completely finished with my hair. (She would cough in between some sentences when I would use my hairspray.) "Oh my god! You're hair is so cool!" she exclaimed. I smiled at her genuine compliment. My taste in fashion was not something everyone was a fan of. I was more into the eccentric accessories, dark clothes, big hair side of the spectrum, while the majority of modern teenagers were into any overpriced item you could buy at Aéropostale or Abercrombie. Nudge was wearing high-waisted shorts and a fedora. Hipster! I laughed inwardly. My brother, Caravel and I had always hated hipsters. But as I looked Nudge up and down, she seemed to be the only hipster I had seen that didn't look like an idiot. In fact, she looked really good; especially for a thirteen-year-old. She was very beautiful as she looked like a small replica of her mother.

I looked at myself in the mirror. I couldn't help but notice how different I looked without all the eyeliner; it wasn't a good different. Quickly, I retrieved the black makeup to create the mask I comfortably hid behind. I adjusted the thick rubber wristbands on my arms before walking into the family room. Instantly, I spotted Fang and Iggy side by side on the couch. They were whispering quiet words to one another. I couldn't hear the conversation and their mouths were moving to fast for me to understand them. As I took the most silent step of my life towards them, hoping to get a piece of what they were talking about, Iggy's mouth snapped shut. He I stayed silent for a moment before whispering saying something to Fang. The dark-haired boy turned his head toward me then whispered something. This time I could read the word clearly on his lips. Melanie. They were talking about me?

"Up and away," I heard Max announce from the kitchen as she handed Angel and Gazzy their lunches in brown bags. Quickly the flock, as Nudge told me they called themselves, grabbed their backpacks and filed out of the apartment. I practically ran back into my room and picked up my bag and oboe case. Of course, I was the last one out. I stepped out of the apartment and Max locked the door behind me. "Oh, Melanie." I looked up at Max as we boarded the elevator. Taking a good look at her face, I realized just how beautiful she actually was. She wasn't completely stunning, like Nudge, but warm brown eyes, blonde-streaked hair, a lanky frame and loving smile made Max very pretty. "You probably have band sixth period, right?" I nodded. It was very well known that all of the "band geeks" took their elective at the end of the day. "Well, Iggy's sixth period class is right around there; he can walk with you to where we usually meet up." My heart ached a bit as she said his name. I smiled, my breath still in my throat from the mention of Iggy. She returned the gesture, flashing straight teeth and took a large stride to hold Fang's hand. They were very cute together. I couldn't help but wonder if someday Iggy and I could be like that. I shook my head to clear the thought and followed the flock to Aviva High School.

After dropping Angel, Gazzy, and Nudge off at their school, I felt very awkward. Nudge had been my savior in this new environment. Her ceaseless talking distracted me from how out of place I was. But now, the only sounds were the city around us and our shoes against the pavement. Fortunately, Aviva wasn't too far from the apartment and in twenty minutes, we were at the high school. I smiled a goodbye as I parted from the three and quickly made my way to my first class. I willed my short legs to go faster without looking like an idiot running down the halls. All I wanted was to lose myself to the pointless schoolwork. I didn't want to think about my family or my new home or Iggy. I just wanted to think about the proper placement of verbs in French or the campaigns of former presidents or the sweet, collective sound of the symphonic band. But I couldn't have it. Pale blue eyes and a tall lanky frame kept blotting out everything. All I could do was hope that the painful six hours would end as quickly as possible.

The rest of the day dragged on until the final bell rang. I exhaled loudly and slumped in my plastic chair. The warm metal keys on my oboe felt comforting against my fingers. Every professional I had met made sure to tell me how perfect I was for the beautiful instrument: the strength and length of my fingers, the shape of my lips, even the involuntary control in my breathing. I had been made to play. It had taken me three years to discover my love for oboe. I had learned to play saxophone in the fifth grade, and after hearing oboe for the first time at a community band performance, I fell in love. The elegant, hollow tone had wrapped around me, offering acceptance and affection.

Unconsciously, I nibbled on the end of my reed. I hadn't made any in quite some time, but as my lips touched the thin wood observationally, I knew I had to make a few soon. Reed making had never been my favorite activity. The process was so incredibly tedious and took so long. I mentally went over the things I would need, not sure if I had enough cane. I didn't hear the footsteps and quiet conversation until the two tall figures were beside me. "Why does it always take you so long to finish up?" I looked up at Arjoo, impatience was etched in her voice, but an amused smile was playing on her lips.

"Sorry, I lost track of time," I replied in an apologetic voice to who she was walking with. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly.

"It's fine." Oh God; he was so hot.

I hadn't taken a good look at Iggy that morning, but as he stood directly in front of me, my eyes traveled up and down his thin frame. He had a light sweatshirt on that clung to his body in the most perfect way. His dark jeans followed in the same pattern. I looked down and practically sighed in relief to see his black Converse. I hated boys who wore Vans.

Quickly, I disassembled my oboe and placed the pieces gently into its case. I looked up at Arjoo as I put my backpack on and stood. The smile she wore mocked me. I took the first few steps towards the door, noticing how the other two followed suit. I looked up at Arjoo pleadingly. After receiving a text from Max that had told me that I had to walk home alone with Iggy because she and Fang planned to stock up on food. I didn't want to be surrounded by his breathing, his scent, and his eyes every time I got a glance at them. No, that's a lie. I most certainly did want all of those things. But I knew it would just drive me further to the point of insanity. Arjoo grinned, shaking her head triumphantly. The corners of my mouth turned down. What kind of best friend did I have?

The usual loudness of Los Angeles had seemed to come to a halt as I walked quietly beside Iggy. His calm breathing, and the wonderful minty scent that accompanied it, washed over me as a light breeze came across us. I shivered, briefly closing my eyes. "How long have you been playing oboe?" the sudden question made me snap my eyes open and turned to him. I processed his words for a second, his breathing still muddling my mind.

"I started in the eighth grade. So just about thee years." I appreciated his attempt of breaking the tension, but we both knew it just made the situation much more awkward. He nodded.

"When I was younger, before I was put in foster care," I looked up at him. He was relaying to me details of his past. He trusted me enough to tell me something that lay under his skin. "I used to listen to a lot of classical music. I always thought that oboe was so unique; So beautiful." His jaw was continually clenching and unclenching.

At this point, I couldn't take my eyes off of him. The sun was playing with the colors in his hair and what the light was doing to his eyes was breath taking. I wanted to say something. I wanted him to tell me more about his past. I wanted to know anything about him, but the butterflies in my stomach made it almost impossible to speak. We were both silent for quite some time. "Have you always lived in LA?" I didn't know him at all; was I pushing past his walls? Should I have just stayed quiet the entire walk home. He turned his head to look at me.

"No. I lived in San Francisco until I was six." We had stopped at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to flash green.

"With your parents?" I asked quietly. His hand went up to run through his tousled hair. He probably wasn't going to answer; I had probably just made things very awkward between us.

"No." my eyes widened in shock. He was really going to tell me about his past. "A man found me in an alley when I was a baby, and he raised."

We had crossed the street and I could see the apartment building was very close. He didn't stop talking. He went on to tell me more about this man who had raised him. He kept on talking. He told me about the odd places where they would sleep in San Francisco. We had gotten to the apartment door and he was fishing in his pocket for the key. He kept on talking. He opened the door, half finished with telling me about a time he had stolen money from another homeless man, laughing at the memory.

Then he stopped talking, realizing that he was giving up his life story to a stranger. "I'm just 'gonna . . ." he trailed off he turned to quickly walk towards his room. But I didn't want him to stop talking.

"Wait," I called. He spun around slowly, his hand on the doorknob. "I want to know more." I said this quietly, my general shyness flooding back into me. Immediately, I regretted saying it. He was going to reject me and I would just hide under my covers like a three-year-old.

He smiled and I almost died at the mere sight. He nodded and pulled on the door, leaving it open invitingly. I froze momentarily until my legs started working again and I stepped Iggy Griffith's bedroom.

AN: Woot! I don't even want to think about how long this took me to write. :( I'm so sorry. But to make it up to you, in the next chapter . . . THE PLOT THICKENS! X) Oh yes. Alrighty, PLEAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSEEEE review. PLEASE. Or you just may have trouble sleeping tonight . . .

LOVE,

Melanie