Chapter 3!

I'm on a roll today.

Here Quasi and Mich will have their first conversation and then some unnecessary details about Mich's family that I didn't want to take out because I had nothing to substitute it with. Oh well. Hope you still like it :)

This is the start of something beautiful
This is the start of something new
You are the one who'd make me lose it all
You are the start of something new, ooh

You are the earth that I will stand upon
You are the words that I will sing
This is the start of something beautiful
You are the start of something new

'This'- Ed Sheeran

I studied the paper in front of me, biting my lip as I read the questions on the top half of the page. Miss Basso had decided that the first thing to do would be a get-to-know-you activity, just to break the ice between the new pairs. All of us had separated into pairs and were now quietly interviewing each other, and the soft murmuring was soothing as I tried to not to freak out. It wasn't being Quasimodo's partner that scared me. It was having to talk to someone I didn't know. As an introvert, meeting new people was one of the most difficult things I had to face. Striking up a conversation with another introvert would be even harder. I mean, I could barely keep up small talk with my friends. Fat lot of good sitting somewhere else was- I ended up next to him again anyway. Shrugging to myself, I took a deep breath and turned to Quasimodo, determined to try.

"OK, full name, already know that." I wrote 'Quasimodo Frollo' in the space. "And age. 16, right?" He nodded, and I wrote it down. "Ok, so, do you play a musical instrument?"

"Yes," he said, and I was struck by the hoarseness of his voice, like he was unused to speaking. From the few times I had seen him the term before, I could readily believe that. So far, I hadn't seen him speak to anyone. "I-I play guitar."

"Cool, me too!" For a moment, I was strangely excited that we had something in common. "But I'm not that great at it. What about you? Are you any good?"

He shifted, shrugging non-committedly. "I don't know."

"Ok then." I looked at the list, reading the next few questions to myself. "Favourite music genre?"

"Uh… rock?"

I wrote it down, even though he didn't sound very sure. "Favourite singer or band with this genre?"

He cleared his throat, staring at his desk, mumbling his answer, and I had to lean in to hear him. "Don't really know any."

"Really?" I tried to think of some famous rock bands, but could only come up with a few. "Do you know Guns'n'Roses?" He shook his head. "What about Queen?" Another shake. "KISS? The Beatles? Totally different music styles, I know, but they're all rock." He was silent, and I was beginning to think he's never heard any music at all. "I think Elvis was rock. To tell the truth, I'm not really into rock, although I like Styx. They're pretty awesome, actually. I don't suppose you've heard of them either?"

To my surprise, the name seemed to give him a jolt of recognition.

"Do you know them?"

He nodded.

Suddenly excited again, I turned to face him properly. "Finally! None of my friends have ever heard of them, and no-one knows what I'm talking about when I mention them. But how come you know them but none of the more famous ones?"

"My mother…" He trailed off, then cleared his throat and started again. "My mother… had some CDs… that she played for me. When I was younger."

"Your mum's got great taste, then."

"Had."

I cocked my head, confused. "What?"

"Had great taste." He looked up, meeting my eyes for the first time. "She's dead now."

"Oh." Once again, I found myself staring into his gorgeous greens eyes, and had to hurriedly pull myself back. "I-I'm sorry, I had no idea."

He looked away. "Didn't expect you to."

I bit my lip and quickly turned back to the questions, a little taken aback and not knowing what to make of it. Part of me was amazed that we were having an actual conversation, but another part was completely bewildered by the whole thing. For one thing, I so wasn't used to talking to boys. Or strangers, for that matter. And I had no idea how to comfort someone, or whether to do it at all. On top of that, I was partnered with the biggest outcast in the whole school, and I didn't know if I would get away with it for long. The awkwardness was coming from every quarter, and I think we were both feeling it. I would've stopped our interview there but for the fact that these questions and answers were supposed to be handed in, so we continued on, albeit a little quickly. By the time I had finished, the bell was ringing and he still hadn't interviewed me yet. So I grabbed his sheet, wrote in my answers and passed it back, then exited as swiftly as possible, trying not to think about the most awkward conversation in the whole world.

The rest of the day passed slowly, and I was grateful when it was over. Later that night, while I was doing homework in my room, Angie slouched in and flopped down on my bed.

Angelina was 13, the second oldest after me. She and I were completely different, and that meant that we usually got along a lot better than the others. She was olive-skinned, a lot more tanned than me, with honey-brown hair, small hazel eyes and full lips. She was a lot less developed than me when I was her age, which I teased her about sometimes, but on the plus side, she was a lot slimmer and about 100 time more athletic. She also had some symptoms of Aspergers, which made her act strangely sometimes, and all she seemed to care about was sports and violin. She was so unlike the rest of us that we sometimes joked that she was an alien from another planet. Never caring about our teasing, she often played up to these accusations, which made this annoying but lovable girl my second-favourite sister.

Now, though, I barely acknowledged her presence as she entered the room. "Ever heard of knocking?"

"To tired for that." She examined her nails, making me jealous of her perfect hands. They were long a slim and soft, whereas mine were stumpy and boyish, and my nails were horrible from a childhood of biting them. "Highschool is so hard."

"Welcome to my world." I chucked a ball of paper at her head, deciding to take a break from maths. "Don't you have homework?"

"Did it all at lunch."

"Lucky you. How was your day?"

She made a face. "Rubbish. Hey, have you seen that really ugly new guy?"

"Who, the redhead with the hunch?" I nodded, suddenly feeling guarded. "Yeah, he's in my music class. Actually, I'm sitting next to him."

"Really? Is he just as disgusting up close, or worse?"

I pursed my lips, trying not to go off at her for being so mean. "I don't know, I don't look that close."

"True," she said, nodding innocently. "I guess no-one could bear to get up close to him. Does he stink, too?"

"No, he doesn't stink, Angie." I gritted my teeth. "Why would you ask something like that?"

"Dunno, it was just a thought."

"Well, maybe you should keep your thoughts to yourself."

She rolled over, looking at me in surprise. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. You were just being a bit mean, that's all."

"But he is ugly."

"I know, but that doesn't mean you have to comment on it. He probably gets enough of that from everyone else."

"Fine, whatever." Angie chucked the paper back at me and sat up. "Oh, by the way, nanna wants your washing basket, cuz she's dong a load tomorrow."

"Ok, thanks." I turned back to my book, tuning her out. "God this maths is retarded. I swear I wont use any of this after highschool."

"I know," Angie agreed, getting up to leave. "I guess I'll leave you to it. See-ya."

"See-ya."

After she had left, I sat for a while, distracting myself by trying to balance a pencil on my nose and thinking about nothing at all. The sounds of my family echoed through the house, and I idly wondered why the little ones weren't in bed yet. I had 3 other sister besides Angie, all younger than me.

Del, short for Delenn, was next down from Angie, 11 years old and a complete airhead. Like me she had brown hair and freckles, but her eyes were grey and she was thin as a rake. A genius at music and maths, but everything else seemed so much harder to her. She reminded me of a fairy, weak and sensitive with her head in the clouds. Sometimes I wondered if she had learnt anything from living with us, since we had been trying to toughen her up for years.

Rose was next, 7 years old and very clingy. She had Del's hair and eyes, but her looks were her own, and she was cleverer than she sometimes let on. I shared my bedroom with her, and overall she was a nice, quiet room-mate.

Kate was the youngest, 4 years old and the most adorable little girl I'd ever seen. Although she was smaller than a lot of kids her age, she was by no means backward, being extremely articulate and able to recognise colour, numbers and most letters by sight at age 3. Her grown-up way of talking often had us in stitches, but we had to be careful about what we said around her, since she tended to pick up whatever she heard and parrot it back in the most inappropriate situations. She had my brown hair and eyes but promised to be a lot prettier than me, which I was completely fine with since she was my favourite sister.

So you see, my house really was packed to the rafters, housing 5 girls, my parents and my grandma in 4 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms in a house that never seemed to be clean. My parents were quite used to double than number of girls in the holidays, when the 3 oldest had our friends over, and during those times everything turned into a free-for-all.

My life may not have been typical, but it was mine, and I loved it.

I was interrupted from my mental wanderings by Rose, who came in to get dressed for bed.

"Mum and dad are watching Star Trek," she announced, throwing her arms around me for a goodnight hug.

I hugged and kissed her and grabbed my book. "Which one?"

"Next Gerneration."

I leaped up with a hurried 'goodnight' and headed for the lounge room, hoping they would let me do my homework in front of the telly.

This was my life, and I was happy.

Amid the typing of keyboards and the soft murmurings of idle chatter, I tried to balance my laptop on my lap as I searched through the many books on my desk. Our 3rd music project was an essay about a particular band and it's musical style, and we have been allowed to choose our favourites. Now, everyone was researching and collecting information- except me. Having found a few helpful websites and already knowing enough about my singer to write the essay, I was now looking to update my stories, hence the pawing through notebooks. I had 5 of them, full of study notes and other things, with bits of chapters and stories scattered throughout, so it was a real challenge to find my updates.

Next to me, Quasimodo was typing madly. Our small chat seemed to have opened the floodgates to his research, and it gave my a strange kind of satisfaction to see him enjoying it. Since that last time, even though we sat next to each other in music and his locker was right next to mine, we hadn't spoken another word to each other. But now i felt the urge to make conversation. I wouldn't have been ashamed to admit that i was deadly curious about him, but i also felt sort of protective towards him. Although I had promised myself not to interfere with outcast- for my own protection, i might add- the fact was i wanted to be his friend. And since Esme had been showing an interest in him, no major bullying had been going on beside the usual teasing and a few silly pranks. I had nothing to fear.

I don't mind saying right now that my reasonings were almost purely selfish.

But right now, my natural shyness was getting in the way again. Last time communication had been compulsory to complete the assignment. Now, I had no idea how to start. As I hurriedly leafed through my notebooks, I tried to come up with a conversation starter. I could ask him if he's going to the dance... no, he might think I'm fishing for an invite. Ask about his mum? No, that might seem impolite. How the hell do you talk to a guy who doesn't talk himself? A notebook slid off the pile and fell on the floor, disturbing the quiet, and Miss Basso looked up from marking assignments to eyeball me. I meekly picked it up and retreated behind my laptop. She may have been my favorite teacher, but that didn't mean she didn't terrify me.

I opened the book and it seemed to magically fall open on the page I wanted- a page that was now smeared with jammy handprints and wobbly stick-figures. Rose's handiwork. I sighed and propped it up on the desk, then started copying the words into my document, squinting sometimes to be able to read it. And then I realized how to start the conversation.

"So, um, Quasimodo?"

He stopped typing, but didn't look over.

"Do you have brothers or sisters?" I continued typing, waiting for his answer.

For a moment I thought he hadn't heard, but at length he spoke. "No."

"Just you and your dad, then?"

"Yes."

"Ok." Already feeling awkward enough, I didn't say anything else for a little while. I felt like such a dork, but I wasn't going to completely give up just yet. "I have 4 sisters."

He cleared his throat. "Th-that's a lot."

"Yeah." I leaned closer to the book, trying to make something out. "So, uh, do you have a favourite movie?"

"I-I don't watch T-TV."

I raised my eyebrows. "Really? Lots of time to practice guitar, then?"

"Yes."

"Cool." I was getting the knack of this. "Where were you before you came here?"

"Ipswich."

"Really? I lived there for about 10 years. What did you think of it?"

He shrugged.

"People say it's a rough place, but I liked living there. Might be just me, though." I paused, thinking of the next question. "Um... So why did you move here?"

To my surprise, Quasimodo tensed up, refusing to answer, and a moment later was furiously banging on his keyboard again. I looked at him, then shrugged and went back to my own computer. "Sorry, bad question."

We went on typing for the next few minutes. Finishing my chapter, I saved it and pulled my earphones out of my bag, then pulled up my music folder. While I plugged in the devices and tried to decide on Taylor Swift or Dennis Deyoung, Quasimodo finished typing and sat there staring at the screen, and I waited for him to speak.

"I-I was bullied."

I looked at him, this revelation not surprising at all. "Oh?"

He looked down at his lap, thick fingers fidgeting nervously. "Th-they s-said horrible things, a-and they hurt me. The t-teachers, t-too. So my f-father decided to m-move us away."

I bit my lip, unsure of how to react. "I'm sorry. Was... was it Bundamba?"

"Yes."

I nodded. "My friend goes there, and she says it's a pretty bad school. I can understand why you were-"

He looked at me, understanding at once what I was about to say and accepting it with a defeated air. It put me off-guard, and I hurriedly tried to correct myself.

"Not that... I mean, I wasn't saying... You're not... Ah, damn." I buried my head in my hands, mortified.

"D-don't be embarrassed." He looked at his hands again. "I-I am ugly. I kn-know it. I-I've kn-known it s-since I w-was little. Every s-school I go t-to, I-I g-get bullied f-for it." He paused, frowning slightly. "Except here. I n-not t-treated nearly as b-bad here."

"To be honest, it surprises me too." Having recovered from my embarrassment, I decided to address the subject I had been wondering about. "Take Esme for example. She's being really nice to you, but she's not usually like that. She's been a bully for as long as I can remember. Every year she picks someone, usually a new guy, to torment and humiliate. It seems so strange to see her being kind to anyone, especially someone-" I stopped and looked down, embarrassed again, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

"S-someone like me? I-it's ok, you can say it."

Not seeing any other way to word it, I reluctantly agreed with him. "Yes, I was going to say that. I don't mean to be rude, but it's just that I'm not used to seeing Esme like this."

"She is nice." Quasimodo's eyes got a far-away look in them, and I began to realize how much this girl was having an effect on him. "Sh-she's kind, and p-pretty, and p-probably the nicest p-person I've ever met."

I had nothing to say to that. I hadn't recently seen enough of Esme to make a determination of character, but everyone knew she was beautiful. Tanned skin, long thick black hair, large dark eyes that rivaled mine, a gorgeous size 6 figure and a chest that looked fake- there weren't many ways to look good in our uniforms, but she managed it easily. It was probably safe to say that she was the envy of every girl in the school, including the entire squad of anorexic blondes who called themselves cheerleaders.

"I suppose," I said finally.

He looked at me, surprised. "I d-didn't think about it before, b-but you're t-talking to me. Why?"

I shrugged. "I guess... I want to be your friend."

"Why?"

"Because you're different." I met his gaze, smiling a little. "And I've never been afraid of different."

He nodded slightly and looked away. "M-maybe i've finally..."

"Found a place you can belong?" I put in my earphones and selected a track. Music blared into my ears. "I hope so."

We were silent for the rest of the lesson, but I felt that I had found, if not a friend, then at least an acquaintance in him.

But his comment about her being the nicest person he had ever met stuck with me. As the bell rang and we packed up our things, I thought it over. The more smitten Quasimodo seemed to get, and the better he was treated, the more I wondered about Esme's real motives. And I desperately hoped that whatever she was planning wasn't going to hurt him too much.

I also, though I would never had admitted it, felt a teensy bit of jealousy.

But that was a thought that I immediately buried, not wanting to confront any feelings for anyone as yet. Making friends with an outcast was always a sure way to get picked on yourself, and although I did want to be his friend I wasn't prepared to do anything other than talk. I wasn't ready to give up my invisibility just yet.

I know Mich seems kinda selfish, but eventually she'll change. Not yet, though.

Tell me what you think?