Alibin Falk was not stupid. He knew his place in the food chain, and made sure he was there. Even so, he felt that he did not get what he deserved out of life.

He had good grades and a lean, fit body. Still he wasn't popular, nor liked, not even tolerated. He wasn't supposed to attend Lobourg. It was sheer dumb luck that his hockey coach took pity on him, and helped him get the sports scholarship.

Halloween was in a week, and still he wasn't sure how he had survived more than two years in high school in the same class as that b***h who got the scholarship. Was he bitter? You bet. Did that stop him from accepting his fate and be friend with the c**t anyway? Hell no.

She was the only one even talking to him now. To the rest of the class he was persona non grata. And even she didn't have the guts to openly support him. If she had to choose she chose anyone but him. He was marked, branded with burning letters on the forehead: jock.

In junior high he was someone. He was rich. (Well, his parents were) He was smart. No, he was the richest, the smartest, the strongest and the most popular kid in class. Too cool for school. But here, in this g*****n bratty high school every kid had a nicer house and better grades than him. And if they didn't, they did not, at least, play sports. How could he know that you were supposed to exercise in silence? Everyone was fit, so that's what he supposed they did, at least. But every time he started talking about a game or what happened at practice, people behaved like he was thin air.

Did he stand going to another party this weekend? Getting ignored, and talked behind his back? Not really, especially since he had to buy a costume. Last year he had a couple's costume, but this year he knew he would stand out. Whether he has a costume or not didn't matter. A single guy, standing alone at the bar. He would be laughed at. He knew that he would laugh at himself if he wasn't in his own shoes. He was pitiable. A mediocre nobody, white as Swedish half fat milk.

He did not get further in his negative spiral, because someone interrupted him.

"Albine Fallck?" a voice asked, a voice with a distinguished American accent.

"It's me " he answered while clicking his locker shut. 75-80-95. "I would prefer the pronunciation Albeen Fulk, though. " He did not have everything he needed, but it was more embarrassing to admit that he had spaced out for a minute than to pretend that he was just double checking before being on his way. "What do you want from me?" He turned around, not recognizing it, sure it must be one of the underclassmen.

"I heard that you needed someone to go with, to the party" The voice belonged to a platinum blond girl. She wore beige ugg's, jeggings, a white, oversized, knitted sweater and a beany with a large ball of fur on top. "Our last member bailed out last minute, and you are about his size." Seriously, was she for real? Albin wasn't sure. There was something about her that made her seem like a senior, but he though he knew everyone in his class.

He certainly welcomed the invite. But being the spare for a basic b***h? Had he really sunken that low? If she was dressed for winter now she should just wait for December. He still didn't need much time doing the right thing. He told her decidedly:

"So, what's my part?" Albin Falk knew his place in the food chain. That did not mean that he had to be content with it, though.