Gray Fullbuster. That was my name for eleven years, until the day my parents died in the tragedy known as Hurricane Deliora. It was one of the most devastating events to ever strike Fiore, New Hampshire, claiming over a thousand lives. I can still picture myself sitting in the backseat of our car when a massive wave crashed over us. The next thing I remember is waking up in a hospital bed, the grim reality settling in as I was told that both my parents were gone.

The only relative I had left was my mother's brother, Nathaniel Grisham. Her family had never approved of her marrying my father, but Nathaniel despised him. So much so that when he took me in, he insisted I change my name to Glen Grisham. At first, I resented it, but what choice did I have? My uncle was all I had left.

Nathaniel was a strikingly handsome man, just as my mother had been beautiful. In fact, everyone on her side of the family was stunning. And of course, I was beautiful too—cool, popular, and rich. My friends at school had even elected me their prince. Well, not a real prince, but the prince of the spring dance. I still remember the day we filled out the ballots for the spring court; my friend Lyon and I were both running for the same position.

Lyon was a star athlete, the quarterback on the football team, and undeniably good-looking, but his family was far from special.

"You've got that stupid grin on your face again," Lyon said, shaking his head.

"What stupid grin?" I replied, feigning innocence.

"You know the one. You look like you've already won, giving the paparazzi a chance to snap your picture."

"And that's a bad thing?" I grinned wider.

"You shouldn't be allowed to live."

"Why, thank you." I considered voting for Lyon just to be nice, but I was certain he'd vote for himself.

I folded my ballot over, hiding my choice from Lyon.

Then a voice rang out from the back of the room.

"This is disgusting!"

We all turned to see one of those creepy goth girls, Kagura.

"There's something fundamentally wrong with this world," she declared, standing as if making a speech. "It's the twenty-first century, and this kind of elitist travesty is still being perpetuated."

"It's just a ninth-grade dance ballot," Lyon interjected. "To choose the royalty."

"Exactly," Kagura shot back. "Who are these people? Why should they be treated as royalty? Based on what? The people on this ballot were chosen for one reason only—physical beauty."

"Sounds like a good reason to me," I said to Lyon, not bothering to keep my voice down. "It's a democratic process, lady. This is who everyone chooses."

Kagura stepped closer, her eyes fierce. "They're sheep, following the herd. They vote for the so-called popular people because it's easy. Surface beauty is always easy to recognize. But if someone is braver, stronger, smarter—that's harder to see."

Her words ignited a fire within me. "If someone's so smart, they'd figure out how to look better. You could lose weight, get plastic surgery, even get your face scraped." I emphasized the "you," making it clear I was talking about her. "People shouldn't have to look at ugly people."

"Glen, I think that's going too far," Lyon whispered urgently.

"Is that what you think?" Kagura raised a dark eyebrow. "That we should all transform ourselves to fit your standards?"

"Yeah," I replied defiantly. "That's exactly what I think. That's what I know."

"Then it's a good thing people only look at you with their eyes, because if they looked with their hearts, they'd see you're by no means a prince. You're a beast."

"Beast?" The room fell silent, her accusation hanging in the air like a thick fog. Heat rushed to my cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and anger simmering just beneath the surface. How dare she call me a beast? I was the prince, the one everyone admired and wanted to be around. Didn't she see the popularity, the accolades, the status?

Lyon tried to diffuse the tension. "Come on, guys, let's just focus on the dance. It's supposed to be fun."

Kagura shot me one last glare before walking away.

"Man, that girl gives me the creeps," Lyon said, shaking his head.

"Not me. I'm not afraid of her. But I'm definitely going to get back at her for that. Don't know how, but I will."

"Well, whatever you do, don't drag me into it. I've got enough problems already."

"What do you mean?"

"Coach is thinking about cutting me from the team because I'm losing muscle."

"Don't panic. You have the whole summer to bulk back up."

"Or I could take a shortcut."

"What kind of shortcut?"

"Well, you know my friend Gajeel, right?"

"The junkie?"

"No, his old man is the junkie; he's just the transporter. Anyway, he's recently gotten his hands on some steroids he's going to sell up in Clovertown. I'm thinking of asking him for a few capsules."

"Lyon, as much as I believe in maintaining a desirable appearance, even I know that taking steroids is something only a dumbass would do. The muscles you get from those aren't even real. It's all pressure and hormones."

Lyon shrugged, defiance flickering in his eyes. "Yeah, but it's a quick fix. I can't risk losing my spot on the team. Plus, everyone else is doing it. You know how high school is; it's all about the image."

"But there are other ways to keep up your image. Come on, man, steroids will make you do some crazy shit. I once read about a guy on roids who raped and strangled a girl. He got life in prison. You don't want that to happen to you, do ya?"

"Of course not," Lyon said. "But that guy obviously had no willpower. I wouldn't become a crazy addict like that."

"I bet that's what he said too. Listen, Lyon, steroids are not for you. You don't want them, you don't need them, and you don't get them."

It was strange; this was the first time in years I had shown real concern for anyone or opposed doing something to enhance physical appearance. If Lyon had told this to my uncle, he would have said, "Good choice. Better to be a muscular Adonis than a scrawny nobody."

But I guess I had some standards.

"Why do you even hang out with that punk? You don't even like Gajeel." I said.

"True," he admitted. "But his sister is really hot—"

Suddenly, he paused, looking nervous. Uh-oh, Lyon had a crush, and he was worried I might steal her from him. How cute. But he had nothing to worry about; I had seen Gajeel's sister—or, to be technical, his foster sister—and I wouldn't touch Sue Namekawa with a ten-foot pole. Yeah, she was attractive, but she was also a total skank. Rumor had it she was too dim-witted to get into public school, so she dropped out and turned to prostitution.

"Relax, pal. If you want her, she's all yours," I said.

"Really? That's not how you felt about my last crush."

"Oh, come on. You're not still mad about Jenny, are you? I told you my uncle made me go out with her because she was in Vogue magazine, and to be honest, that's the only thing she's got going for her."

"Then why are you still dating her?"

"As I said, my uncle makes me."

It was true. Jenny Realight, also known as Miss Fiore, was your typical toned, fake-blond, hot-bodied pageant winner for four years running. Naturally, my uncle insisted I date her once she transferred to our school. Lyon liked her first, and at first, I was going to let him have her, but my uncle always said, "Grishams are not like the rest; they take only the best."

That was ingrained in my mind from the day I met him, and it wasn't just Jenny he had made me associate with. He had outright demanded that I dump my friend Natsu from elementary school and start hanging out with the athletes. He said nerds and geeks, which Natsu was, would only hold me back. He was right. Whenever I was around Natsu, people laughed and teased me, so I had to ditch him.

Nothing personal—just survival of the fittest. It was the law of society, not that different from jungle law. That's what my uncle said.

Of course, I would later find out that this was just one of the many things my uncle was wrong about.