Chapter One: Day One; Claire "You're going to be late for school!

" Claire Porter groaned and rolled over, tugging her pillow so that it was positioned directly over her face. "Claire!" The teenage girl in question brushed a stray blond curl out of her face and tried desperately to ignore her mother's incessant yells. Unfortunately, Marie Porter wasn't taking no for an answer. Claire felt dread settle deep within her as she heard the determined sound of her mother's footsteps thud on the stairs. "Claire, you have to get up, or you'll miss the bus." Marie poked her head through her daughter's door and glared at the stiff figure of a girl trying too hard to feign sleep and failing. Claire stiffened, and gave up pretending to be asleep. "Um, since when do I catch the bus?" She questioned her mother. Marie sighed and ran a hand through her graying blond hair. Her brown eyes, almost identical to her daughter's, glinted with an angry light. The temperature seemed to drop a thousand or so degrees, and Claire was grateful that she was still wrapped up in a duna. "Since my car got trashed last night," her mother said. Claire blinked her brown eyes a couple of times in quick succession. "What?" Surely she'd heard her mother wrong. Willow Grove wasn't the type of town that crime happened in...Especially not car crime. "Get dressed, get down stairs, get ready to catch the bus, and you'll see what I mean," Marie snapped out her orders - still clearly annoyed about the car - turned on her heels, and stalked back downstairs. With a sigh, Claire lay back down on her bed and closed her eyes for a second. Resigning herself to the fate of riding the bus into school, she searched deep, deep within her soul for the courage to get her lazy butt off of her bed. Failing to find any such courage, she reminded herself of her mother's most likely reaction to her playing hooky for a day - or until the car was fixed. This thought - involving a lot of yelling and steam coming out of her mother's ears gave Claire Porter the necessary motivation to get up and get ready for school. First mistake of the day. * After making it downstairs in record time, wearing a wrinkled pair of blue jeans and a grey scoop necked tee that had the words ALL ABOUT ALLITERATION written across the front, Claire grabbed an apple and a breath mint from the kitchen counter, tied her wild mane of dirty blond curl back in a messy ponytail, swung her bag over her shoulder, and made her way outside via the front door, locking it behind her. She turned, to walk down the driveway and wait for the bus at the end of her street. And paused. "Oh, God," she said. Her mother was right. The car was trashed. A complete, total and

utter wreck. Looks like I'll be catching the bus for a while, she thought grimly. She walked slowly towards the car and assessed what, exactly, was wrong with it. Scratches covered the sides like someone had repeatedly dug their keys into the beautiful, glossy black paint job. The roof was bent in, like a person who weighed an extreme amount had used it as a trampoline. The glass of the windows had fine lines running through them, like spider's webs. Some pieces of glass had fallen out. The most horrible part, though, was the hood of the car. It was twisted, warped and burnt. It seemed like the claws of a great creature had torn through the metal and under it, shredding not only the hood, but the batteries and everything that lay underneath it. This car certainly wasn't going anywhere in a hurry. As Claire walked past the corpse of her mother's beloved car, she pushed the spooky claw-like marks from her mind, and focused on the fact that if she didn't hurry, she'd miss the bus, and her mother, cruel person that she was, would make her walk to school, even though it was a forty minute drive. Worrying about making it to school on time was important. Strange marks on the hood of her mother's car weren't. Second mistake of the day. * Claire made it to the bus stop just in time. As she climbed into the huge vehicle, she flashed her student I.D. at the driver. He nodded at her in a way that said, find a seat and sit down. She hurried to obey. Her gaze swept across the interior of the bus, and she noted every free seat. There was one next to a bubbly looking brunette, two behind a group of loud, obnoxious boys - Claire was pretty sure she knew why no-one was sitting there - one next to a girl who's music Claire could hear from the front of the bus, even though the girl was wearing head phones, and an aisle seat next to a dark haired boy who was reading a book. She narrowed it down to either the dark haired boy or the bubbly brunette. The girl waved a hand at her in a pick me! Pick me! gesture. Claire hurried to sit down next to the girl. "I'm Claire," she introduced herself, and held out her hand. "Keira," the girl replied, shaking the offered hand. Claire lapsed into silence which Keira was only too happy to fill. She only hoped that Keira's mindless babbling didn't involve any questioning, because she wasn't paying attention. She was noticing the bus had stopped already, not even five minutes away from her street, and was mentally calculating how often the stops would be, and how long that would make the drive to school. "How long does this drive take?" Claire asked, very aware of the fact that her mother had gotten her up an hour early. "Anywhere from fifty minutes to an hour, depending on road conditions and how

many people are actually catching the bus - how many stops he has to make, you know?" Keira looked miffed at the interruption. "Ah. Okay," Claire said "Carry on." Keira didn't need another invitation. She launched straight back into whatever monologue she'd been reciting before. An hour! Claire commiserated. An entire hour stuck here with The Queen of Babble? She decided the next day; she'd sit with the quiet, dark haired boy. She'd rather take her chances with him then put up with any more Keira-babble than necessary. The bus pulled to another slow stop. Claire Porter groaned and flung her head back against the cracked faux leather of the seat. This was going to be a long morning. * There was only one word Claire could use to describe what she felt when she all but flew off the bus. Relief. Or maybe thank-God-it's-over. Even though that's a sentence, not a word. She hadn't realized it, but that bus had smelt funky. Claire loved fresh air so much at that moment, she seriously considered marrying it. "Hey, Claire Bear!" Claire whirled around and grinned. First good thing to happen all morning. Lauren Pierre was standing at the front of the bus park, smiling at her through a large amount of red hair. "Get your hair out of your face," Claire ordered sternly. Lauren rolled her eyes. "Oui, maman," she said sarcastically, but she brushed the vibrantly colored strands of her hair behind her ears anywhere. Claire applauded her. "Congratulations, you get a gold star." she said. Lauren stuck her tongue out at her. "Put that thing back in your mouth." She continued to stick her tongue out. "Well, be aware that you brought this upon yourself," Claire informed her friend, whose green eyes were sparkling mischievously. "I have given you fair warning." Then, without warning, Claire struck. She poked Lauren's tongue, hard. "Ouch!" Lauren cried, but because her tongue was still hanging out, it came out muffled, and she somehow managed to bite it hard enough to draw blood. Claire struggled valiantly to suppress laughter. "Ouch, ouch, ouch, not funny, Claire," Lauren whimpered. "Hurts." Blood was still seeping out of the cut. It had begun to overflow from her mouth and drip down her chin. The bell rang. "We've got to get to homeroom," Lauren said. From the sounds of her voice, her tongue had swollen up. "Uh, yeah, no," Claire said. "I'm taking you to the sick bay."

"Not that bad," Lauren said, but to Claire, it sounded like she was speaking Swahili, or something. "Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that." "But we'll miss first hour," Lauren protested as her friend took her hand and led her down the hall to the nurse's office. "So? I hate English." "You love English, you just hate Mrs. Steel," Lauren countered. "Who doesn't?" "Me." "Teacher's pet!" "Shut up." * They were, of course, late to first hour. Mrs. Claudia Steel - the English teacher from Hell who couldn't be more than thirtythree years old - glared at Claire and Lauren when they came in tardy. Lauren was contrite and apologetic, but Claire was extremely pleased when Mrs. Steel's smug irritation shifted to just plain irritation when she brandished the note explaining the reason for their lateness in the teacher's face. "Take your seat," she ordered curtly. Lauren hurried to her seat at warp speed, and Claire followed at a more human pace, grinning from ear to ear. Stop smiling like that, Lauren whispered to her as Mrs. Steel picked up whatever subject shed been prattling on about before they rocked up and disturbed her class. Claire soon discerned that she was informing the class of what books they would be studying next term there was only four days of school left before midyear holidays. Titles were listed Pride & Prejudice, Antony & Cleopatra, Watership Down, The Moonstone, and Emma. Claire zoned out. But she zoned back in again pretty quickly when Laurens elbow jabbed her sharply in the ribs. Ouch, she hissed quietly to Lauren. What was that for? Lauren pointed at the desk in front of Claire, looking at her pointedly. A ball of scrunched up, lined note paper, sat there, directly in front of her. Unless the person who had thrown it had absolutely no ability to aim much like Claire herself it was obviously for her. Apprehensively, Claire reached her hand forward and swiftly grabbed the note and hid it under the desk. She glanced at her friend. Read it, her eyes said. Claire had to wonder whether or not her friend was a hypnotist, because she couldnt disobey the powerful command behind those intense green eyes. She unfolded it, and together, they read. Youve obviously never caught the bus before.

A word of advice dont sit next to Keira Morgan again unless you want your ear talked off. C Claire and Lauren exchanged puzzled looks. C? Lauren questioned. Who the heck is C? Claire shrugged. Does this look like a face that knows that answer? she asked rhetorically, gesturing towards her head. Looks like a guys handwriting, Lauren deduced. Your investigative skills are worthy of Sherlock Holmes, Claire told her dryly. Why, thank you, Watson. Rolling her eyes, Claires attention shifted back to the note. And frowned. How do you know the difference between the handwriting of a male and the handwriting of a female? Its quite easy, actually, Lauren informed her. Girls usually write more delicately they dont press on their pens as hard. And the guy who wrote this note almost broke the paper. She held up the note as proof, and Claire could clearly see dents in the lined note, like whoever had written it had attempted to stab the paper to death. Claire wrinkled her nose. But why press so hard? Pens write just as good when you barely press them down at all. I have a theory for that, Lauren said in a voice that proclaimed she was about to impart extreme wisdom. It has something to do with proving their macho-ness. Im not following. Its like some sort of instinct left over from caveman days. When guys write notes to pass on to the female population, or just to other guys, the notes must prove they are macho. For girls, this shows that they are capable of protecting them, for other guys, it shows that theyre strong and that youd better not screw with them. And they press down hard when taking notes for class because theyre confused, which makes them frustrated, she snickered. Ok-ayyyyy, Claire said, dragging out the word for several syllables longer than it naturally was. Now I just have two questions. Shoot. One, who sent the note, and two, why did they send it? Lauren thought deeply. Claire imagined her mentally sitting meditation style and going ommmmm, before opening her eyes, having seen the light. She giggled at the bizarre image. One, Lauren intoned, eyes still closed. Someone who caught the bus and who also takes this class, obviously. Her eyes snapped open. Recognize anyone? Claire was already people watching, looking for a familiar face. Him, she said suddenly, and pointed at a dark haired boy sitting a row behind and two seats to the side of them. As if feeling her finger pointing in his direction, the boy looked up and met Claires gaze. His eyes were a deep, beautiful blue colour the same shade of blue the sky is just

after dusk, before it darkens to pitch black. The lashes that surrounded them were thicker than they had any right to be. His hair was the kind of deep, glossy blue-black that only came from either divine intervention or a bottle, and his pale skin made it seem even darker. He wore all black clothes. He winked at her before turning back to whatever school work he was doing. And now I have found the answer to your second question, Lauren declared. Claire quirked an eyebrow. Well? Lauren shrugged. He thinks youre hot. Claires mouth dropped open. How the Hell had Lauren come up with that one? She blinked rapidly a couple of times, before saying in a strangled voice: Laurie Lauren shuddered at the use of the hated nickname what, exactly, makes you say that? Common sense, intuition, the ability to see, logic she rattled off. Need I continue? Claire scowled at her. No, but think about it, Claire-Bear, she said. He sent you that note for a reason, and it isnt because hes trying to get you to avoid Keira out of the goodness of his heart though that may be a reason. Its because he noticed how much of a femme fatale you were on the bus this morning, and he wants you to sit next to him on the ride home. Claire rolled her eyes in disbelief and turned back to face the front of the classroom. She stared at the words written on the board for a moment, and then lent down and began to rummage in her bag. When she came back up, she had a notebook in her hands and a pen in-between her teeth. Opening her copy of Watership Down which was already stationed on the desk she began to flick through pages and take notes according to what had been recorded on the board. Claire! Lauren whisper hissed in her ear. You have to sit next to him. You have to. Claire ignored her. If you dont, I will never speak to you again. I will disown you. You will be my friend no more. Claire ignored her. Please? What if its like a novel and you guys are soulmates? What if you are his raison dtre? Claire sighed internally and resigned herself to the fact that she was going to be sitting next to C on the bus home that afternoon. She knew Lauren once she started using French words there was really no arguing with her. Lauren saw the resignation in her eyes, and leant back in her chair, smug. Miss Pierre! Mrs. Steel barked out. Is my class interrupting your leisure time? Do your work! Lauren flinched and meekly began to write, the smug smile melting off of her face. Claire snickered. * The bus ride was awkward. Like she had been ordered, Claire sat next to C. She learned his name was

Cameron.. And then there was only silence between them. For twenty whole minutes. Claire kept waiting for him to say something, but he remained wrapped in his book. She didnt see him blink once. They were nearing her part of town probably only fifteen minutes left on the bus until her stop when she started to wonder if Lauren was wrong (there was a first time for everything, after all), and he had only been trying to be friendly? But then, he spoke. So, what do you think of the book we're reading in English?" Claire blinked. Of all the subjects he could speak with her about, he chose to speak about their English class? "I've read better," she finally said. Cameron smiled faintly. "There are some people who would say that," he said. "But then again, there are other people, like me, who would defend it to the death. Watership Down is an amazing book." She raised an eyebrow at him. "An amazing book about rabbits," she said snarkily. "No," Cameron said, smiling at her in a way that was more bared teeth than a smile, "it's an amazing book about survival." Claire restrained herself from rolling her eyes. "Ah," he said. "You're one of those girls." "One of 'those girls'? What the hell is that supposed to mean?" "You know, the kind of girl that reads a lot so everyone thinks they're really bookish and clever, but the only books they read are ones that were written in the twenty-first century, and usually feature vampires, or some other sort of supernatural creature, and the heroine pretty much always suffers from alexithymia - and if she doesn't, then he does." Claire stared at him blankly. "He, as in the love interest?" Cameron stared at her expectantly. "Believe it or not, Ripley, that's actually not what I was confused about," Claire said. "What does alexi-whatever mean?" "An inability to express your feelings," Cameron said in a duh tone of voice. "So, are you one of those girls?" "No," Claire said. "I mean, I love a good paranormal romance as much as the next girl, but I also really appreciate the classics." She continued before he could interupt. "Just not the classics about bunnies." The bus pulled to a slow, rumbling stop. "This is where I get off," Claire said. "See you later." * Claire heard warning bells ringing as she stepped into her house, hot, sweating and thirsty. "Mum?" She called out apprehensively. "You there?" Her only answer was many expletives coming from the general direction of the kitchen.

Marie Porter was not in a good mood. "You okay?" Claire asked as she stepped into the kitchen and filled up a glass with water from the sink. She brought the glass up to her lips and drank, almost moaning in relief as the blessedly cool liguid slid down her throat. Marie uttered something that sounded suspiciously like: "that damn insurance company won't be okay when I'm done with them." "Um...yeah," Claire said. "I'm just going to go do some homework." Marie grunted. Once upstairs and safely secluded in the privacy of her room, Claire sat down at her desk and stared blankly at the wall in front of it. She knew she should really pull out Watership Down and get started on the essay she had been assigned, but after her convo with Cameron, she just couldn't focus on it. While she contemplated on what else she could do, she composed a haiku. It's Valentine's Day. Alas, no handsome stranger. Time for suicide. Claire chewed on her pen as she mused how depressing it sounded. If Cameron were to see it, he would most likely make some snide comment on how it definitely proved she was one of those girls, waiting for some tall, dark, and mysterious stranger to come sweep her off of her feet and take her to a world filled with mystical darkness and seductive danger. She scowled, crumpled the paper upon which she had written the haiku on into the bin, and made her way over to her bed before collapsing on it, praying fervently that the next day would be better.

Chapter Two: Day Two; Claire Amazingly, Claire woke up on time. Mostly thanks to her alarm clock - which she didn't remember setting - but still. She didn't sleep in, so, points to her. Jumping out of bed, she hurried to the bathroom, and turned the hot water on, before stripping her pajamas off and hopping into the shower. She washed in record time, and dressed even quicker - in loose black leggings, a gray pleated skirt, and a brown, long-sleeved shirt with a boat neck and a black silk bow tied around the hem, as well as a mustache painted on the front of it - before running downstairs and shovelling a bowl of cornflakes down her throat so fast that her mum called her a pig and she nearly had to change her clothes. "Gotta go, love you," She called out to her mum, placing a sloppy kiss upon her cheek as she made her way out of the bathroom after brushing her teeth and moved towards the front door. "Jeez, where's the fire?" Marie laughed. "It's only school."

But Claire had already bolted out of the door. *