b

L
una
I sat in my car, frozen,
as I stared at the large,
intimidating building
before me. Starting a new
school was already hard,
but starting in the middle
of the semester? That was
just plain torture. But, it
was the price I had agreed
to pay for my mother's
happiness. I still
remember the gleam in
her eyes when she had
told me that Mike had
purposed and the fear that
had replaced them when
she asked if I would move
to his home in _________. Oh
joy! I had thought
sarcastically. But I had put
on my best poker face and
told her I couldn't wait to
get out of our small litle
town, making the gleam
return to her eyes and
putting the bounce back
into her step, but,
secretly, I was saying
goodbye to my home, my
friends, and my very
essence...

The ring of the first bell

brought me back to the
present. I, reluctantly,
stepped out of my warm
car into the chilled
October air. I walked
through the crowded
parking lot toward
___________ High School,
getting more than enough
stares as I passed. Oh
great, my first day and I'm
already the school's
newest freak show! What a
way to start the day! I
pulled my black hood over
my head and pulled my
hair around my face,
creating a sheild between
them and me.

I managed not to trip

over my own feet when I
made it to my locker,
which is a pretty big
accomplishment for me.
I'm not a generally clumsy
person, but when I get
nervous you can just call
me Captain Klutz. I
grabbed my English book
and wound my way
through the maze of
students to my first class.

When I walked through

the door there was only
one other person there. I
walked to the back of the
room and sat in the desk
beside him, he didn't seem
to notice. He was too busy
leaning over a black,
leather bound notebook,
sketching intently. I
sighed, in my rush to get
to class I wound up
30minutes early. I reached
into my bag and pulled out
a sheet of paper and a
freshly sharpened pencil. I
put the pencil to the paper
and stared ahead at the
wall, not thinking of
anything because I don't
want any.... images....
slipping into the mental
sheild I have built around
my mind, as my wrist
twisted and curved. I can't
afford to let it happen
anymore, it's what got me
out of therapy so soon. I
know what you're thinking,
'Why isn't this chick
looking at the paper?'
right? It's weird, I never
look at anything I sketch, I
clear my mind, let my hand
do the work, and when it
stops, violla! I have a
masterpiece. It's usually
something simple and
calming like an empty feild
or a pretty flower. It's just
something I'm good at, Art
is one of my passions.

I felt my hand stop and I

looked down, expecting to
see the usual scene, but I
didn't. Instead, I saw a
pair of perfectly drawn
eyes, so realistic, staring
back at me. They were
guarded and hard, but I
felt something as I looked
into them, I felt safe.
Something I haven't felt in
what seems like forever. I
shook my head and balled
up the paper, tossing it
back into my bag. Instead,
I looked across the isle to
see what the guy sitting
beside me was drawing.
He was hovered too
closely for me to see
anything though. I leaned
closer to try and get a
better look. No such luck.
Without thinking I asked,
"Can I see?"

His head jerked up

inhumanly fast, but I
barely noticed, because as
soon as his eyes met mine,
I was lost. All I could see
were these two beautiful
pools of blue staring back
at me. But they weren't
some light blue like girls in
movies and books get lost
in, which I never
understood... Until now.
No, these were dark blue.
Almost black. And they
had a strange purplish tint
around the edges, they
were like nothing I had
ever seen before. These
were the kind of eyes you
could drown in, the kind of
eyes you could wander
around in forever and not
mind getting lost in. The
kind of eyes that just keep
making you sink lower and
lower into the
nothingness, but you don't
mind the sinking feeling
because as long as you
could stare into these eyes
all the way down, you
were at peace... I was so
lost in these eyes that I
didn't even notice the pure
hatred they eminated, but
when I did, I leaned back
in my seat like he had just
slapped me. His cold eyes
skimmed over me from my
black hair to my black
converses. My mind told
me to turn away and
forget it, but the teenage
rebellion instinct over took
my common sense, "Hey!
You gotta problem?" I
snapped.

His gaze returned to my

face and he smirked, "Not
if you don't make one," he
said in a way that was so
familiar. My jaw dropped.
Anyone else would have
turned away or rolled their
eyes, but he wasn't just
anyone. Still, the last thing
I expected was
confrontation. Yet again,
instinct trumped common
sense. I leaned closer,
careful to avoid his eyes,
"Look, you don't even
know me! You don't know
how much trouble I can be
if you piss me off," I
hissed.

He leaned in too, our

faces only inches apart. He
forced me to meet his
chilled gaze, "So can I." I
was stunned into silence.
He leaned away, releasing
me from his peircing eyes.
I chose to listen to my
common sense that time.
But I didn't let him have
the last word. I sat up in
my desk. "Probably
chicken scratch anyway," I
muttered under my
breath.

His head jerked torward

me, he had heard what I
said. That hit a nerve. "My
art is not chicken scratch,"
he hissed.

I glared at him with as

much hatred as I could
manage, "Oh yeah? Prove
it."
He held up his sketch
and it was a very detailed
sketch of a pendant... My
pendant. The pendant my
mother had given me right
before... I shook the
thought from my mind.
The silver star had the
exact spiral cut that the
one in his drawing had,
and if this sketch hadn't
been in pencil, I know it
would have had the same
ruby stone in the middle
just like my pendant had.
His eyes skimmed over my
face, searching.

"Does this mean

something to you?" he
jerked his chin at his
sketch, his voice was filled
with hatred and something
else I couldn't place, but it
sounded like he almost
hoped it didn't mean
anything to me.

I was about to tell him

to stay the hell away from
me when a small voice in
the back of my mind told
me to lie, and fast, "No,
you're just a good artist."
Okay, so I'm not a great
liar, at all, but this didn't
really count as a whole lie
because he really was a
good artist.

He relaxed a little and

the hostility left his eyes,
but they were still
gaurded, and familiar. He
turned away from me and I
from him as the bell rang
and Mr. Varner, the
English teacher, walked in,
passing out copies of
Romeo & Juliet. I glanced
over to my left, feeling his
gaze chill me to the bone. I
looked into his eyes,
mentally preparing myself
for another unexplainable
fight, but his gaze was
softer, vunerable,
somewhere far away. His
eyes focused in on mine,
"What's your name?" He
asked in a shy, yet
confident, way that was
achingly familiar, as if he
had asked me this a
thousand times before. I
had no intention of
answering, but my mouth
had a mind of it's own.
"Luna," I replied with
guarded eyes, expecting
the hostility to come back
at any moment.

"Luna," he murmered, a
hint of a smile touching his
lips. The smile left as soon
as it came and his eyes
returned to the present.
His eyes were guarded
again, but not as hard as
before.