• Chapter 1

    I stood at my school bus stop alone, gazing around at my farmland surroundings with a stare that couldn’t be described as anything other than bored. The fog hung thick in the air and coated my lungs with its heavy moisture I as I breathed. It was eerie, cold and quiet – no not quiet…silent – as I stood by myself waiting for my community transport to haul me off to a prison-like institution where learning was not an option but a requirement. While there, I would share textbooks, writing implements, and an instructor from what I was told. Such regulations were simply absurd to me.

    But here, there were no private tutors; no flexible schedules built around other lessons such as fencing and music teachings. In fact, here fencing was none-existent, the art seemed to have been forgotten, tossed in the back of these people’s minds like classical music and art. Here, pounding music that rattled your brain and penetrated your ears until they rang was ‘all the rage’. The ignorance was extremely irritating, but perhaps I expected too much from these American Teenagers.

    Their world seemed to revolve around drugs, sex and tragedy. Such a shame – if they had been raised like I had they would be civilized, not rebels who insisted on ‘sexually experimenting’ with the same sex and getting pregnant at such young ages.

    The large yellow bus pulled to a stop in front of me and opened its doors, the man sitting behind the wheel not sparing me so much as a ‘good morning’ glance as I passed. This irritated me, didn’t he, or any of these other foolish, staring adolescents know who they were in the presence of?

    Of course not.

    I continued too stride down the aisle and took my seat in the back of the bus, detached from the others. There were small, indistinct murmurs among my so-called peers as the bus pulled away from the now deserted curb. Ignoring the chatter I took out a thick volume for my English course and began to read as the bus finished its route. All too soon the white walled school loomed into view and as if suddenly antsy, the students began to shift in their seats and began to gather their things up. I myself, continued to read.

    The bus screeched to a halt in front of the school and everyone stood, pushing and shoving out the door and onto the sidewalk. I calmly slipped my book back into my backpack and hoisted it up onto my shoulder, taking the position at the end of the line and following them out calmly, finally stepping onto the curb. Groups of teenagers were gathered around in front of buildings, pooling in the most random of places and made a point to stare as I passed. Perhaps it was the fact that I was dressed so plainly and yet to eloquently. Or maybe it my exceptional posture, as it became quite apparent that these people did not believe in straight backs.

    I walked without taking notice of them toward my first class of the day, English Literature which was the class that I had been, in fact preparing myself for while on the bus. I was surprised however to find that I was the only one outside when I reached the door, which was of course locked. So I stood outside and waited, watching those who passed who continued to watch me. Some girls giggled, boys snickered and muttered comments that in no way were welcoming. However, it was all so amusing, so immature and such things made me chuckle quietly to myself.

    The bell rang and when the instructor opened the door she was visibly surprised to see me standing outside. Or, perhaps by the look in her eyes, she was just taken by my appearance; it was hard for me to tell. I gave her a small smile and immediately came in and took my seat in the back, setting my bag down behind my chair and sitting with my hands folded on the desktop. The rest of the students slowly began to file in through the door which was held open by the young instructor the entire time. When they laid eyes on me, they seemed to go out of their way to avoid me and at this I sighed, thinking how ridiculous of an effort it was.

    When the final bell rang a few slipped in, tardy. The teacher who was now uncapping a marker to write her name on the white board gave them a harsh glare, but sent them to their seats. The two girls didn’t even thank her for her generosity but were eyeing the seats that were left, one of them on my left side and the other in front of the other, directly across from me. I smiled faintly as they looked at one another, the message clear in their eyes. It was the question of which unfortunate soul would be seated next to me.

    “Girls, if you would kindly take your seats.” The woman at the board said her tone harsh as she was rather irritated at their habit of being tardy as well as their hesitation.

    They nodded and quickly made their way back to the only two seats that were left empty and available. The unlucky girl who had no choice but to take the seat beside me was dark haired, her hair curly and slicked as if in a vain attempt to control the mess. Her eyes were deep green in color and her soft features were hidden by a veil of gorgeous black curly hair as she attempted to hide her face from me.

    “Welcome to English Literature 7-8. As my senior students I expect nothing less than impeccable behavior and effort. During the first semester we will be taking a close look at novels such as Hamlet. At the end of this course you will have a semester final that is worth thirty percent of your grade so I suggest you pay attention and refrain from falling asleep in class. Coming around now is a reading list for the entire year and along with Hamlet you will be studying other, smaller, minor novels. The second semester novel that we will be studying is Dracula, just so you are prepared.”

    The class echoed with groans as the reading list was passed around.

    “If you wish you may work ahead of the class and read the novels ahead of time. Also, these will be your permanent seats for the year, unless I have problems with you sitting where you are. So I suggest you get to know your neighbor as collaboration projects will be a part of this class. Also coming around is a seating chart, please fill out your first and last name. Before I get too far in depth with my expectations and classroom rules I’ll take attendance.”

    I watched the girl who sat beside me out of the corner of my eye as the red haired, young teacher called out the names of her students, saying most of them incorrectly.

    “Anastasia Driagonmire?”

    My eyes widened with surprise and the girl beside me sighed heavily.

    “Excuse me Ms.Welch, but I prefer to be called Lorain.”

    The teacher stared at her with blue eyes that were so chilling it would have froze my blood.

    “Well, if we are going by nicknames in this room I suppose I should call you Tardy shouldn’t I, Ms.Driagonmire?”

    She growled under her breath and refused to answer, taking out her notebook and drawing small, amusing doodles describing elaborate plans on what she would do to pore Ms.Welch should she catch her alone. I watched her absently, without realizing I was studying her in much the same way a hungry, sex-thirsty boy would a thin, large-breasted woman. I silently turned my attention back to the front of the room, resisting the urge to speak, to introduce myself while she was speaking as it would be rather rude. But I caught her friend, turned around, staring at me.

    “Rose Murphy?”

    “Here,” she said without turning around to meet the teacher’s gaze.

    We stared at each other for a while and she never seemed to move, except to draw in a breath and exhale again. Anastasia didn’t seem to notice our staring contest but continued to draw when Rose without warning or breaking our gaze asked her, “What are you doing?”

    Anastasia jumped, her grip on the pen constricting as she looked up to her friend and in turn followed her gaze to me. They both stared.

    “Lucius Stree-go-ee.”

    I sighed as she completely butchered my name.

    “Did I say that correctly?” She asked, looking around the room to match the name to a face.

    I stood to draw her attention and she looked at me, “I am afraid not.” I said in as cool, patient tone as I could muster. I continued down the aisle of desks which were occupied by students and walked to meet her. Once at her side I pointed to my name on the roster and corrected her, “Stri-go-i, with the accent on the last syllable please.”

    She nodded, as it seemed that was all she could do at that point and I turned to walk back to my seat, ignoring all the stares and when I reached my chair I addressed the class, “And I hope all of you do realize that it is rude to stare.”

    It took a moment but they all turned to face forward again and Ms.Welch continued with attendance. But Anastasia didn’t heed my warning, and continued to stare at me through the entire class period.