Chapter One

Calvin's POV

It was Susie.

I knew it was her. It had to be. She walked up the steps and every male head in a fifty yard radius turned, even if they didn't know why. Although, it didn't take them long to figure it out. She was generating that weird kind of energy that girls do, but only the girls, and her dark, honey brown hair kept flipping around behind her and catching the light. Hypnotic, some might say.

That's how I knew it was her. She kind of looked the same as she had in middle school, with the exception of some deity-crafted curves that most definitely hadn't been on her thirteen-year-old frame, and her face was more mature, more womanly. But that wasn't what gave it away for me. I knew it was her because of the way she caught everyone's attention. Every eye was always on Susie Derkins. Every beaming teacher, every drooling boy, every jealously worshipping girl.

Even I had fallen prey, I can admit it now. I served her with a different sort of attention than everyone else by insulting and tormenting her; ie: regaling her with my latest mind-boggling discovery, growing to great lengths just to gross her out, or constantly insisting that my ever-poorer grade was more notable than her never-faltering A+. But it was attention, nonetheless. In all actuality, I was probably the worst offender. I didn't have a lot of other friends at school, so most of my social-energy was directed toward her.

Which was why now, seven years later, just starting my senior year of college at NYU, I defied the laws of universal gravity and turned deliberately in the other direction, facing away from her and shoving my nose in my barely-read copy of War and Peace.

She walked right past me and I lowered the book just enough that I could peer at her retreating form over the pages. Even though I tried to tell myself that I shouldn't be, I was a little curious (and not just about the newly developed sway of her hips). The two of us had parted ways at high school, since she had gone to an all-girl private school, but I remembered my mom saying something about her getting accepted into Harvard. Transferring to NYU from an exclusive ivy league school didn't make any sense.

She disappeared into the sea of students and I pushed all thoughts of her from my head like toothpaste squeezed from a tube, and they disintegrated in the air.

"Cute Susie?" Hobbes didn't even look up from my old comic book, slurping loudly from the drink in his hand sorry, paw.

"No," I replied, pained. "Those two words can't coincide without creating an oxymoron. But lest we forgot, you always did seem to cozy right up Hey!" I slammed the fridge door shut and turned, glaring. "Is that my milkshake from the diner?"

"No." Sluuuurrrp.

"You dirty mooch," I snarled. "I was looking forward to that all day." I was too lazy to fight him for it, though, so I settled on a column of stale Ritz crackers instead. I plopped next to him on the couch and shoved about six of them in my mouth. "I can't believe how much food you go through," I muttered, but it came out sounding like, "Ahcuhnt bfff 'ow misssh oo-oo- o cssshtooo," crumbs spewing over my lips.

He ignored me, lost in blissful technicolor action, but the amount of food that "I" consumed was honestly becoming an issue with my roommates. Not that they cared, it was my money after all, but I think they were starting to believe I had some type of parasite or OCD disorder, considering I ate double the amount of a normal person, but stayed as slender as ever; or the fact that at least one third of all my groceries were fish-based. It was a good thing tuna was so cheap.

I'd realized long ago that people didn't see Hobbes the way I did. But around sixth grade was when the realization that I might be a little crazy hit home. I even tried to 'let go'. Hard as it had been, I'd told Hobbes that he wasn't real and that I needed to move on. He slashed me across the face. I still have three faint lines across my cheek; scars that serve as a constant reminder. My mom scolded, pushed and prodded, trying to figure out what had happened, and I told her, but the excuse that "It was Hobbes fault!" had long since stopped working with her.

The majority of sixth grade was spent conducting experiments. Experiments to prove that A) Hobbes was imaginary, B) I was totally off my rocker, or (something that I hadn't thought to include at all at first) option C) Something special was going on that neither of us could explain.

All things considered, I think we've taken everything in stride, and I've turned out to be a semi-functional adult. I'm a psychology/philosophy double-major and I am doing my graduate thesis on imaginary friends.

"Why is Susie Derkins at NYU?" I asked after I had swallowed. "It's not the usual place the first woman president gets her degree."

"Are you going to call her?"

"Of course not!" I snapped. "She doesn't even know we're on the same planet anymore, let alone the same campus. Besides, I don't know her phone number anyway. Not that I would call her if I did."

Hobbes shrugged. He muttered something to himself that I couldn't really hear, but I thought I caught the faint melody of K-I-S-S-I-N-G…

Before I could make good use of the throw pillow next to me, I suddenly remembered something and jerked my wrist up, blanching as I caught sight of my watch. "Great! I'm late for Chemistry!"

I jumped to my feet and grabbed my backpack, swinging it over my shoulder. "Don't eat my ding-dongs!" I warned just as I flew out the door.

Chemistry is boring. Really, it's just glorified math. And math and I, we've never gotten along very well. I doodled in my notebook as the teacher droned on, when suddenly and unexpectedly, the blessed word, 'lab' left his lips.

I perked up, straightening in my seat a little. I hate chemistry, but I love explosives. Naturally, the only thing I've ever learned in any science class is how to make the best explosions. In fact, when it comes to bombs, bangs and lethal detonations, I'm quite the expert. Who cared if we were only trying to make some kind of liquid turn a different color? I knew how to make it explode.

I was almost getting kind of excited when the teacher then said one of the cursed words, and although similar to the blessed word, they are not to be confused. Lab partner.

I sulked, glaring around the room, wondering which yuppie I was going to get stuck with.

And then, she walked in.

"I'm so sorry," she apologized (of course) to the professor, her cheeks flushed red. "I got a little lost trying to find this place…" And she said it so adorably humble and embarrassed that the professor instantly melted (as did everyone else in the class besides me).

"That's alright," Mr. Berkenstien (yeah, that's really his name) replied. "But I don't recall you being in my class before."

"Oh, yes.. I'm Susan Derkins," Susie said, all ambassador-of-the-world like. "I just transferred here from Harvard Law."

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you Ms. Derkins. We're doing a lab today, please take a seat, I was just about to assign partners."

A low murmur seemed ripple through the room as Susie took an empty chair near the front. All hopefuls as to who get to be the 'new girl's' partner, no doubt.

Mr. Berkenstien cleared his throat. "Avery Anderson? You're with Christine Tanner. Benjamin Frank? You're with Kishma Ash." And so, it went, until after several names had been read, "Susan Derkins, you're with…"

A pregnant pause nearly suffocated me.

"…Daniel Jenkins. Daniel, raise your hand so Susan knows who are."

He did more than that. After high-fiving his equally moronic buddy, he winked and nodded his head at Susie, who had turned and was looking around curiously, smirking suggestively at her. She smiled back, but it looked a little strained to me.

Several people were disappointed. I was not one of them.

I wasn't.

….. so wasn't.

Instead, I was wondering how Susie's face would look when the professor read my name. Surely she'd recognize me. She'd be surprised, no doubt, that I'd even made it this far in college. So, I waited, and Mr. Berkenstien went through every name until everyone had a partner.

Except me.

I sat there, in my stupefied silence, as everyone stood, separating into pairs, and then walked into the next room which held the lab equipment. Namely, the burners and toxic chemicals. We were the last two people in the room and Mr. Berkenstien was arranging papers on his desk, when I spoke:

"Um, Professor? You forgot to give me a partner."

He didn't even look up, cleaning his glasses on his lab coat. "I forgot nothing, Calvin." He looked at me, carefully placing his glasses back on his nose. "You are, as you may recall, banned from the chemical lab. In order to receive credit for this lab, you will observe, and do nothing else, with another couple and then write a two page-"

"Two pages!"

"A two page paper accurately describing the chemical reactions, due next class period."

My jaw flexed with the effort of not making my situation even worse by holding back the (witty and devastating) reply on my lips. "As you wish," I ground out, turning and stalking into the lab room.

Now, I could intrude upon Susie and the dashing Mr. Jenkins, and then wouldn't Susie be surprised. But I wasn't going to break my 'defying the laws of universal gravity' streak now. Besides, I had just spotted the perfect pair. A shy, English major, and a too-cool-for-school goth. Perfect for manipulating and molding.

"Hi," I greeted, plopping into the seat next to them. They both, predictably, stared at me without a word. "Mr. Berkenstien assigned me to observe," I continued, undeterred.

And so I urged and encouraged, maybe switched a vial with another vial, told Mr. Black Soul to go ahead and get lost in his screaming (music to him, I suppose). It gave me an undeniable satisfaction to watch the room fill with green smoke and a horrible smell. I inhaled a lungful, smiling blissfully, while next to me students were shrieking and covering their noses.

"Calvin!" the professor screeched. "I don't know how, but I know you're behind this!"