And I thought I was NEVER going to do DPS again. I thought wrong. I wrote this for god-knows-what reason. And because I'm strange, really, really strange. You know??? If you don't then, um, I don't know. Guess you're on your own with that one.

"I make your fire

I create what all desire!

Hear me speak

I make your mind weak

You'd better know what I say

I could take you any day

Know now that I'm not jesting

My whole point is to keep them guessing!" I threw my arms up and spun to the melody that I was creating. The small fire made the shadows leap along with me. I kept my rhymes going for a few more stanzas before some one else jumped in.

"Then to you I hark

From whence you leave thy mark

No mind so easily possessed

All have come, all have guessed

Tell us, maiden fair

Why must the hearts of many so despair?"

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You thought I was going to tell the end of the story as the beginning, didn't you? Pity, I'll do no such thing. No, I think that the acceptance letter is the right place to start. Yes, you did hear right, acceptance letter to a boarding school. It was my bane; the end of my free life! What crime had I committed to be put forth for such torture? It made my writhe with rage and my father happy. Happy that he was sending me away to a school that had only recently designed this 'co-ed' program. All I knew was that there would be about a hundred more boys than girls, and that is no way to start one's junior year! Yes, I was a junior and only just changing schools. It was rotten, it was wrong, it was…

"A chance to get girl-deprived going-to-rich-when-they-finish-school boys!" my best friend Kelly announced. "So stop moaning."

I could only tell my father over and over that there was no way on this earth I was going, period. So in an enormous attempt to stall my arrival on the very day I was supposed to be attending an opening ceremony, I locked myself in my room with my paints. By the time I had painted every spare inch of space, my father had jimmied the lock on my door and hauled me out to the car. I sat in sullen, sulky silence for the entire trip. My father's eyes kept glancing at my in the rearview mirror.

"Don't look so happy." He said.

"Why do I have to go to this place?!" I shot at him.

"It's a wonderful school, one of the best in the country. I went to it…for a time."

"Yeah, you got kicked out Mr. 'Phone-Call-From-God'."

"We all do things we later regret. By the way if you get expelled, I intend on making sure you're miserable for the rest of the time I'm your legal parent and guardian."

"Woo hoo."

It was a drab building with students and parents milling around the grounds. I took it we'd missed whatever. I made a careful count of every girl I saw. It totaled at about forty three. In comparison with the amount of boys, it wasn't much. My father ran off to get paper work and I was stuck sitting with my bags near a dorm. I was making patterns with my shoes in the dirt to keep myself entertained.

"Do you need help?" I looked up to see an overly neat appearing guy looking at me. Well, I was sitting there with a suitcase. But I was in a real cheery mood.

"What's it to you?" I snarled. And because his shoes looked to damn clean, I kicked dust onto them. He just glanced at them with an expression that told me it was taking much will power for him not hit me. God, some people and cleanliness.

"Touchy, glad the girls are separate." He ducked inside the dorm next to the one I was outside of. There was just something about him that made me want to hurl. My father came back up to at a run.

"Hurry up before some one else remembers me!" he said grabbing my stuff. Now, yes, I do know that I'm being an offal story teller, but I don't remember too much about that day besides being mad. But I do remember getting to the girls area and there being a slight problem called a gas leak. They were roped off. I was stunned. It was a four hour drive home and classes began the next day. So we were directed back to our original spot by an apologetic official and I was sent inside. I was boiling with fury, god dammit could anything more go wrong? Yeah, actually, I think more could go wrong, I thought as I was unpacking in my thankfully empty room. I was getting out my sketch books (I'm an artistic type of person) when the door creaked open and in shuffled Mr. Clean suitcase in tow. His back was to me so he didn't notice me until I said hello.

"What the hell?" it was a nice reaction, you know? "What are you doing in here?"

My own reaction was one of annoyance and displeasure. I had met but one person here and hadn't made the best impression, so, go figure that was the person I was stuck with as a roomie. Yup, things just kept getting better. I found out later that there were five girls in the building, including me. With two beds a room, four of them weren't having to share with the opposite sex. I was the exception. I made myself small in the corner as his friends, as I assumed, crowded in. Thank the heavens they didn't notice me until my father came in. Parents are oblivious to how much they embarrass their children. Daddy dearest not only called me 'angel' and 'Lottie' both of the pet names I hate, but gave me package wrapped in brown paper and a kiss on top of the head. He didn't notice the gawking boys until he was half way out the door.

Most fathers would have protested to such arrangements, but mine had seen me punch a senior football captain as a freshman, so he wasn't all that worried. He just sort of cocked his head and mumbled something about déjà vu. And then he was gone; and I was stuck. Suddenly all of them were looking at me. Oh boy, this was awkward. One of then finally broke the silence by dropping something. Then the atmosphere loosened up a bit and I was thankfully ignored until one of them asked my name. I looked up and they were all awaiting an answer with that goofy, yeah-I'm-so-tough-and-funny look all guys seem to be capable of.

I thrust my hand out to the one who'd asked with a defiant smile. "My name's Charlotte Dalton."

He took it with an irritating smile. "Nice to meet ya 'Lottie'."

I gave him the finger. "I generally prefer 'Charlie' or 'Charlotte', so don't make me make you regret using that name."

"Ooooo (envision laughter and 'ooing' in the background) Anderson's got a friend." Some of the others said with mirth. I doubt any of them had actually had dealings with girls that their parents didn't approve of first. The Anderson character was all, uh, I don't know, sort of insulted and impressed at the same time.

"Ain't 'Charlie' a guy's name?" he asked.

"Well, my dad's name is Charlie, and my parents thought it would be all fine and dandy to name me something similar. They called me 'Lottie' until I demanded to be called 'Charlie'. Now some one remind me why I'm speaking to you fools." I cast a condescending glare around the assembled persons. My roommate made a strange face, he sort of twitched his eyebrows up and bobbed his head. "Get out now." I asserted.

They didn't budge. Then I knew how to clear out the room of all of them. I reached for my suitcase with my, eh he he he, unmentionables. As soon as I pulled the first bra out, they were gone in a flash. I'm such a bad person. I hauled out my pencils, some paints, artist's gum, and a giant sketch pad. I maneuvered it beneath my bed and found my mirror. Setting it down I smiled wickedly at my reflection. People have said I look like my Dad if he was wearing a wig. I guess that's a good thing. I tousled my dark brown hair, making it look wild. I like it that way and loose, but tomorrow I would have to make it 'presentable'. People have also said I have my Dad's rebel personality, although I doubt that. I don't see me calling myself 'Nuwanda', do you?

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After a quiet dinner, I was setting up a divider from a sheet in my room. Mr. Clean was strutting in as I constructed it. He was in a sleepy stupor after, most likely, gorging himself on the awful food of the dinning hall. I couldn't find anything palatable about it and yet those who were seasoned students of the place downed in easily enough. I put the last tack in place and said, "Voila! My half, your half, Mr. …I don't believe I caught your name."

"It's Robert, god I hate it. And it's 'Rob' not 'Bob', 'Bobby', 'Robby', or 'Bert' Charlie-not-Lottie." He said pulling out pajamas out of a drawer. "I'm changing in the bathroom, I suggest you make use of my absence." And he swept out. I'm no fool, I was in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt and ready to use the sink before he even got back. The great thing about community bathrooms is they have to be clean, the downside is that I was the only girl in there at the moment. One of the seniors got nerve enough to slap my rear. I had nerve enough for swift retribution; in short, the offender was slapped across his face. God damn hormonal boys. When I got back to my room, Rob was in his bed and nearly asleep. But it was the I learned how fast word travels in this place.

"Heard you hit Terry Gagnon." He yawned.

"I've done worse."

"How?"

"Hit Anthony di Angelo at my last school, he waked away with a broken nose, he was a football captain, I was a freshman."

Rob gave a snort of laughter. "Why did you do it?"

"He was trying to make out with my best friend Kelly, who was a sophomore then, and she didn't want to. I fixed the problem." I said simply.

"You're a weird one. Gonna have to watch my back aren't I?"

"Only if you miss behave." I told him as I slid between my covers to get some sleep and be braced for tomorrow.

Why, why, why must first chapters be SO hard? I dunno, maybe because everything I write is crap. I'm serious, I love writing, but I consistently write crap, crud, ect. You get the idea. I'm a strange person so my girl character has the same name as her Dad, aren't I getting cheesy? But I've heard of a Charlotte liking Charlie. Summer camp is good for a few things, like learning how to make stuff explode. I swear I was the only girl at rocketry with like thirty or so boys on a good day. I had two who would actually speak to me because they were in my mom's daycare and I had blackmail out to wazoo on them if they didn't. Hi Taylor and Alex! I still have that picture of you two hugging, Alex in his Yankees jersey, Taylor in his Red Sox one! The only time it can be witnessed, Yankees and Red Sox fans not fighting, but friends. Whoa, I'm rambling again. That's not a good sign. Believe me. hmm…I might post the New England Weather Scale on my hp. Oh god, I better shut up! C ya… - The Druidess -

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Oh, that's rich. Like you guys tell your parents off, Mr.Future Lawyer and Mr. Future Banker.