You may have noticed that this story is adopted from WingsofMorphius. They are the original owner, yadda yadda yadda. So far they have 19 chaps, and I'm gonna be editing them before I re-post 'em. I'll pick up at chap 20/ So bare with me till then, please! I'm begging you!

Now! Chapter uno! :D

I'd like to start this out by saying what an inhumanely cruel punishment this is. Not that I don't enjoy writing, but do you have any idea how embarrassing this is gonna be? I don't know who's gonna be reading this! If I get stopped on the street and questioned about this, I'm kicking his ass, deal or no deal.

With that firmly behind me, now the question of exactly who I am must be answered. My name is Sam Manson, short for Samantha but anyone who tries to call me that might suddenly find themselves missing some important appendages. To start this story, I'll have to tell you that we Mansons are a prim, proper family, who no one could say anything bad about.

My mother, Marguerite Danielle Manson, was a member of several local garden clubs, and an avid supporter of some of the most expensive clothing brands known to man. And Dad, Gregory Thomas Manson, was a businessman and golfer, not to mention a highly respected member of the local Polo Club.

Even their oldest son and my big bro, Mathew Pavlov Manson, was a respected student in the Private All-Boys school district he attended, Casper. One of the best schools in the world, actually. With a perfect GPA and a starting position on the Football Team in Casper University, Matt was every teacher's idea of the perfect student.

Then there was me…

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGG!" I screamed, flopping onto my bed. Tears streamed down my face as I began to rip furiously at my black and dark violet pillows, tearing out the stuffing and throwing it all over my otherwise neat room.

Better the pillows then my snooty, image-conscious parents, right?

I'm fifteen years old, and was connected to my uber-rich family by name alone. Well, not completely true. Matt is cool enough, but my parents are an absolute nightmare. They hate that I'm a vegetarian, they hate that I'm a Goth, but most of all, though, they hate that I'm me. They'd always wanted a perfect little girl who liked dollies and pink and always wore dresses. That wasn't me at all, and I made sure everybody knew it by the time I was in preschool.

Concentrating back on the dilemma at hand, I picked up the phone and hit speed dial 1, glad (And not for the first time) that I had a private line. The phone rang three times before being picked up and answered by a warm, familiar voice.

"Hel-"

"I hate them!" I snarled angrily before the greeting was finished. The person on the other line sighed, obviously used to this by now.

"Hello, Sam," Matt, the voice of reason and 'neutral territory' of the family, said dryly. "What'd they do now?"

"They're shipping me off to a boarding school in London!" I snapped, not bothering to lower my voice. My parents were still steaming in the living room, and I didn't give a damn what the hell thought of me. Not that I thought I was better then them or anything like that, it's just that that was just my general attitude with everyone. It was even embodied in the shirt Tina gave me for Christmas reading 'It's not that I'm not listening, I just don't give a damn,' "LONDON!"

"Not fond of Britain, Sis?"

"Get real, Matt," I growled, "I can't believe they'd do something like this to me! The police didn't even arrest me, and those poor lab animals deserved to roam free! I don't want to go to the same school as Morgan!"

Morgan, you see, was my bratty cousin, not to mention a prep personified. She lived for the pleasure of shooting down boys and showing off the most expensive mink coats money can buy. I had a feeling that my parents wanted me to turn out just like Morgan is, and that they were disappointed I would rather eat my own eyeballs then wear fur. And boyfriends? HAH!

As far as that went, I can't say I'd ever had a guy before. Not that I was ugly or anything, I mean I'm no super model but I've gotten enough lewd comments yelled at me to know plenty of men find me attractive. But a lot of guys were intimidated by me, even those I hung out around with. Matt said once that was because I always looked like one wrong word meant I'd attack someone with my oh-so-friendly looking spiked bracelet.

Tempting thought, sometimes…

"I'm sure your tree-hugging friends who bailed and left you for dead would agree." Matt said, amused.

"Ma-att!" I groaned, frustrated at my brother's attitude, which was weird even by my standards. "Can't you show a little more sympathy?"

"Nope," Matt said casually. "I'm too busy putting the finishing touches on your student transfer."Okay, that one made my eyebrow kicked up.

"What?"

"Remember how you always said you could do better then me at Casper if you could have attended?"

"Yeah…" I said slowly, remembering the Christmas Dinner I'd made the claim over. Mom had cut off whatever reply Matt would've made by stating primly that we'd never find out, since I was a girl and should do well to remember it.

"Samuel Gregory Manson, you just got accepted as a Casper High Sophomore. Congratulations, Cuz." I sat, dumbstruck. The words didn't sink in for a few minutes, but went they did, I felt as if someone had pored ice water over my head.

"WHAT?" I yelled as soon as I regained the ability to speak. That was all I could manage though. My mouth opened and closed soundlessly for a minute after that, but I just couldn't think of anything else to add. Besides, that pretty much summed everything up nicely, I'd like to think.

"Mom and Dad told me about the London thing a week ago." Matt explained, "They were just looking for the right excuse to send you off. And since I knew you'd hate it there…" I came out of my shock at that and grinned. Not because my parents are cold-hearted snobs that wanted to unload me off to another country, oh no. I was grinning because I had the absolute greatest older brother any girl could ask for.

"Matt, you have no idea how much I love you right now!" I exclaimed, feeling like I was about to burst. I made a mental note to give him something very, very nice for his birthday. Nothing expensive like the crap mom and dad bought us either. No way. I'm talking something he could really appreciate.

"You just have to help my friend Jazz out with her piece for the Newspaper for Wendy High." I couldn't help it, I made a face at that name. Wendy, Casper's sister school district from middle school onward, was notorious for being the most preppy private all-girls school in the world, the reason I'd absolutely and venomously refused to go there.

Casper, on the other hand, wasn't just a grade-A school for spoiled rich boys. It was also the top school in the world for Animation Arts, with both an excellent Art and Computer Department. It was also well known for their sports, but I could care less about that.

"Just give her the dirt on what's happening at Casper so she can add it to her column. Jazz'll just refer to you as her sources."

"Sure thing," I said, willing to do almost anything for that Animation Class. Key word there; almost. "But how will I get there?"

"Jazz is parked at the old docks right now waiting for you."Matt said,"She's gonna drive you back to Amity. Don't pack any makeup or clothes, since I doubt you'll need any of it."

I frowned at the thought of leaving behind my beloved makeup and all the great skirts and corsets I owned, but then I felt my resolve firm as I remembered exactly what my parents were gonna do to me if I didn't sacrifice my beloved outfits.

"Gotcha."

"Jazz'll bring you straight to my house, but it's a three hour drive" Matt said,"Once you're at my place, we'll turn you into a guy and go over the rules before you head over tomorrow."

"That soon?" I felt her heartbeat quicken. No second thoughts, Sam, I told myself firmly. All or nothing. There's no point in doing something if you're just gonna chicken out in the end.

"Yeah, it leaves mom and dad with less time to track you," Matt said, "If we do things this way, it'll take them at least a month to sort everything out, if ever, and by then they'll know that pulling you out of school would get people asking questions, and since it would be such an embarrassment, they won't bother." I closed her eyes and steadied myself. All or nothing, huh…

"Alright." She said at last. "When should I be at the docks?"

"Around six." Matt answered,"I was gonna call you in about a half hour, but you just saved me the trouble of running up my phone bill."

"Thanks, Matt." I said, smiling. "You're a lifesaver,"

"Any time, Baby Sis,"Matt laughed. "By the way, before I forget to warn you, Jazz is gonna be a Child Psych major, and she lets everybody know it."

"Consider me warned," I laughed, "Thanks again, Matt, see you in a few hours." And with that, I hung up and began to call all my friends.

I didn't tell them about how I was running away, except my best friend Tina Foley, (with whom I had no secrets.) Even then, I didn't tell Tina where I was going. With my other friends, though, I ranted and raged against my parents, giving no sign of anything out of the ordinary. Which really wasn't that hard, to tell the truth.

I knew my parents well enough to know they'd be smart enough to hire a private eye who would check my calls on the phone bill to see if there was anyone who knew something.

While I trusted my friends with my life, I didn't want to put that weight on any of their shoulders. I only told Tina because I felt obligated, seeing as Tina had told me every deep, dark secret she had.

"Call me from a Payphone every week, okay Sam?" Tina said worriedly,"And give me some kind of e-mail address so I can keep in contact with you."

"I will," I promised. "I'll tell you everything I can. And don't worry, Tina, I'll be okay,"

"I don't doubt that," Tina said with a shaky laugh,"If anyone can make it on their own, it's you Sam," I felt my face flush as that. Did I really seem that strong to people? I didn't feel it. Even as I replaced the phone and started to pack, my hands were shaking like crazy.

I took my black backpack, toothbrush, toothpaste and several other essential items, hesitating before I included a picture of me and my friends. It might've been taking a chance, seeing as I'd have a roommate, but I felt I needed something truly familiar.

Disregarding Matt's advice, I included a few of my favorite outfits, and all my best make up and accessories. Just because I had to be a boy at school didn't mean I was required to be one all the time, right? I was sure there would be times I could go out as Samantha instead of Samuel. Man, that name would take getting used to…

After I finished loading all my art supplied into my bag (Which added about twenty pounds to it, by the way) I took out a piece of paper and pencil, frowning thoughtfully as I wondered how to word this.

To Whoever finds this (Most likely Marie); (That was the name of the maid that woke me up in the mornings.)

First of all, the bad news is I'm not being kidnapped, so mom and dad can't tell all their friends sob stories about how they couldn't possibly imagine why anyone would want to hurt a member of our family. Not only am I leaving alone, of my own free will, but I'm also never coming back. That's right, mom, you're daughter-who-needs-to-act-more-like-a-proper-young-lady is now also a runaway.

You're probably not gonna believe me when I say this, but I'm not a druggie, pregnant, getting married to some biker dude named Bob with a third grade reading level or even dropping out of school. My only real problem is that I'm sick. Sick of being treated like I'm not a real person, at any rate…

Don't worry, Dad, I didn't take any of your precious money with me, or even anything that expensive. Nor will I be calling you up in three weeks begging for cash. Believe me, I don't want anything to do with you guys anymore. I'm not writing this at gunpoint, either, as you will most likely insist to the private eye you're gonna pay to track me down.

With my point made, this is your 'beloved' (Yeah, right.) daughter bidding you a fond adieu and wishing you the best in the rest of your miserable, money centered life.

- Sam Manson.

And to think, I even managed to keep it from sounding too bitter. I'm almost proud of myself for that…

I wanted to put Samantha at the end for a minute, but decided against it. That would most definitely make my parents suspicious, since even they (who probably know less about me then the couple down the street that I've spoken to exactly three times,) know I despise my full first name.

Or maybe they didn't, since they had no problems calling me Sammy or Sammy-kins, which was really annoying.

Still, the note was in ink, so there was no point in rewriting it now. With that finalizing thought, I folded up the note, put it on top of my shredded pillows and opened my window. Climbing out to the roof, I used the vine fence as a ladder to bring me to the ground for the millionth and final time in my life, (Every time grateful I was both shorter and lighter then most girls my age.) and, after adjusting my hoodie to hide my hair and face, I took off for the docks, using the bushes as a cover.

FREEDOM!

***

As I said before, Matt is the voice of reason in my family, the only person I can really connect with who shared my family members and blood. As such, I really and truly adore and respect him. But despite those facts, the guy's gotta learn the meaning of the word 'understatement.'

Because he definitely made one when referring to Jazz.

"-So then I told her that the only way she'd ever achieve an identity as a fully functioning individual is to realize that it's unrealistic and unfair of her to expect others to conform to her needs and wishes. But then she started insisting-!"

Karma must be punishing me for all the times I've insisted Matt was the biggest over-achiever in the world. Not that I'm Buddhist, I actually don't practice any particular religion (though I believe that Buddhism is more a philosophy then a Faith.) but I do borrow upon a lot of Buddhist ideals, including Karma and non-violence.

Still, getting back to the subject matter at hand, I can't believe Jazz can do all the things she does and still have the energy to make herself sound smart. It turned out that she's in not only Newspaper, but also Yearbook, Culinary Club, Track and Field, Swimming, Student Council (Vice President), Psychologists of Tomorrow (President), Foreign Language Club, (She spoke German, Italian, French, Spanish and Chinese. Even I have to admit that's a lot) Pep Squad, not to forget the Latin and Forensics Science Club.

And she still had time to volunteer in the local hospital every weekend…

"It's not as impressive as it sounds," She assured me, laughing at my expression after she finished listing off her extracurricular activities. "I'm just trying to make sure I get into a good college. So far it's a choice between Harvard, Brown and Yale, and I can't decide."

Suddenly, living up to the standards Matt set doesn't seem so impossible…

"So, are you in Wendy on a scholarship?" I asked Jazz, trying to turn the conversation to a lighter subject.

"No. My parents are inventors, so they get a fair amount of cash coming in, but they're not the ones who sent us here," Jazz got a strange look on her face as she spoke about her parents, and I got the feeling she had some home life issues as well. "They're in Transylvania right now, and Vlad is out caretaker."

"Vlad…?" I said, raising an eyebrow.

"You don't know him," Jazz said shortly. Okay, that was yet another touchy subject, then. "Anyways, he's the one paying for me and my brother to go to school."

"Oh," I said, not sure what else I could add. "Sorry if I offended you, it was just you seemed a lot nicer then any of the rich girls I met," Jazz laughed at that, some of her tension melting.

"Tell me about it," She giggled. "Paulina is horrible! And it doesn't help that every boy in Casper is in love with her."

"Paulina Sanchez?" I said distastefully, remembering the girl from all of my Father's big fancy parties. She'd thrown a fit once that the five thousand dollar dress her mother had bought her for her birthday was the wrong color. (She wanted bubble-gum pink, and the dress was just regular pink. Ugh, pink…) We've hated each other on sight for forever now, something not likely to change at any point in the near future.

"Don't like her either, huh?" Jazz chuckled, "Ah well, let's hope the male population wakes up and smells the over-applied makeup and shallow-ness sometime soon."

"I could care less," I sniffed. "Any man who drools over someone as superficial as Paulina isn't worth the breath it'd take to talk to 'em," Jazz looked amused for some reason.

"Think so, huh?" she said, smiling knowingly. "Oh, this is your brother's apartment coming up. And there he is waiting for us…" I swallowed back the lump in my throat as a grabbed my backpack, put up the hood of my black hoodie and headed into the apartment.

Matt smiled when he saw us, and gave me a one armed hug, taking my bag off and carrying it for me.

"Hey, Jazz, hey Sam. Make it out okay?"

"Mom and Dad will absolutely freak in the morning." I responded, grinning.

"And we'll become official kidnappers," Jazz added, sounding amused despite the severity of the crime in question. "Come on, let's get you into Matt's place and fixed up." I nodded and followed the two older students, making sure to keep my gaze on the ground.

"So…how's Liz?" Matt asked Jazz casually.

"Alright, I suppose," Jazz said, a grin evident in her tone. "Though I suppose you'd know more if you asked her yourself…"

"No way," Matt said quickly. Jazz giggled.

"Who's Liz?" I couldn't help but ask Jazz as the distance between us and my brother's back became more drawn out.

"A friend of mine," Jazz answered, "She's a scholarship student, but really spunky. She and Matt are totally in love, but they won't acknowledge it. They got into a bit of a fight a while back and are both too stubborn to apologize." Matt had a crush? This was news. I wondered what else my brother wasn't telling me…

I eyed my brother suspiciously for a moment, before deciding that there couldn't possibly be anything else.

"Here we are," Matt said, opening the door to his apartment for us and holding it. My mother had drilled chivalry into his head at a young age, so Matt came off as pretty old fashion to a lot of people.

"Okay!" Jazz said, clapping her hands and turning to me as Matt closed the door behind himself, "Time for your makeover, Sam,"

"We should start with the uniform," Matt said, and I couldn't help but cringe at the horrible, dreaded word.

"Good idea," Jazz agreed, making my day worse by dragging out the uniform in question, which turned out to be a deep scarlet colored dress shirt with the Casper High emblem on it, and a dark wine and white tie. Accompanying this was black dress pants, dress shoes and dark wine socks.

"It's not as bad as the Wendy uniform," Jazz assured me, obviously guessing what I was thinking as I looked at the uniform. "And Matt showed me the one for the British school you were gonna be sent to. Now those were some horrible uniforms…" Seeing that even a self-righteous girl like Jazz shuttered upon thinking of wearing those uniforms, I suddenly found myself even more happy I wasn't going.

"Well, might as well get this over with," I said, sighing as if going to my own execution, which I may very well be doing. At least, the execution of my unique individuality expressed through clothing…

"Hold on." Jazz said quickly, rummaging through her purse. I stared when she handed me a roll of medical gauze. "Here, use it for your chest. You can keep the roll; I have about ten others at home. Tell me when you start to run low…"

"Do I want to know why you carry gauze around in your purse?" I couldn't help it, I had to ask. Jazz just laughed nervously.

"They're for my brother," She answered, fidgeting, "He's… ah… very clumsy! Yea, he's always hurting himself…"

"Okay…" I said slowly, feeling there was something she was leaving out. (Thinking back, that should've been my first big clue) Still, why look a gift horse in the mouth? I took the gauze and headed for the bathroom, a little regretful that this would be my last few moments as a girl for a while.

I mean, sure I wasn't a girly girl, but I wasn't a tomboy, either.

I came out of the bathroom about twenty minutes later, finding it MUCH harder to breath with the gauze then I thought it would be. God, did my chest hurt now! Because of this I was already irritable, and my mood worsened when I saw Jazz with a pair of scissors in her hands.

"Oh, no," I snapped, covering my head, "You are NOT cutting my hair!" My hair was short enough as it was, any shorter and I'd never get it back to a good length again. It was several inches above my shoulders, about chin length, and I'll keep it that way, thank you very much.

"Come on, Sam," Matt said, impatience clear in his voice. "No guy has hair that long at Casper!"

"My hair's short enough as it is, no one's cutting it!" I huffed. Matt and I bickered back and forward about it for a while, until Jazz lost patience.

"QUIET!" She yelled, silencing us. "Thank you. Sam, how 'bout a compromise? I'll trim about an inch off your hair and you can spike what's left in the morning so you look less feminine?"

"Sounds fair…" I admitted begrudgingly.

"Matt?" Jazz said, turning to my older brother. Matt grunted, yet it was still an obvious approval. Satisfied she'd worked everything out between us, Jazz set to work.

She was done pretty quickly, since she only took off an inch as promised. After that, I spiked my hair into small spikes with a little gel that Matt had provided and examined myself in the mirror.

I still looked kinda girly for a guy, but not enough so that it'd draw any real attention to me. Also, while I was short and skinny for a girl, I was even shorter and skinnier for a guy, seeming almost fragile compared to some of the better-looking guys I'd seen. Still, it was definitely passable, and it wasn't like I was there to meet girls, anyways…

"Great!" Jazz said enthusiastically. "You look perfect Sam! Just don't let anyone see you naked any there shouldn't be a problem."

"No worries there," Matt said, smirking, "Samuel has a rare physical disorder and can't take gym. Just keep a shirt on during the class trip to Miami."

"Thanks," I said, grateful to be getting out of Phys. Ed. Not a class I'd miss anytime soon…

"Get some rest, Sam," Matt said, with a 'you're welcome' smile fused with older sibling bossiness. "You've gotta be over there early tomorrow morning to finish registering. Jazz, you should get back to the Wendy Dorms before your roomie realizes how long you've been gone,"

"She won't," Jazz stated confidently. "She's staying at her boyfriend's apartment tonight. He's in college and knowing her she won't be back until sometime on Thursday night."

"Still," Matt said, "It's getting late and a girl like you shouldn't travel alone after dark. What if you get mugged or shot or kidnapped by a ghost?"

What was that last one again? I thought, blinking at my brother in shock, but just Jazz bust out laughing.

"Shot or mugged around HERE?" She said, grinning, "By who? You honestly think Testlaff would let someone within ten feet of these schools with a gun? Not to mention all the police around here paid specifically to keep the rich people's idea of 'trash' out…" I noticed she didn't comment on the last one.

"And the ghosts?" Matt said, apparently noticing this, too. Jazz rolled her eyes.

"The way Phantom patrols this area, I feel sorry for any ghost who'd try it," She said firmly.

"Dunno why you're so confident about that spook…" Matt sighed.

"And I don't know why you are so suspicious of him." Jazz responded. "He's saved me from ghosts too many times to count before, Matt, and he'd do it again in a heartbeat."

"Ghosts don't have heartbeats," Matt reminded her, "And what makes you so sure?" At that, Jazz gave my brother an I-Know-Something-And-You-Don't smile.

"Some things, Matt," She answered, "Are obvious." And with a sweep of her long red hair, Jazz headed out the apartment, shutting the door behind her. Matt sighed again after she left.

"Stubborn basket case…" he muttered, "Let's see if she's still sticking up for him after that ghost attacks and kills her or something. Or her brother…"

"Ghosts?" I repeated, scoffing slightly, "You wanna tell me what that's about, Matt?" Matt sighed.

"Not really, since you won't believe me," Matt said simply, "But I probably have to, to give you fair warning… Sam, Casper High is haunted. Seriously haunted." I laughed, thinking my brother was joking around, but his face stayed grim and serious.

"You honestly expect me to believe that?" I asked incredulously. Matt smiled grimly.

"Not really, but you will after your first attack." He said. "Mine was about six months ago, and Jazz about three months earlier. She's actually been attacked a couple of times."

"And this Phantom is the ghost haunting the school?" I said doubtfully. There was no way he'd get me to fall for this, no way.

"One of," Matt confirmed, "He's the main one. The others, they come and go, Phantom's the only constant."

"What, no one's come to exorcize him yet?" I asked jokingly.

"Ten different priests, of four different religions." Matt answered, "None of which were successful. Then we've also had ghost hunters coming in almost all the time, and heading off with their tails between their legs."

"Sounds like one bad ghost," I said, wincing. "Not that I believe you…"

"You won't until you meet him, no one does," Matt said, "Why don't you think I mentioned this at home?"

"This is a new kid joke, isn't it?" I asked, not willing to believe such a thing could actually exist in such a prestigious school. Matt sighed.

"Bed," he ordered. "I'll just wait till your next chat with Jazz to give you an I-told-you-so."

"Yeah, yeah," I said, confident he was just messing with me.

Stupid, naïve me…

***

"-remember you're not allowed out of the Dorms after ten, get caught and your ass is Lancers'. Breakfast is from 4 to 6, lunch is at 11and ends at 1 thirty and dinner is from 7 to 8. Miss it and you're screwed. You're living in a two-bedroom apartment with a bathroom, living room, and roommate, and no one is allowed to stay the night. Classes start at seven, and first class is homeroom. Then your first three hours, lunch and finish classes at 2. Any questions?"

"No," I answered, trying to remember all of this and memorize my scheduled and room number.

We'd just spend two hours waiting in line for my scheduled, and then another two hours touring the school a bit. Now we were heading up to the dormitory I'd call home for the next year so I could put my stuff away before heading down for lunch. Matt stopped as we got to the iron wrought gate that read Dormitory 13 in big, curly lettering.

"Sorry, I can't take you any further," He said with a wry smile, "Lancer's rules. You're on your own from here on out,"

"No problem," I said, holding my chin his and ignoring the pounding of my heart. "I can take care of myself. Better then mom and dad did, anyways…." Matt chuckled and looked as his he would've ruffled my hair is he wasn't afraid the gelled spikes would impale him.

"You do that, Sam," He said, grinning, "I'm in Dorm 4 if you need anything…only if it's an emergency. See you around… cuz," That was part of my cover. I was Matt's cousin from New York, the daughter of my crazy Aunt Gretchen and her husband Charlie.

They were a very rich, very secluded couple, with no phones or computers. Aunt Gretchen even went as far as to burn every letter she got without opening them. This way no one would be suspicious about my grades suddenly showing up in their mailbox.

I shook my head as if to dispel these thoughts, and, a determined glare set on the gloomy looking apartment, I started up the cobblestone path, my backpack (black, of course,) bouncing against me as I walked.

I was happy to see ivy and flora climbing up the side of the building before I entered. It gave it a much homier feel and improved the appearance of the apartment, not to mention helping the environment. I also noticed that there was no litter, a good sign, even if it was only the first day of the new school year.

The halls of the apartment were packed with boys who greeting old friends and chatting with new roommates. Still, there was enough room in the hall to get around them easy, especially since I only had one backpack to my name, something some kids noticed with a sneer, apparently thinking I was poor.

If only they knew…

Other then that, though, the boys didn't so much as glance at me. Feeling as though I'd passed some sort of test, I made my way to floor six, room 073. There, I saw my roommate had managed to beat me to the room, as a wooden plaque with gold lettering proclaiming D. Fenton was already in the first slot for the door. That probably meant I had the smaller room, not that I cared.

After putting my own plaque in place (S. Manson.) beside his, I slid my key into the lock and opened the door, stepping into a very nice living room. Apparently, my roommate was an artist, too, since some of his pieces were on top of the TV, which was on and droning out some news broadcast. (A little weird for a fifteen-year-old boy to watch the news, but I wasn't complaining. At least it wasn't porn…)

Unable to resist, I dropped my backpack to the floor and began leafing through his work. It was a lot of different stuff. Some real life drawings, some more comical, and some clearly completely made up. (What was that blue guy with the speech bubble screaming 'BEWARE!' anyways, a plumber?)

But one thing I noticed right away was that he was good. I was curious about some of the real life drawings. I didn't know most of the people he'd drawn but he had a lot of Paulina (I made a face every time I saw this one come up again, though they were just as good as the others) and, surprisingly, Jazz.

I couldn't help but giggle at the one of Jazz curled up asleep on a couch with a bear that was dressed up like Albert Einstein, with writing that looked a little too neat for a boy at the top reading Jazz & Bearbert, 7/20/04. I was impressed that he took the time to date his work. It seemed very professional for a high school kid, and my friends certainly teased me when I did it.

I felt some of my worry ebb away at some of the pictures as it became clearer that my roomie had a sense of humor and a creative flair. I hadn't even met him and I could already tell we'd get along just fine. And with an ally in my roommate, what else was there to worry about? Just then I felt a wave of heat and moisture and heard a door shut behind someone. Clearly not making the connection I should've, I looked up.

Standing in front of me, freshly bathed, was my roommate in nothing but a towel. The most vivid pair of blue eyes I'd ever seen (and set into an absolutely gorgeous face, too) flashed in surprise at seeing me standing there, and the boy stopped in his tracks. His inky black hair was a little ruffled from a towel drying, and a few stubborn little droplets still clung to it.

As I said before, he was wearing a towel and only a towel. A well built but not ape-like upper torso still glistening from his shower attracted my gaze before anything was said, and I couldn't stop my face from heating up. I'd never had a boyfriend before, and here an almost naked hottie stood in front of me like nothing was wrong.

Which it probably wasn't in his world, since technically I'm just another guy to him.

"Oh, you must be my roommate," He said in a pleasant tone, "Sorry, didn't hear you come in. I'm Danny. Danny Fenton."

And, just like that, things became MUCH more complicated.

Whew! Long chap! Okay, till next time! (Which will be pretty soon, hopefully...)

~Elena