I wrote this story, originally, for a game called Candy Love on the internet. www . mycandylove . com
I smiled at my new principal, holding onto my new bookbag tightly. The principal was a nice-looking elderly lady with long gray hair and brown eyes hidden by the glare of her circle glasses. She was pudgy, as most older women tended to be, and she wore a floral pink kimono that made me think she was Asian, but I couldn't really tell because her eyes were too small and her voice wasn't accented. "Are all my registration forms in order?" I asked.
"Oh, I don't know, sweetie," the sweet elderly lady said. She had a smile on her wrinkled face. "You should ask Nathaniel, he's the student body president. He works with most of the paperwork. We staff need brakes too every now and then, you know. Where's your āyí, your auntie?"
I grinned. "Working, of course," I replied. My auntie, Sarah, was a party agent, though sometimes I think she took her job too seriously. Sometimes she showed up dressed like a princess or a bunny rabbit, depending on what the theme of her party was. She usually only took children's party jobs. She was incredibly childish. She was fun to be around. "She said she'll stop by, though, if that's what you're wondering."
She smiled. "Well, do you want to go talk to Nathaniel or would you like a tour of the school?"
"I'll go to the student body president, if you don't mind, Mrs.…" I scratched the back of my neck and frowned. "Well, I never did catch your name."
The principal smiled, like a loving grandmother at the antics of her youngest grandchild. It made me feel warm inside. "The students here call me Mrs. Wan Gong," she said, "but seeing as you…need a friend, you can call me Lin Yao."
The mention of my parents' death put a sour scowl on my face. The entire reason I was in Candice City was because of my parents' recent, tragic deaths. They died in a car accident. I'd been shipped off first opportunity to my godmother's house—just so happened that my godmother was my aunt. I nodded, no longer feeling friendly or welcomed. I felt bitter—bitter and dead. Mrs. Wan Gong's mention of my mother and father had me just as dead as they were.
"Yeah, um, thanks," I answered curtly, doing my best not to appear rude. I pointed at the door to my right. "Council room, right?"
Mrs. Wan Gong nodded and I nodded back, brushing past her to go meet her Nathaniel.
A guy, tall and lean, was bent over a few towers of files. "Uh, hey, have you seen Nathaniel around here?" I asked, trying to get this over with as quickly as possible. I just wanted to be enrolled and start life as normally as possible. I wanted to forget everything.
The guy jumped up and turned around. He had blonde hair and honey brown eyes; he was just as tall as I expected and sinewy muscles lined his arms and chest. A white dress shirt covered the expanse of his arms and chest. He had a sky blue tie and a pair of skinny blue jeans. He rubbed the back of his neck, as if I'd scared him.
I probably had; I didn't look exactly like a ray of sunshine. My hair was short, and in its perfect black ringlets it reached the tip of my pointed chin. I had violet eyes, set in a permanent narrow glare. My nose was small and my perky lips were set in a natural glower when I wasn't controlling my facial muscles. I wasn't exactly dressed for school either, in a pair of short white gym shorts and rumpled white tank top. I was sure I looked like an angry mess. Naturally, I actually looked pretty mean. Right now, I didn't care.
Nevertheless, the guy smiled at me, his eyes closed and head tilted kindly. "That would be me," he said.
I tried to smile at him, but it wasn't in me. I imagined it looked like a grimace. "Hey, can you give me my registration forms so I can fill them out?" I wondered. I leaned on my left foot, scratching the fabric of my bag with my nails. "I need to fill them out."
Nathaniel frowned, but searched in one of his filing cabinet towers and pulled out a folder. "Alise Sanders," he named the file in his hand. "You, right?"
The blonde came over and gave them to me. "You'll need to get a school photo ID and, because it's late, you'll need to pay a twenty-five dollar fee." His voice sounded apologetic, but I didn't think he knew anything about me or my parents, and that made me like him more. He grinned just as remorsefully. "Come back when you get it all, alright?"
"Got ya, Mr. President," I answered. I swiveled on my tennis shoes and waved at him without turning around. "See ya."
I pushed through the door and frowned, closing my eyes to the incoming headache. They seemed to come about a lot. The sound of shoes pounding on the school's tile floors made me open my eyes. Down the halls, bowl-cut Kentin from my old school came running. If confusion had a face, I swear it would've been mine. His thick glasses looked fogged, like they always did when they saw me. It made my tan cheeks blush visibly.
Ken raced down the hall, tripping over his untied sneaker shoes as he so often did. I ran down to catch him; I didn't want the poor guy breaking his nose. He was fragile as it was. "Alise!" he shouted, practically leaning into my arms as I tried to keep my distance. "Hi! I was beginning to think you weren't going to register!"
I sighed exasperatedly. "What are you doing here, Ken?" I groaned, but I don't think he noticed. He never noticed the small hints; I never wanted to be mean though. I might end up having to be. I did my best to straighten him, trying to keep my distance. Ken didn't seem to understand.
Ken smiled at me. He was shorter than I was, surprisingly. Puberty hadn't quite caught up with him, even in high school. "I heard you transferred schools, so I decided I might join you," he announced. His thick glasses didn't let me see his eyes, but I could imagine them reflecting the same smile he had on his face. He kept close and I tried to move away, but the more I did the closer he got. "I didn't think you'd want to be in a new school alone, so I thought maybe we could go through it together." Ken smiled, thinking he looked very much like knight in shining armor.
"Um, yeah," I muttered uncomfortably. Kentin was a sweetheart and he meant well but sometimes he took things too far. Leaving me without personal space? A bit uncomfortable, but otherwise okay, I guess. Following me out of the state to go to my school? Strange, stinking of stalker. "Thanks…?"
An ear to ear grin was my answer.
I tried to step away from him. "Well, I've got to go," I said, uneasy. I toyed with my ear and ran off. The school was huge, but I was pretty sure I could at least find someone to tell me the way back. I ran out the enormous school doors and into the even bigger courtyard.
The place was amazing, a tiny little garden to decorate and clean, fresh asphalt coating the ground. I heard the comforting sound of an electric B Minor and I scanned the courtyard for the person playing the guitar. It ended sourly, making my face twist. I saw a head of red hair bent over a black guitar in the corner of the courtyard. A leather jacket with a popped collar covered the person's face, but I knew it was a guy from the way the fingers stroked the guitar.
I had all day to finish the registration forms, but I might never see this guy again and I could see how frustrated he was getting at his B Minor. Sighing, because if I were him I'd be pretty pissed at myself too, I walked over, sitting next to him on the stone bench. "Wanna fix that B?" I asked.
The redhead looked up at me. Okay, so maybe looked was too light a term. He examined me with suspicious gray eyes. He had high cheekbones and pink-tinted skin; a strong, straight nose decorated the center of his face. It had a little bump, as if it'd been broken in a fight. He had strong muscles that couldn't be described as anything lanky. The leather jacket really did wonders for him, and the red shirt that complemented his every move didn't kill him either. "Did I ask for your help?" he snapped snarkily.
"No, but that guitar did," I answered, with just as much attitude. I waited for an answer, but none came. I smirked at him, tossing a curl out of my face. People told me I was beautiful in a mean way and right now I really hoped that was true. It would help me right now. I pointed at his hand. "Move that finger higher."
The guy glared at me, but his finger moved anyway.
"Try again," I told him.
The B minor sounded amazing, and it made me grin. The redhead, however, scowled at me. "Lucky guess," he snorted.
"Lucky?" I snorted. "Hand it over, I'll show you lucky."
I didn't wait for his answer; I fought the expensive-looking guitar from his grip. He didn't fight back, for fear of breaking it. When I held it in my arms, I understood why. It was a Gibson USA Joan Jett Blackheart; it sold for a whapping $1,533. Its body was solid mahogany; it was made to the design of the Melody Maker of the early to mid '60s, with two cutaways for exceptional access to the neck's upper frets. It was amazing to say the least. I'd wanted it since it first came out; I'd researched it so much I'd memorized every section of its bio. The mahogany offered a nice, rich, warm sound and it made me melt. It was really light—four, five pounds at most. It had an ebony finish that made it soft to the touch.
I caressed the headstock for a second before leaning over the beautiful Joan Jett Blackheart and play three notes before playing the Plain White T's Airplane. He let me play the whole two minutes of the song. When I was done, I didn't feel like running away from the school anymore. I felt relaxed, comfortable. I wanted to keep going, play another song. But I didn't. I handed over the coveted Joan Jett Blackheart and said, "Now that'swhat I call luck!" I hadn't missed a single note.
The redhead guitarist snorted. "You new kids like to come in and rule everything don't you?" he growled.
"Are you always this nice?"
He scowled, making the guitar comfortable in his arms again. "Especially to you new kids," he snarled. He examined me again, and I suddenly felt very conscience of my outfit. It exposed a lot of skin. I blushed, averting my purple gaze. "I'm Castiel," he said.
I turned my eyes back to him, but I could still feel the warmth of my cheeks. "That's more like it. I'm Alise." I put my hand out to him and he reluctantly shook it. "Do you know where I could get a school ID?"
His gray eyes made me feel a bit stupid when he said, "A place with a picture booth, maybe."
I scowled at him. "No duh, smart one," I growled back. "Where in this godforsaken Candice City is there a picture booth?"
Castiel looked lightened; he smirked at me. "Dollar store," he answered. His eyes darted down to the amazing guitar; he played the perfected B minor and humphed, pleased with himself.
"Thanks," I said. "Happen to have twenty-five bucks on you I could borrow?" I didn't want to go running to my auntie yet. I didn't want to burden her.
The redhead raised one eyebrow. "Do I looklike an ATM?"
I stood up from the bench, placing a longing hand on the Blackheart's ebony body. "Only hurts my pride to ask," I sighed. I turned around in the direction of the dollar store. I'd seen it on my way to meet Mrs. Wan Gong. I didn't start school until tomorrow, so that was probably why no one was jumping down my throat about the dress code. "Practice that B minor!" I shouted back to him, walking away.