Lydia’s cereal was mushy, the patronizingly cheerful marshmallow shapes in it dissolving and turning her milk an unappetizing blue. She grimaced, letting the spoon clink into the bowl as she dumped the whole soggy mess into the sink. The first casualty of the morning, and all due to an unexpected last minute search to find her still-missing science assignment. She bet it was Alex’s fault, he was the one who had dumped her school bag yesterday. Her jaw clenched in remembered fury.

No, she chided herself. Think happy thoughts. That’s right, rainbows, pink ponies, ice cream sundaes. . . But, that jerk! As if he wasn’t annoying enough already, now my grades are suffering because of him. . . She sighed, miserable. It wasn’t working; try as she might, there were no happy thoughts in her this morning. Come to think of it, she hadn’t experienced any joy since she’d started school a day ago. Alex Asserman, I’m going to kill you. . .

But before she had time to find a knife, or any other utensil proper in the murder of another human being, the bus arrived, sending her into another frenzy as she threw her backpack over her shoulder and gathered other miscellaneous belongings. Dashing breathlessly out the door in disarray, she clambered aboard her ride not a moment too soon, sinking into another foul mood. Her life was guided by the principles of the snowball effect - if one bad thing happens, more are sure to follow.

Resting her head against the window, she tried to calm herself down. . .

And then the bus went over the railroad tracks, thoroughly jostling Lydia’s brains.

The day just kept getting better and better.

Entering room 26-W, the first thing Lydia saw was a blonde head. A blonde head running around screaming, attached to the body of a petite young girl her own age. For a few moments, Lydia almost forgot all of her woes, watching the spectacle. But then again, this was Enriched Minds, and everyone there was weird, so she should just get used to it.

The screaming blonde thing approached her, panting and giggling. “Help me get him!”

Lydia blinked, depositing her cargo on the floor. “Get who?”

“Him!” A finger was thrust in the direction of one Wesley Burkhardt, who was tittering in the goofiest way and crouching behind a table, a furry pink coin purse dangling in one hand. And just when she thought she’d seen it all . . .

“Come on!” Before Lydia knew it, she was being dragged across the room by the wrist, approaching the apparent thief at high speeds.

“Give me back Mr. Furry!” the girl howled, making a mad dive towards Wesley. Who ducked, but then tripped over a stack of books and tumbled to the ground. Wasting no time, the feisty blonde seized the pouch from his grasp, kicking him for punishment. “Mr. Furry!” she cried, stroking her prize. Lydia tried to piece what she’d just seen together.

After a teary reunion, a much calmer version of the girl turned to her. Apparently, the policy around here was to randomly involve strangers with insane tasks, then bother with introductions. “Oh, hey! I’m Danielle. Call me Dani.” The she said it made it sound like a law, punishable by death if broken. Lydia could believe it, too.

“I’m . . . Lydia . . .” our drama queen answered haltingly, still bewildered by what she’d just witnessed.

“Ooo, you’re the writer girl, aren’t you? That’s cool!” Her head bounced with every syllable. “You could, like, sit with us at lunch if you wanted. You and that other girl. What‘s her name? Autumn?” She fished in her pocket, producing a package of Bubble Yum. “Want some?”

If Bubble Yum would make her as hyperactive as Dani was acting, she could pass. “Uh . . . no thanks.”

Dani didn’t even react, just shoved a piece in her own mouth and began chewing. Then she gasped, scaring the daylights out of Lydia, her first thought being that Dani had choked on the gum. But, luckily for both of them, since Lydia didn’t know the Heimlich maneuver, she added, “Oh! I just remembered, I forgot to do the other half of my math! Bye, Lydia, nice meeting you! See you at lunch!” And then she dashed off as if she had never approached in the first place.

Lydia stood there, in the center of the room, for a few dumbstruck moments, then slowly made her way over to her table. Well, that was certainly an interesting start to the day . . . It had helped to make her forget some of her misery, though, she had to admit. Insane ball of energy that she was, maybe Dani could possibly be a positive influence on her new life at Pinebrook. And since had and Autumn had been sitting alone during lunch, she might just take her up on that offer.

She took a deep breath, trying to ward off the tension that had been eating away at her for the past couple of days. So far, this was her best day back to school yet. Now, if only the one thing that would make it a really great day could come true . . .

At that second, Alex entered the room, completely ruining everything. It was almost comical that his presence could obliterate every shred of her happiness, especially since he wasn’t even doing anything annoying yet. But, but, it was . . . . she just couldn’t describe it. It was just something in the way he was himself, something irritated her to no end . . .

She plunked down in her chair, her depression returned. So much for a great day.

Wow. Lydia had never known there were so many uses for food besides eating it. Or how many different ways there were of eating it that you’d never have dreamed of. It was a little disturbing. And disgusting. Don’t forget the disgusting. If nothing else, dining with Dani and Co. was an excellent way to find methods to gross out your family during dinner . . .

“Noooo, those are my pickles!” came Dani’s anguished cry, as a girl who had gleefully introduced herself to be Jacie raided her plate. A brief battle ensued, involving a lot of stabbing with plastic forks and pickle juice being sprayed everywhere. To Autumn and Lydia’s amazement, no one seemed to think anything unusual of this behavior.

“Hahahaha, I got one!” Jacie chewed exaggeratedly and stuck out her tongue, proudly displaying to everyone ABC pickle.

Dani then squealed in frustration and swacked her on the arm, pouting over her food. The other two members of the table, Sylvia and a round-faced, sassy girl named Mona, were talking about last night’s episode of some sitcom involving foul-mouthed puppets, along with sculpting things out of their jello. And for them, this was a typical day at lunch.

Autumn and Lydia exchanged looks, Lydia’s of terror, Autumn’s of raised eyebrows. Well, it was more interesting than eating alone, but my goodness, Dani was psycho . . . then again, weren’t they all psycho, in one way or another? Betting that no one would notice their conversation, as the occupants of their new lunch lodgings were too occupied stuffing their (or each other’s) faces, Lydia turned her head to the side and slid lower into her seat.

“What do you think of Dani?” she whispered, a hand over her mouth. Her voice was barely heard amidst the clamor of everyone else’s conversations. Autumn had liked it much better when they ate outside; it was less noisy.

“What?” Autumn whispered back, not comprehending. “And get your hand away from you face so it’s not so obvious you’re telling me something secret.”

“Sorry.” Lydia’s guilty voice was still paper-thin, but this time more of a construction thickness. “I said, what do you think of Dani?”

Finally, she understood. “Well, she’s a very individual person.” The word ‘individual’ had its own special lilt to it. Reading into what Lydia was hinting at, she continued with, “I like her, and I think sitting here will be a . . . cultural experience, even if we won’t accomplish much eating. Besides, we could use some friends in Enriched Minds. We don’t want to look anti-social.”

Lydia still looked unsure, watching as Dani and Mona sang a song of their own invention, one which involved a lot of synchronized clapping. Most things between she and Autumn were joint decisions, and ninety-nine point nine percent of the time Autumn’s judgment was correct. If she was okay with sitting here, Lydia was inclined to agree with her. It wasn’t that she disliked Dani, she seemed like a nice person who could possibly show her how to have some fun in life, which she could definitely use. But she seemed a little . . . eccentric, and she wondered if being associated with her would be such a good thing . . .

“Oh, for God’s sakes, forget public opinion for five seconds. Besides, we’re in a smart class, everyone hates us by default anyway. We’re sitting here, and that‘s final. Now eat your pudding and stop deliberating.” It was eerie, sometimes, how Autumn seemed to know just what she was thinking . . . she supposed it came from knowing each other forever. However, Lydia still had trouble figuring out what went on in the devious redhead’s mind . . .

“Hey Autumn, Lydia! We’re going to go through the snack line. Want to come with us?” The sunshiney soprano of Dani Monks invaded Lydia’s thoughts, her sea green eyes awaiting an answer.

Lydia looked to Autumn, who shrugged. “Uh . . . sure. But I don’t have any money.”

“That’s okay!” Dani chirped, smiling and certainly making diabetics go for their needles. “If you see anything you want, I’ll buy it for you. If I have any money left. I don’t know. Hey, Mona, do you know how much ice cream costs this year?”

As the quartet of oddities chattered on about junk food and prices, Lydia and Autumn followed along behind, eyebrows brushing their hairlines.

“They certainly have your metabolism,” Autumn commented wryly.

“That’s for sure.”

Lydia was back in the torture chamber.

Okay, maybe that was a bit of a dramatization. She was good at that. At least she had Sylvia to talk to today, even if she couldn’t really follow half of her gibberish. And Alex was, for a change of pace, being silent. As for the fourth member of the table, a tall, thin boy with flaming red hair who answered to Caleb, whom Lydia had never really tried to strike up a conversation with, he was in intense concentration of coloring a picture that had something to do with monkeys. She fought off the urge to facefault. It was actually a moderately peaceful day, all things considered. Still, something gnawed at her, some omen of dread . . . maybe she needed a therapist.

“Alright!” sounded the perky tone of Mrs. Hoover, gripping her podium. Her eyes glinted zealously. A sort of sigh traveled over the classroom, as everyone closed textbooks and put away their . . . assignments. Having just come from lunch, no one was quite in the mood to get back to work.

“Today, we’re going to brush up on our writing skills.” Mrs. Hoover’s chocolate eyes seemed to center specifically on Lydia, and a few others followed. She tried to ignore them and act aloof, but inside all she wanted to do was crawl under her chair. She hated it when people stared at her and made a big deal out of things.

A sheet was being passed around with a prompt, and several groans issued. “Now, don’t complain,” Mrs. Hoover warned, placing two hands on her skinny hips. “You all have enough brainpower to get this done easy peasy lemon squeezy.” She giggled at her own silly joke, but everyone else just stared blankly back at her.

Her face reverted back to its normal lecturing expression. “Anyway, you all have thirty minutes to finish. I’m setting the timer. Ready . . . set . . . go!”

Lydia began to examine the paper, reading the prompt at the top. It was one of those assignments where you had to finish the rest of the story, which was something about a boy getting lost in the woods and coming across a wolf, in your own words. It wasn’t her favorite thing to do, but she could complete it simply enough. Wasting no time, she picked up her pencil and began to write, her hand not stopping until the timer dinged half an hour later.

“Time’s up!” Mrs. Hoover relayed in a sing-songy voice, placing the timer back in her desk with the rest of her assorted junk. With any hope, she’d never find it again.

“Now, let’s see what you all wrote. I want someone to come up here and share their story. Let’s see . . . how about Lydia!”

She wasn’t exactly taken off guard, but that didn’t give her any peace of mind. With slow steps, she approached the dreaded podium as if she were heading to her own funeral. The paper bunched in her hands, and she felt awkward and acutely aware of every imperfection on her body, so close under the examination of class. There was actually a tangible sort of expectancy in the air. Apparently, everyone was interested to see whether or not Lydia could write as well as they had presumed.

Given a little empowerment by this, she finally received the movtivation to begin reading. At a volume that was surprisingly projected, she read along quickly, her tongue amazingly never once stumbling over the long words she had penned.

“The crackle of his sneakers on the underbrush came to a sharp halt as he came upon the creature, his breath shut into his chest with sudden shock and terror. The creature’s fangs were tinted red still from its last meal, a sight befitting of a horror film. That blood could be his if he didn’t stay absolutely still. He prayed the beast hadn’t heard him already, and concentrated on making every inch of his body limp, his breathing shallow. What had he read in books about wolves? Never to run, don’t make eye contact . . . the object of his fear moved suddenly, sniffing the ground on the trail of some scent he hoped wasn’t his. For the better part of fifteen minutes he stood motionless in the foliage, watching the wolf prowl around. And then, finally, she bolted away, answering to some distant call that he was grateful for. It was a while yet before he dared move again, when he was sure the fearsome canine was long out of earshot. And when he did, he headed straight for home, taking no detours. He had had enough fun in the woods for one day.”

She finished with a sigh of relief, chancing a look at her audience. Most of them had similar looks of approval on their faces, or at least they didn’t look dissatisfied. Mrs. Hoover, however, was the most vocal in her admiration, litterally jumping out of her chair and clapping. Lydia tried to look pleased, but all she could manage was a small but wary smile. Here it came . . .

Giving Lydia a squeeze that was all too maternal, Mrs. Hoover regarded the class with her seemingly unfading enthusiasm. “Now, this girl can write. All of you in here should take after her. I haven’t seen the rest of your assignments yet, but I hope they’ll all be as enjoyable as this was. Thank you, Lydia! It was very wonderful. You’re a very talented girl, I can see why you’re here.” She winked.

Lydia just wanted to die. Was Mrs. Hoover stupid? Now everyone was going to hate her because the teacher would constantly be comparing their writing to hers. Not everyone had way with words like she did. Oh, life just wasn’t fair . . . Red-faced with shame and embarrassment, she sank down into her chair, feeling the stares of everyone surrounding her. Instead of feeling proud like she should have, Lydia agonized over what everyone must think of her. She looked so stuck up . . .

Before her mind could beginning spinning her inner torment into a theatrical production, the thing that sat across from her that commonly was referred to as Alex Asserman (though, in her own mind, she much preferred “conceited jerk”) interrupted her grieving.

“Hey. Hey. That was a pretty good story.”

Her anguished eyes drifted upwards from their previous position studying the faux wood grain on the table, and she didn’t even bother trying to stuff her emotions away and regard him with the usual annoyance. His pretenses looked honest enough this time.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, not sounding the least bit grateful for the compliment. Instead, her embitterment intensified. Mrs. Hoover was droning on again, but Lydia barely heard her. Out of the spiel, the only words that mattered were “free work time”, anyhow.

“Yeah, that was awesome! It sounded just like something published!” Sylvia’s congratulation came next. By this time, Lydia was too busy wallowing in self-pity to be flattered. Luckily, this was Sylvia they were talking about; she seldom needed a response to satisfy her, such was her attention span. Mostly, she was content if you listened while she did the talking for you.

That wasn’t enough to satiate Alex, however. Even though he had only known Lydia for three days, this was odd behavior for her. His words had failed to incense her as they usually did, which in itself was a direct S. O. S. signal from H. M. S. Lydia. Not that he was complaining, because although it was much fun to make her angry, he wasn’t a total masochist. Watching the brunette mope in front of him, it registered that she was upset about something. But what? It didn’t make sense after she had been showered in such praise for her writing. Shifting nervously in his chair, he tried to think of a plan of action. Unfortunately, comforting girls in the throes of emotional distress was not his area of expertise. Especially when dealing with someone as volatile as Lydia, who, if spoken the wrong words to, could go off like a bomb.

Out of options, and aware that he was wasting time, Alex blurted out the most appropriate, simple, non-offensive thing he could think of. “Uh . . . what’s up?”

The response was a long wail that was distinctly Lydia’s own and no one else’s. Only the flicker of agitation shone in her eyes; maybe there was hope yet for a civil conversation. And, she conceded grudgingly, I have no real reason to be angry with him. I don’t want to seem like a total ice queen. Unknowingly, Alex had keyed just the right note, factoring in the drama queen’s currently frail self-esteem. In this state, she could be humbled to do just about anything if she thought it would save others’ opinion of her from souring.

With a sigh, she answered, “Nothing’s up. Everything is down.”

“Oh.“ Still largely clueless on the source of Lydia’s bemoaning, Alex was really hoping she’d elaborate. Maybe if he just listened, she wouldn’t get mad and might at least drop a hint. Honestly, he couldn’t say why he wanted one, either. It just seemed naturally more important than his math homework at the moment. Anyway, math was easy for him, and Lydia . . . well, there wasn’t a course you could take in any school that would help him understand her fully. Still, for some reason, he seemed hell-bent on trying . . .

“And now everyone is going to think I’m stuck-up because of what Mrs. Hoover said about my writing in front of everybody . . . Ohh, I hate my life.” She buried her head in her arms that were folded on the table, not caring to contemplate why she was sharing her woes with the likes of Alex. So deep was she in misery, it didn’t matter who heard her. New levels of low were succumbed to.

Sylvia and Caleb were oblivious to all this, totally absorbed with whatever they were doing, as was too often the case. Alex study Lydia’s lithe figure crumpled upon the table, growing really nervous. What was he supposed to say to that? He wanted to resolve Lydia’s angst, so she’d get back to her normal self and stop making him anxious. This new, whiny version was not suiting her well. Hoping for the best, he attempted at consolement.

“I . . . uh . . . . I don’t think you’re stuck-up.”

Lydia’s head snapped up, looking at Alex with an expression of such shock and bewilderment it was comical. For a few seconds, she forgot to be angry, and just sat gaping at the boyish figure across from her. What?! He wasn’t supposed to say nice things to her! The . . . the gall to even think he had permission to try and be kind . . . Lydia’s process of thought revealed giggle-worthy excuses, and because she was so caught off-guard, she believed them in order to avoid the alternatives, which were much unfavorable as well as too vulnerable. Her brows dived, her hazel eyes clouded, her glossy lips pinched. It was the infamous Death Glare, and a rendition only Alex had the pleasure of receiving.

“Who asked you?” Forgetting her previous lament and instead focusing all of her nagativity at poor Alex, she swiped her pencil off of the table and started fishing around in her backpack, shaking and muttering. Seriously, what was his problem?

Lydia’s new stress reliever (well, maybe “redirector” is a better term) just stared at her, dumbfounded. He’d gotten what he wanted, and Lydia was back to her normal self, terminally annoyed with the world as ever. However, he wished he might have gotten her to carry on a decent conversation (not that he was any good at those) without sparking her temper somehow, as he always seemed to do. It didn’t make any sense; the question had seemed innocent and genuine enough . . . He returned to his work with a touch of disappointment. Girls, he’d never understand them.

Several feet away, a pair of aquamarine eyes glittered with the glee of seeing such a good show, Alex’s best performance yet. And, even unbeknownst to Autumn, there were two others who were also in the audience . . . two others whose criticism of the feature was a lot harsher than her own.

Finally, an update! I’ve been swamped by my to-do list lately. . . but my best friend kept telling me to write more, so I did. Yay! This is still so entertaining to write. . . But, it’s kind of at the back of my ‘Stories to Work On’ list at most times due to its longer-estimated length and the popular demand on some of my shorter stories on . However, I’ve been inspired to write more on it recently. ^_^ Sorry, everyone! Please take this update as my gift for being so lazy. . .

Sey Lee: My relationship with yaoi is an odd one. . . I’d written this bio a long time ago, and maybe it’s not true to say I hate it anymore. I’m not a homophobe by any standard, it’s just that fangirls who abhor straight and canon couplings seem to mash together any two male character possible for their drooling delight. It sickens me. . . I’m a very canon person, and although I can accept some out-of-canon concepts, what some of them do goes a little too far. But I don’t mind a little yaoi in my manga. I’m just not an enthusiast. Thanks for asking a very interesting question, and pointing out a rather hilarious contradiction on my bio!

And yes, I’m aware Alex and Stan are talking like girls. But, if we were to be true to the actual characters, this would be a story composed of grunts. XD So, in order to keep the plot moving a little faster than the pace of a snail. . . they must become a little more conversationally articulate.

*~NEXT CHAPTER*~

Supporting Cast

We are given intro to the other inhabitants of room 26-W, Vicky especially. As well, the usual chaos ensues as Alex continues to be . . . well, Alex, giving Lydia premature wrinkles on her brow. And by the end, you’ll know just what role everyone plays . . .