A/N Again, rated for language and mild violence. Same proceedure, tell me what you want me to do with this one. All opinions welcome!

One

Fiona Sanchez, biggest idiot in the world!

With that thought, I gathered my bag up off the table and swung it onto my back with a huff. My face was still burning, so I picked up my folder and practically hid behind it. I mean, how thick could one person possibly get?

With a lump the size of Alabama in my throat and my eyes threatening to spill over at any second, I hurried out of the English classroom without even waiting for Tom, who I was supposed to walk to Geography with. I wanted to be away from every single one of them it that classroom, since they had all just witnessed my misfortune.

Misfortune! Ha! What a bloody mild word for my complete and utter humiliation!

God, I knew this would happen one day. I just knew it. For all my years of life I have never had a single crush on a boy. Not one. And now I get one that’s been going on for weeks and weeks, and it all blows up in my face.

Why don’t crushes ever blow up in anyone else’s face?

Why does everyone else with a crush just forget about it in a month or two?

Seriously, I had actually believed that yes, this is it, I’m finally in love! And then what happens? Kaboom! Kaput! Ka-what bloody-ever!

In THE most humiliating way possible!

I crashed through the side doors, sending several year sevens scampering for cover. Usually I felt sorry for the little tykes, all wide-eyed and teenyboppers, but sooooo not today. Today, I was fully prepared to live up to the scary year eleven image that all the little ones saw me as. Gasp! So tall! Gasp! So mean! Gasp! Oh my god, she’s gonna kill us!

‘Fiona! Hey Fi, wait up!’

Urgh, go away Tom!

‘Fi! God, what’s up with you?’ The slightly plump guy known as Thomas Gunner skidded to a halt at my side, panting slightly from the effort of running all but ten steps. I rolled my eyes, taking in his beach ball shaped head and barrel shaped coat and suddenly found him the most annoying being on the Earth.

‘Fi?’

‘Go away Tom,’ I snapped, picking up my pace. Hey, I might be nearly as big as Tom, but I could walk faster than any person in my year when I wanted to.

It comes from being forced to, you see.

He was quiet a moment as he had to practically jog to keep up with me. Then... ‘Why?’

‘God, will you just piss off?’ I slapped at his hand as it went to grab my back to slow me down. ‘You’re like a goddamn limpet you are.’

‘Hey, you were the one that wanted to walk over to Geoggers with me.’

‘That,’ I informed him, ‘was yesterday. Besides, you’re perfectly capable of walking on your own, as I am.’ I added extra speed.

‘Goddamn power walker-‘ he grunted, most definitely jogging now.

Any other time it would have made me smile to see him suffer like that. Just let me get to Geography, I prayed, where I know no one and no one knows me. All the pupils in that class just saw straight through me.

Which was constant relief.

I myself jogged the last few paces to the Humanities doors, then barrelled through them, crashing into a couple of year eleven lads that promptly started mouthing off at me.

‘Fucking twat,’ one snarled, shoving me away from him.

As I looked up (rather bravely if I do say so myself) I groaned inwardly, all flip remarks dying on my tongue. Niall Ranger, nicknamed Orange for his bright ginger hair. Of all the bastards I have to slam into...

Orange was the king of twats, as far as the twat race went, and most probably the thickest guy in the entire school. But no one messed with him; for if you back chatted Orange, you got your face rearranged.

So I did my duty and looked at my feet as his mates stood there looking intimidating. ‘Sorry Orange,’ I muttered in my most humble voice.

He growled at me, then shoved me against the wall, closing his hand tight around my neck and squeezing. My eyes bulged as I instinctively wriggled in his grasp, but he only tightened his hand at my throat. His mates began to whoop and laugh hysterically as I struggled to breathe.

Shit! He must be in a bad mood! Or on drugs, as he normally is at this time of day

Shit! I can’t breathe!

Then suddenly, I stopped squirming. A glaring bout of clarity appeared to me. If Orange killed me, it would solve all my problems so easily.

‘Go ahead,’ I rasped, looking him straight in the eye. ‘Choke me. I don’t care anymore.’

For some reason, that seemed to make him even angrier. He snarled, his gaunt face twisting into ugly contortions. Then, suddenly, his face was close to mine, those hollowed eyes burning into my own.

‘Don’t try that reverse psychology shit on me you fucking bitch! It doesn’t work!’ he roared, his breath stinking of alcohol and Weed. ‘I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you!’

Go ahead, I thought, closing my eyes. There’s no point to me living anyway.

‘Hey! Orange! Let her go!’

I heard Tom’s feeble protest, just before his cry of pain as Orange’s mates knocked him to his knees, and found myself wishing I hadn’t been so horrible to him. But you can’t change what’s been done, I thought.

Then another voice broke through the swirling mists that were now closing in on me. It was a huge roar, and I dimly recognised it as our head of year. Then suddenly, there was nothing pinning me to the wall. My lungs drew in a huge breath that rasped all the way down my throat as I slid down the plaster, boneless and gasping.

My vision was steadily darkening, but I could feel someone lifting me up, tilting my head back so that my starved lungs could gulp at the air. The breaths rasped in my throat for several moments while my vision remained grey and fuzzy, and when they began drawing in smoothly, my eyes cleared for one brief moment.

In those three seconds before I passed out completely, I swear I saw an angel.

A glimpse of heaven.

Through my teenage years, I’ve never had any self confidence whatsoever. But I’ve been relatively happy. I’ve had the usual problems, spots, glasses, braces, being over weight, but I’ve survived quite nicely. However, I can’t seem to find any confidence, no matter how hard I try. I get so embarrassed easily.

Yet, that’s not what makes me miserable.

To tell the truth, I haven’t been miserable at all until the beginning of this year where it suddenly became normal to have a boyfriend, and it wasn’t such a big deal any more.

The group of friends I usually hang with don’t normally have any interest in lads, at least, not until this year, when suddenly it was all the rave. ‘He’s got a nice ass.’ ‘God, he’s gorgeous.’ and ‘Ask him out! Ask him out!’ are what usually occupies most of their free time now. Out of all seven of us, only me and my best bud have had no boyfriends at all.

Until this year when Lisa, my best friend, and the last person on earth I would have expected to go for the whole boyfriend thing, got herself a guy.

Which left me.

But that’s not what bothers me.

It’s boys in general. It’s not that I don’t think, yeah, he’s nice looking, and hey, he’s got such a good personality, because I’m sure every girl does. It’s just the fact that I can’t stand to be touched.

Whenever a boy hugs me, I go tense. Whenever they even try to touch me, I slap their hands away.

I just don’t trust them you see.

Whenever a boy seems to like me, I’m instantly suspicious. Why would they like someone like me? I’m a fat nerd who’s reclusive and shy. No guy in their right minds would go for that, right? So I assume they’re being sarcastic (as many have done in the past.) They think, oh look, shy girl, lets make her embarrassed. ‘Hey gorgeous, wanna give us a kiss?’

Well, you can hardly blame me for being distrustful when such prats decide to pick on me.

So whenever a lad is anywhere near me, I make sure that they know I have no interest in them whatsoever, and they best not come anywhere near me or try to touch me, or I will hit them. Like I did with a random dickhead. He wouldn’t let me pass down the path and was coming too close to me and embarrassing me by singing and junk. So I shoved him out the way, then whacked him in the face. My ring caught his eye.

He’s still got the scar on his eyelid.

That’s what I do to guys. I’ve convinced even myself that I want nothing to do with them, and it worked.

Until about three weeks ago when I got a crush on Tony Howard.

I thought he was the most beautiful man in the world until about...ooh, fifteen minutes ago?

In English, I, me, the girl with no confidence plucked up the courage to send him a note (badgered by all my mates of course) that simply said ‘I really like you.’ I sat there with baited breath while he read it, then felt my heart shatter when he burst out in hysterical laughter.

He threw the note back at me, still laughing. ‘Silly cow. What makes you think I’d like someone like you?’

His words didn’t hurt. It’s only what I think of myself. It was just the fact that he said it in front of the entire class, who promptly burst out laughing and whispering.

Thank god the bell went at that moment.

And now this has happened and I’m stuck in unconsciousness. Hey, maybe the rumour will get passed around that I tried to kill myself? Now that would be good. Supposedly the most sensible girl in the school trying to commit suicide.

I wonder if Orange’ll finally get sent to rehab? They’ve been trying to get him to for ages, but he won’t. What’s the betting he refuses again?

Hey, maybe I could sue the school? Squeeze some dosh out of this? I could get them done for insufficient supervision and care over pupils.

Can you cackle evilly while you’re unconscious? If you could, I would be now.

God, my mum’s going to go apeshit crazy over this. What’s the betting she’s the one that goes and sues the school, or even Orange? Even though that’d be good for money, it’d be hell on me. Jeez, imagine having your mum march into school and demand compensation on your behalf. Urgh, that would be soooo evil.

Do you know what I can’t get out of my mind? The angel I saw, just before I passed out.

And he was an angel, really. I’ve never seen him in school before; he’s probably new, so that’s why he was with the head of year. But...wow. That guy was enough to make even me, the Ice Queen, look twice.

He had a sculptured, classical face with high cheekbones and chiselled features that were grim with concern. A halo of blonde curls adorned his head, and there was one that flopped charmingly over one eye as he looked down at me. And his eyes... I’ve never seen such eyes. They were such a bright blue, almost electric; they seemed to spark with life.

If I hadn’t have been short of breath already, I would have definitely been at that moment, when those searing iced fire gems met my own mud coloured eyes.

Then I passed out.

What a time to pass out. When all I really wanted to do was go, ‘Hi, I’m Fiona. You must be new.’ My brain decides ‘lets go into unconscious land for a while.’

And for all those who have never been to unconscious land, it’s very boring. Just black. Unless you’re dreaming, when it can be a lot of fun. But at the minute, I’m not dreaming, just thinking, and so all my land is...is black.

‘Fiona?’

‘Fi...?’

Two voices, both different, calling me back. I don’t want to go back at all, not to those voices. Mr. Losat, my head of year, and Tom. Go away, I’m dead. Just leave me here...

'Fiona? Is that her name?’

Ok, now I want to wake up. What a voice! Smooth, resonant, with an unidentifiable accent that’s sending shivers up my spine. Let me up, let me up!

Someone slap me!

Someone shake me!

Someone do SOMETHING!