I was awoken not at the sullen, dulcet tones of Beethoven’s symphonies that I’d programmed into my alarm clock, but rather by the warm, moist air that comes out of a dog’s mouth.

I normally considered myself to be a very calm, collected, in-control individual. I prided myself in my ability to keep my emotions to myself. But if there is one thing that I hated more than people, it was animals.

Especially dogs.

I jerked and both myself and the dog fell off the bed, myself letting out a small, sickening, strangled noise that would definitely not have been, in public, socially acceptable even to the freakiest of freaks. I know this because the girl whose room I was invading just peered at me over the book she was reading and went, “He wasn’t going to eat you, you know,” and was then re-absorbed.

I got up and dragged my duffle bag into the miniscule cave of a bathroom down the hall and locked the door. It wasn’t much, so I compensated by spending an extra long time showering, moisturizing, soothing, and listening to my headphones at the highest volume possible.

When I finally opened the door, after making sure my bag was arranged, there was an awkwardly short and skinny boy with hair that looked like a giant crème puff bouncing up and down with his face screwed up in a really unattractive way. He brushed passed me silently, slamming the door behind him.

Huh. People should really learn patience.

I headed towards the front of the house, which seemed intensely bright in all of its yellow color-schemed glory in comparison to mine, which was all earth tones and greys. I was planning on walking a couple of blocks to get a coffee and a bagel when Mrs. Bishop stopped me with the utter pitifully sincere tone of her voice.

“Now see, Esther, Mara dressed up for church. It isn’t ‘uncool’,” she said pointedly to that weird girl, who then glared at me. It actually wasn’t my fault, though, because I wasn’t wearing anything I didn’t normally wear.

“Actually I was about to go get a bagel,” I shrugged. There was no point beating about the bush, really. She was going to have to find out sooner or later that going to church made me want to kick puppies.

“They’re right on the counter there,” she nodded politely. “As long as those boys haven’t eaten them all already!”

I was confused at first, but then I followed the invisible line between her extended finger and the counter, and sure enough, there was a big box of pastries. If they were a little cold, she apologized, it was because they’d been there for a while (which meant that somebody had been up and dressed at five o’clock in the morning.) She was sorry she didn’t give me warning last night, as if making sure I have my favorite sort of doughnut is the reason I wake up in the morning. As if. The reason I wake up would be more like—

“Is there a strawberry one left?” a high pitched boy’s voice cracked as he came speeding into the room, nearly running me over. It was the kid with the crème puff. Surprise, surprise. But then, about two seconds later, a second boy with the same hair-do ran in after him, looking very intent on his next action, which was to shove the first one to the side.

“Paul!” Mrs. Bishop bellowed authoratively. It was almost impressive. “Simon! If the two of you don’t stop fighting then neither one of you can have anything!”

Even though it was obvious they were twins, right away there was a distinct difference between them. One of them looked like a normal little boy. The other one was wearing all black.

The rock star wannabe started to apologize while the other plucked the food both of them seemed to have wanted out of the box, making a run for it. He looked really upset at first, but it was soon relieved by the sight of something else he seemed to want instead.

Once he was gone I took a step toward the box to avoid conversation with Mrs. Bishop, and wrinkled my nose automatically. There were crumbs and broken up bits of food everywhere from people grabbing at it. It was the mother ship of germs.

“Morning mom,” someone said behind me, giving her a kiss on the cheek. I knew how many kids she had, but I still couldn’t believe such a small woman had birthed so many children and lived.

“Don’t like Yao Lin’s?” the boy said, suddenly right next to me, grabbing something without even looking at what he was doing. I recognized him vaguely; he probably went to my school. “What, not used to breakfast that hasn’t been imported from Italy?”

And it was obvious why we didn’t know each other.

“If you can’t say anything nice, Joshua, don’t say anything at all,” Mrs. Bishop said angrily, waving her finger at him. “Now go make sure Esther has everything together.”

“Right away, sergeant,” he said, saluting me. I rolled my eyes.

When everyone was finally together, everyone piled in to their minivan, most of them stuffing something last minute into their mouths. As I glared at Crème puff number one for stepping on my foot as he zoomed past to get in the car, he patted the seat next to him and wiggled his eyebrows.

I could safely say I knew what the innermost circle of Hell looked like.

---

I soon remembered to the full extent why I hated church.

Now, I’m not gonna lie—Mr. Bishop wasn’t as excruciatingly boring as the guy I remembered from when I went there last. However, he used the same bombastic, hollow phrases that all ministers use. The sort that you have to capitalize even though it isn’t technically a proper noun. The “Oh Dear Lord Great Heavenly Father with Everlasting Love, wash away my sins, oh Father Great Lord Savior King Messiah Prince Lord Father,” crap.

Yes, thank you, I learned so much from that.

Although it was actually about fifty times worse when he wasn’t speaking, because then it was a bunch of dreary, half-asleep middle-aged oldsters with their whiny, spoiled children, who looked like they would rather be anywhere else in the world, speaking or singing in unison.

Not exactly something that inspired me to believe in an omniscient deity.

I wouldn’t have admitted it, but I felt a bit of a nauseous, hollowness in the back of my stomach. I couldn’t exactly figure out why, so I just assumed it was all of the hypocrisy and corruption of society and yadda, yadda, yadda all around me. Sounded good, anyway.

When we were supposed to go to “Youth” I considered hiding in the bathroom, but figured that was a bit pitiful. So instead I sat outside in front on a bench. Much to my surprise, however, (and actually almost disappointingly), neither Mr. nor Mrs. Bishop asked any questions and none of the kids told on me. And I couldn’t think of any way of telling them that I’d just spent an hour on a cold metal bench (part of which was next to an old man who couldn’t seem to do anything but grunt) without sounding completely ridiculous.

So I just went with them back to their house.

I spent the rest of Sunday, with the exception of meals, outside reading. The only time anyone said anything to me was when one of the crème puffs passed by while taking out the trash and asked how I was doing in the great wilderness, and told me to tell him if I needed any caviar. I noticed he said this quietly so that his mom wouldn’t hear.

I pretended I didn’t either.

---

School was actually a relief. For once it seemed to be a place of tranquility, which was the opposite of what it had been just a couple of days before. I was in a very foul mood, however, until fifth period when I realized I could go to the library after school and the chances of anyone objecting would be very low.

(Although I might have gone swimming with sharks and the chances of anyone objecting be low as well.)

My mood was almost entirely due to a new kid who had almost my exact schedule, who I know for a fact was staring at me the whole day. I wasn’t being paranoid because he wasn’t even trying to be inconspicuous about it. He almost seemed to be trying to get my attention, to get me to strike up a conversation with him.

That is also a reason I knew he was a new kid.

I really wasn’t flattered; it had happened a couple of times that a guy had convinced himself he was madly in love with me. But that would be before he spoke to me and realized that despite what the movies project, beautiful does not equate with kind and loving.

Besides, I wasn’t really beautiful. I was striking. The only bad part about striking is that after something strikes, it’s gone.

But I liked it better that way anyway.

I was tempted to say something to him, but I figured that maybe if I ignored it, it would go away. I had enough to deal with already with Elijah Bishop, the only of the Bishop siblings that I had yet to see a lot of. Apparently he was really busy.

Elijah, an extremely hyperactive sophomore, seemed to be convinced that we were going to become best friends.

“ ‘Our friendship is going to be the stuff of legend’,” he informed me, his fingers making little quote marks in the air. I had to wonder what on earth would have a quote like that. This girl who was standing suspiciously close to him the whole time I was with them said it gave her chills, but all it made me do was think of the time in fifth grade that I ripped the head off of some whiney girl’s teddy bear.

God, she was annoying.

He sat with me at lunch, and no matter how much I made it obvious that I didn’t want him there, he insisted on staying. And of course, Stacy (his stalker) did too.

“Please leave,” I said flatly, staring disgustedly at the greasy egg roll I’d been forced to purchase because I couldn’t make my own at my house, because I was being forced to live with strangers, who, really, could very well be axe murderers. My parents weren’t being very responsible.

“I thought girls were supposed to drop hints?” he raised an eyebrow, but then shrugged, and started tearing away at his food viciously.

“That’s what cowards do,” I informed him.

“Cool,” he shrugged.

It was silent for a few minutes before Stacy asked me if it felt like we were being watched. She was looking, much to my dismay, directly at the guy who had indeed been staring at me all day.

It was interesting, because he certainly didn’t look like he would have trouble fitting in. With flaming red hair and a broad jaw structure and shoulders, etcetera, you’d think he’d have already been class president.

But then again, beautiful people can be freaks too.

I turned around pointedly, and much to my surprise, Elijah and Stacy followed suit. It was kind of annoying, actually. Especially because after a while, I started to forget to remind them that I didn’t want them there. I knew I was going to have to do something to show them that I wasn’t as soft-at-heart as they seemed to presume.

I just didn’t know it would get so out of hand.

---

A/N: Ohyeah, by the shway:

If you can tell me what Elijah is quoting, you wil have the next chapter dedicated to you. :3

AHH!!!

I know its been a long time, and I know the chapter's short, but I really have to go. xD I didn't have time to re-read this...but hopefully it turned out alright. I'm hoping to make the chapters progressively longer.

So yeah. Please review. :D I'd love to know how you think... I've been trying to mature my writing style a bit. Make it light and funny...but not as much like Meg Cabot, who I am hating right now because she is a fartknocker who doesn't think about anything but sex. :O

kthnxbai.

AND VOTE FOR CINDERELLA NEVER SAW THIS ONE COMING IN THE SKOW AWARDS (MOST MEMORABLE)! THERE IS A LINK IN MY PROFILE. :D

Hi Emily.