Author's note: Hiya evrabody! I promise my story isn't typed like that. Well, thanks for checking it out. I'm not sure if I'm going to keep this up or not, I guess it just depends on the response I get for it. I kinda wrote it on a whim. No other story has ever come so easily to me. So, read it, tell me what you think! See ya at the bottom...

A girl strode confidently out of the principal's office. She had the air of someone who had walked those steps many times, but had never gotten into any serious trouble. Not because she didn't deserve it of course, but because she could sweet talk her way out of any situation. It was a skill that came in very handy when you had a list of would-be offenses that was longer than you were tall.

“Now, Miss Coker,” said a squat, nearly balding man. He was wearing khaki pants belted just below his overhanging belly. Tucked neatly into his pants was a white polo shirt with an emblem of a bucking bronco over the left breast pocket. Meet Mr. Ellis, principal of Brisham High. He was supposed to be stern, but the slight smile on his face ruined the effect. “No more visits to my office this week. I might not be so understanding next time.”

“Right Mr. E.,” The girl said and twisted around to face him, walking backwards away from him. She gave him a thumbs up on both hands. “You won't be seeing me,” she smiled as he shrank farther and farther away from her. “...Today,” she added under her breath when he was out of hearing range. She faced forward and looped her thumbs around her book bag straps before continuing out to the parking lot. She'd gone nearly the whole day without being reprimanded for something. That was definitely an accomplishment. And to get in trouble for something as small as scratching dirty things into a desk with a paper clip wasn't even worth registering in her mind. The final bell rang for the day, allowing all the students out of their classes.

“Hey Elizabeth!” Someone called to her.

“Hey!” She called back in the general direction, not even bothering to look for a familiar face.

“What's shakin', Coker?” A male voice to her left spoke.

“Nothing much,” she replied, not stopping.

“Liz! Liz!” A familiar voice was calling her this time. “Wait up!” She slowed her stride barely and a short Asian girl came to her side and matched her pace. “So what did you get sent to the office for this time?”

“I scratched a penis into the desk,” Liz said with enthusiasm in her eyes.

“Ugh,” the other girl groaned. “Did you get in trouble?”

“Nope,” Liz chuckled.

“One of these days, Liz. One of these days.”

“Right, Yuri. Riiight.” They walked on in silence.

It was a puzzle to everyone. Elizabeth Coker was one of the most well-liked students in high school, but she was also the one who was most frequently sent to the principal's office. Every time she was sent it was for a valid reason. Elizabeth pulled the fire alarms on a weekly basis. Her favorite thing to do in the mornings was trip people in the hallways. She drew penises and wrote profanities everywhere she could. Each time she was sent to the principal, each time she came out with no punishment. A few of the teachers would even let a few offenses go, but only for Elizabeth. It was an understanding that Elizabeth could talk her way out of anything.

Yuri pushed open a door and sunlight flooded into their faces. The grounds outside the school were already flooded with students excited about leaving their daily penitentiary for a mere 16 hours. Yuri and Elizabeth walked side by side toward the parking lot, with Elizabeth waving and exchanging greetings with a few people along the way.

“Liz,” Yuri said and caught Elizabeth's wrist.

“Yea?” She turned to look at her friend, suddenly confused as Yuri stopped walking.

“Who is that guy by your car?”

Liz followed Yuri's gaze to her 1986, grey Oldsmobile. Normally, Liz tried not to look at her horrible, rust bucket excuse for a car, but today her interests were perked. There was a guy by her car? And Yuri didn't know who it was? Yuri was Liz's best friend, the school gossip hound, and captain of the dance and math teams. If there was someone in the school, Yuri knew them.

“I have no idea,” Liz said as she took in the appearance of the unknown boy. Or, unknown young man. The guy looked a few years older than Liz and Yuri. Maybe around 20, too old for high school, unless he'd failed. Maybe he was new? He was at least six feet tall, but lean with muscle, as if he were accustomed to manual labor. His skin and clothes told a different story, however. An ivory complexion showed he wasn't an outdoors boy, or that he burned easily. His skin-tight, black t-shirt and baggy black jeans were not Liz's idea of work-out attire. Black hair was tousled on top of his hair, as if he'd just woke up. Everything about him screamed “outsider” or “freak.”

“Ew, don't talk to him,” Yuri said. “He looks weird.”

“I don't care,” Liz responded. Part of what made her so likable was that she didn't discriminate at first glance. “I just want him to get off of my car.” And when Yuri turned back to look at him, he was leaning against Liz's car as if he owned it or was waiting for someone.

“Your car should definitely be the least of your worries,” Yuri mumbled and they continued walking toward her car.

“Can I help you with something?” Liz called when they were close enough for him to hear. “I don't think I know you, and you're molesting my car.” He young man looked back at her car as if he didn't realize it wasn't a recliner.

“This is your car?” he asked guardedly when they were nearly face to face, or, actually, face to chest. Liz was only two inches past five feet, and his height made her feel meek and suddenly afraid. She looked up into his face and her gaze was met by two piercing violet eyes. His face was sculpted with sharp cheekbones and a straight nose. The mop top of raven hair on his head was shiny and looked silky enough to run fingers through. The Greek gods had nothing on him.

“Yes, this is my car,” Liz responded, slightly annoyed by his presence. Handsome or not, he was interfering with her afternoon plans. “Do I know you?”

“Not yet,” he said smoothly, “But you will soon. Can I speak to you in private?”

“No way, Jose. I've read those pamphlets they gave out in class.” First, the guys lure you away with their charm and good looks. Next, they rape you. Not gonna happen today.

“Trust me,” he said, “You want to hear what I have to say.”

“I don't think I do...”

“Please,” he sputtered, grasping at straws, “I... I need your help, ok?”

“Well you can say it here.”

“Then tell your little friend to take a walk.”

“Uh, no,” Yuri said from beside Liz.

“You're way rude. Maybe if you asked nicely,” Liz snapped at him. He let out a sigh and raised one finger. He twirled it in the air and flicked it in Yuri's direction. A vacant expression came over her face as she turned and began walking away. “Wait! Yuri!” Liz started to turn but her feet became caught in the pavement. “What the-” she looked down at her feet and saw the asphalt mold up and over her feet, leaving her stuck the same way a fly would be on sticky paper. “Hey!”

“Now you listen and you listen good you little girl...” he said, inches from her face. Liz could smell lingering cinnamon drifting from his breath. Up close, Liz could see that his teeth were sharper than they should be, much like a vampire's. A sky check told her it was daylight, definitely not peek hours for vampires, unless they wanted to be extra crispy by six p.m. “The apocalypse is coming and I need you to work for me.”

“Why?” Liz asked like a precocious child.

“Because your persuasive powers should be used for evil, not good. Don't tell me you haven't noticed...”

“If I had persuasive powers I would persuade you to get rid of this asphalt that's eating my shoes.”

“Yea, right. Sorry, babe, your powers don't work on me. I'm not mortal.”

“Then what are you?” She asked and tried to stare him down the same way he was piercing her. The intensity seemed to be lost somewhere.

“Here's my card,” he said and flicked a small business card at her. “Keep me in mind. Give me a call if you have any questions.” The piece of card stock hit her square in the chest and ashes flew out from it's edges, much in the same way the ash flies from a fallen cigarette. She caught it in her hand and looked at it. The only print on it was seven numbers in a fancy font: 867-5309.

“Um, is this your real number?” she asked him. He grunted at her and smoke began pooling out from under his well-worn, black converse. “Your shoes are on fire.” A smell of sulfur and cinnamon candy burned at her nose as the smoke grew thicker and thicker. She coughed and waved her hand in front of her face. Tears began seeping from her eyes. She pressed them shut and waited for the smoke to pass. When she opened her eyes a few seconds later she was standing alone. Her feet were no longer embedded in the pavement and there was no sign of the mystery man. She flipped the card over a few times, reassuring herself that it was real before climbing into her rust bucket and bumbling home.

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