Disclaimer: Let it be said that the author does not approve of and/or share some of the opinions her characters express in the following story. Never the less, these characters and the plot are mine so no stealing and no feeling perturbed if they resemble living persons you know because they're purely fictional! Beausejour Acadamy For the Gifted is also my creation, whereas the town of Rheinland... well, there is a town in the north of Wisconsin named Rhineland which I discovered later on - so I apologize if there are any readers who come from there - I don't mean your town, it's just coincidence.

Rating: M - this is not just a precaution, people. There is going to be some extensive swearing in this story and sexually rather explicit moments (as there usually are in my stories). It is not meant for any readers who are underage, I mean it and I'm not responsible if you decide to read it anyway!

Genre: Humor/ Drama - don't get discouraged if you don't like one of those two genres: It's going to be a healthy dosage of both topped with lots and lots of Romance!!!

Prologue - Meetings

Some say that a meeting is just a fleeting moment in time; a fleeting moment that we only, in retrospect, recognize as an important, life changing event.

For James Jermaine Reynolds IV – who didn't like two of his three names for they brought him in too close of contact with his family – and Mei Bellany – who, at that moment, didn't like much of anything, least of all a girl named Dahlia Paddock – their getting to know each other couldn’t be called a meeting, as they were neither introduced nor supposed to even notice each other all. For the two children, however, this moment was not a fleeting one. It was a blazing flame of irritation, curiosity, frustration, fascination and the small but persistent hope for a change.

It was a sunny day in late November, just days past Thanksgiving, but none of the three occupants of the principal’s office of Beausejour Academy For the Gifted was in a particularly giving mood.

James Reynolds, the Second, was tapping his right hand on his chair’s arm in frustration. He wasn’t particularly pleased to be here, not when he could be in his extensive garden in Dallas, planting a magnolia or playing with his darling husky, Stacy, or even negotiating a deal with stingy Yankees – and he hated Yankees. Which again made him wonder why exactly he was here in cold Wisconsin, a place even the Devil himself wouldn't find if he went looking for it, and not basking in the seemingly unending warmth of the south.

It was a fleeting thought of irritation, one he didn’t entertain for longer than it took for him to catch his wife’s glare over the dark, curly head of the boy sitting between them. The boy. Sighing, the old Mr. Reynolds leaned back in his surprisingly comfortable chair. It really was entirely the boy’s fault they had to sit here waiting for the school’s principal to finally make his appearance.

Silvia Reynolds bent her long, still slender neck a bit farther towards her husband. "You would think," she hissed, "they’d know who we are. How rude of them to keep us waiting." They’d been sitting there for a whole of five minutes since the secretary had bid them enter and Silvia Reynolds was growing more anxious with every minute that passed.

What if they’d changed their minds?

What if they didn’t want to enroll the boy after all, no matter how much money his grandfather was willing to pay or how much influence they had in the south?

This was BAG after all, the prestigious Academy whose fame, even though it had opened hardly twenty years ago, had already spread as far as Europe. A school that didn’t admit its students based on their parents wealth or the number written on their IQ-tests – even though both played an important part as well, of course – but also on their compatibility with the student body and the goals of the school’s founders.

Which was the very reason why Mrs. Reynolds had doubted very much that the boy would be admitted, since the only promise he’d shown so far in his young life was to be utterly unable to be compatible with just about anything. It was his father’s fault, really – who could expect the child of a man who lived with drugs and died with drugs to survive in civilized society?

But principal Stanwood had, surprisingly, thought otherwise after only a short conversation on the phone. How the disagreeable boy had managed to pull the man over to his side was beyond the old lady. But then she looked at the office walls, at the awards and the Harvard diploma and remembered that Dr. Drew Stanwood had once upon a time been a renowned sociologist. It wasn’t a very far-fetched thought to imagine the boy was anything more than another case to study for the good Dr. Stanwood.

But was that still the case after said boy had proven himself a true pyromaniac by trying to set their house aflame – again – during Thanksgiving dinner while their whole family had been waiting for her husband to finally start carving the poor turkey? What halfway sane principal would admit a potential criminal into his precious establishment filled with the finest crop of America’s high society?

Mrs. Reynolds felt the worries gnaw at her, as of late, tattering nerves. It was a pain really; he’d been such a good boy when he’d been little – why did his genes have to show through? She glared over towards her husband again. Maybe they should’ve sent the boy to a military school as dear Clara had suggested.

Where was that principal?

~*~

In the adjoining room, a door opened with a bang. Huffing in irritation, Miss Jaqueline Cross, the sixth grade English teacher, entered the secretary’s office pulling a small girl behind her.

The secretary, startled away from the book she’d been focusing on since before the Reynolds had arrived, glanced at the pair. "Again?" she asked in a gentle, almost amused tone.

Miss Cross felt far from amused. "Again," she confirmed, her whole long, wiry body radiating irritation. "She just won’t learn."

Samantha McArther, the school's aging secretary whom everybody lovingly called Sam, sighed and picked up a plate of cookies, holding it out for the girl. "The principal isn’t in at the moment. Want one, Mei darling?"

Miss Cross’ eyes narrowed. "This," she stated resolutely, "is why she won’t learn. She beats up little kids regularly and you give her cookies."

Sam smiled, patting the girl’s dark, short hair. "She’s just a child. There’s nothing wrong with spoiling them once in a while."

The girl grinned, unabashedly picking up a cookie and sticking out her tongue at the teacher. The middle-aged woman narrowed her eyes even further. "This," she said again in the same tone as before, "is why I never wanted to be a teacher."

The little girl snorted, quickly hiding it by taking a large bite of her cookie. Miss Cross, however, guided by years of experience with unruly eleven year-olds, wasn’t fooled. "Do you have something to say, Miss Bellany?"

The girl grinned, mirth dancing in her light brown eyes. "No ma'am."

Sam shook her head at the girl. "Go sit over there, Mei. Dr. Stanwood will want to speak to you about this." Picking up her book again, she glanced at Miss Cross over its edge. "You shouldn’t say things like that in front of your students, they’ll lose their respect for you."

The teacher frowned, then sighed. "I really don’t know if I can do this any more," she muttered quietly, leaning against Sam’s desk. "I have all these ideas for a new book and the second I try to focus on them, one of them," she gestured vaguely in Mei’s direction, "has a problem or creates a problem or just thinks that annoying a teacher is a great way to pass time and I lose them. I finally have ideas and I lose them, Sam."

Sam put her book back down. "Maybe you should talk to Drew, he – "

"She said to Dr. Stanwood that she needed new experiences, a little bit of excitement." Mei’s voice, from the other side of the room, had an eerie quality to it. She wasn’t looking at the two women but she knew they were staring at her. "Something substantial and real." Now Mei’s head swiveled around, a lofty smile on her face. "But she writes in class."

Miss Cross straightened, stifling an angry gasp. "See what I mean? I don’t know what went wrong with that child. Her siblings were never like that." She glared at Mei before turning to the secretary again. "You will have to deal with her, whether you want to or not. We are," her voice rose slightly in anger, "not a school that lets behavior like this go unpunished. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a class to teach!" With that, she turned on her heel and headed out of the door without looking back once.

Sam sighed and raised her eyebrows at the girl across from her who seemed to have melted into her chair. Her small arms were crossed defiantly over her chest. "If you want her to be on your side, Mei," she said gently, "you shouldn’t antagonize her and you shouldn’t sneak in here to read her file." A smile flickered over her tanned face when Mei looked up in surprise and alarm.

She blinked rapidly, obviously trying and failing to find a suitable excuse. Finally she settled on looking sheepish. "Sorry."

Sam rolled her eyes before grabbing a cookie herself and picking up her book again. "Just don’t let it happen again, darling."

~*~

Through the open door of the adjoining room, a pair of dark, hooded eyes had observed the exchange rather dispassionately. There had been nothing else to do, really, besides watch his grandparents alternately glare at him, the empty desk in front of them, and each other.

He thought the girl, whom he’d only seen the back of until she’d sat down right in his field of vision, had been rather stupid. You had to make the grownups fear you in order for them to leave you alone. Not antagonize them so openly. They were bound to make you suffer for it.

He could see her now, if he bent his head a little, through the gold rimmed mirror beside one of the principal’s overflowing bookcases. The sun was making her hair shine and her eyes gleam and he wasn’t sure if she was pretty or not.

She didn’t look like any girl he’d ever seen before. For one she had short, chin-length hair. Girls were supposed to have long, flowing tresses that they could braid in all kinds of different styles like his cousins did. And they weren’t supposed to have small, slightly slanted eyes the color of the sun or small flat noses.

How can she even breathe through that nose?

A door on the other side of the room, hidden by a few bookcases, opened and startled the boy out of his reverie.

A graying man, his hair meticulously slicked back flat against his skull, entered. He was somewhat overweight, impeccably dressed, and only when he opened his mouth to speak did the young boy recognize him.

"I’m sorry for the wait. There have been some pressing matters for me to attend to," said principal Drew Stanwood, extending his hand toward the elder Reynolds who’d stood up upon noticing his arrival. "Mr. Reynolds."

A firm handshake and a muttered, "Of course."

"Mrs. Reynolds."

A lighter handshake and a tight smile.

"James."

No handshake at all, for the boy had only stood after his grandfather had pulled him up by his arm, barely suppressing a flinch. The principal’s eyes narrowed for a second before his polite expression returned and he gestured for them to sit down again.

"I’m glad to see that you chose to accompany James on the long journey from Dallas," he said, sitting down behind his large desk. He noticed the boy's face had turned stoic again, the way his voice had during their conversation on the phone. He would need some work, Dr. Stanwood was sure of that, just as he knew the boy would come around. He could see the curiosity, the untamed spirit lurking behind those guarded eyes.

"Of course," Mr. Reynolds said. "We couldn’t leave him alone, after …" He hesitated, glanced at his wife. "...what happened at Thanksgiving."

Of course you can’t. Don’t let me out of your sight or I might burn down the whole school – how embarrassed would you be then?

"Yes," Dr. Stanwood was still smiling politely, "what happened at Thanksgiving." He leaned back a little, regarding his guests with a calculating expression. "About that. I had an interesting conversation with the school’s board of administration just minutes ago."

Mrs. Reynolds clutched her purse so hard her knuckles turned white. I knew it, she thought. I knew it.

Mr. Reynolds frowned. "I understand," he said slowly, "if you have changed your mind concerning the matter of admitting our grandson into your institution. I would have appreciated, however, being informed of this fact before our departure."

So you wouldn’t have to sit through an entire plane ride with me. The stares must have gotten under your perfect, white skin. Too bad dear Clara needed the private jet.

Dr. Stanwood never lost his smile or his politely open body language while the older man spoke. "I’m afraid you misunderstood my earlier words, Mr. Reynolds. You see, the board of administration was indeed wary to let a ‘known pyromaniac’ into this academy." Mrs. Reynolds blanched; the boy in question, however, didn’t even flinch. Nothing in his dark face portrayed what he was thinking. "Unfortunately for them, the final decision concerning the admittance of students lies with the principal. In other words: me."

Now this is going to be interesting.

Mr. Reynolds, feeling more in his element now that it seemed he could negotiate his grandson's future, relaxed slightly and was about to open his mouth to do just that, when the principal continued with something rather unexpected.

"Why did you decide on this academy, Mr. Reynolds? I always wondered, as it is rather removed from where you live."

Head on, old man.

The grandfather’s jaw hardened a bit. "Aren’t most of your students boarding here?"

The principal smiled at his sidestep. "As a matter of fact, all of them are." He fell silent for a moment before continuing. "I’ve been informed you’re an active member of the Presbyterian Church and have been consecutively elected into the General Assembly, Mr. Reynolds. This school, however, as you are well aware, is one of the few private schools in Northern America that is not under the control of any church. Our most innate principles are those of the Enlightenment. We do not believe that religion should interfere with the gaining of knowledge.

"So why is it, I’ve wondered, you chose Beausejour Academy For the Gifted as the place to guide your grandson into adulthood when you have so many superb private schools under your church’s guidance just a few hours away from your home?"

Would have been embarrassing, wouldn’t it, having to endure the endless questions about me? No, moving the family’s black sheep out of sight is a great solution. That way you can play perfect family again.

The principal had chosen his words carefully. Still, Mr. Reynolds could not help but feel offended. "My religion," he said in a hard voice, "the faith I choose to believe in, that my father believed in before me, has nothing to do with my grandson’s education. I heard that your school has one of the best educational systems in this country, that it has renowned teachers and is experienced with dealing with difficult cases. And…" Here he hesitated. "...and that it will not judge a student based on the color of his skin."

Like you do.

Dr. Stanwood’s smile became a little deeper; he was looking directly at the boy now. "I see," he simply said. "James will not face any discrimination against him here simply because some people in our society have problems with his skin being black and yours," now he looked at the grandparents again, "not." He had kept his voice carefully neutral. The boy was looking to the side, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze. Stanwood could practically feel the storm brewing underneath the smooth surface of his skin. He had a distinct suspicion as to what had brought on that reaction.

Mr. Reynolds, however, seemed to relax now. His wife smiled at him, then at the principal. "May I take this as your permission for James to attend this school?" the aging man asked.

Don’t call me that.

Dr. Stanwood looked at him for a long time. "My permission," he said finally, "has been granted since my conversation with your grandson two weeks ago. I tend not to go back on my word."

Mr. Reynolds jaw hardened again. "Of course not, I never doubted that."

The principal smiled. "Of course not."

Mrs. Reynolds touched her grandson’s shoulder. "Why don’t you thank Dr. Stanwood, James?" she asked, relief evident in her voice.

Don’t call me that.

"Yes." Her husband bent over the boy as well. "He’s giving you a rare chance. Not everybody would."

You don’t.

The boy ignored them both, looking to the side. His grandmother’s blue eyes narrowed. "James!"

Don’t call me that!

Mr. Reynolds grabbed the boy’s arm, hard, almost shaking him. "You will thank him, James. We didn’t bring you up to be rude!"

You didn’t bring me up at all. I’m not James! Don’t call me that.

Dr. Stanwood had been watching the exchange quietly, calculating. "You should," he said finally, slowly, "let go of the boy, Mr. Reynolds." Startled, the older man looked at him, not sure how to react. Still, he let go. The principal leaned forward in his chair, his elbows resting on the desk. "James," he said tentatively, watching the boy’s face darken further. Ah, he thought, that’s it. His smile became gentle. "Jermaine," he tried again.

Jermaine’s head shot up as if somebody had electrocuted him, staring at the man in front of him, dumbfounded. Beside him, his grandmother drew a sharp breath. James Reynolds, II, however, seemed outraged.

"His name is James, Dr. Stanwood," he said with visibly forced calm. "You should call him by his given name; James Reynolds, IV."

Idiot old man, I never wanted your name. Or his!

"I think Jermaine here," Stanwood said in the same tone, "has decided what he wants to be called."

"You don’t understand." Mr. Reynolds jaw was so tight it almost hurt to speak and he could already feel his neck’s artery tighten painfully. "I gave him a well-respected name. A name to make him survive in today’s society, no matter what he looks like, no matter what kind of trash his father was. Just because his mother chose to intervene … and now he, he insists to be called this … dirty name. I’m just looking out for his future. He can’t persist to ruin his own life!"

"By being called Jermaine?"

Startled, the office’s occupants looked over to the open door. Crossing her thin arms over her even thinner breast, the tiny girl was standing there, looking defiant and just a little arrogant.

"Mei, this is not the moment – " Dr. Stanwood began, only to be interrupted almost immediately.

"I mean, I can understand your concern fully well," Mei continued on, seemingly oblivious to the disbelieving looks the Reynolds exchanged. "Being half Asian, I know the importance of a respectable, well-accepted name. The only problem here, Mr. James Reynolds, the Second – that is your name, right? James Reynolds, the Second, the famous weapons mogul, right?" If Mr. Reynolds hadn’t looked startled before, he did now. "The problem here is that your concern for your grandson isn’t right. I mean, I could feel through the door that it isn’t genuine. You’re afraid for yourself." Her voice was calm, almost haughty and neither Mr. nor Mrs. Reynolds could believe it was truly such a tiny slip of a girl standing before them.

"Now wait just a minute," Mr. Reynolds finally found his voice again, "that is not the way to speak to your elders, young lady. Who are you anyway?"

Mrs. Reynolds jumped on her husband’s train. "This is a private conversation." Her tone was patronizing. "It is very rude of you to interrupt."

Mei shook her head, having caught a stride. "You should really start listening to yourself, Mr. Reynolds, sir. If I couldn’t stand hearing you through a thick wall, then how must your grandson feel? Honestly, even I can tell that you’re embarrassed. And you’re afraid of anyone noticing. You’re afraid of him. You try to contain him by calling him your own name. That’s just pathetic … sir."

Mr. Reynolds mouth opened and closed. "Now listen girl – "

She didn’t let him continue, but instead of ripping into him again she rounded on Jermaine. "And you." Her voice had the same dispassionate tone, as if she wasn’t in the slightest bit concerned with the fact that she’d just barreled into a conversation, which she had no right interrupting, only to piss off the CEO of a powerful company, which focused on producing and selling dangerous fire arms. "Just sitting there, thinking, ‘Oh, how I hate all of you so much, just listen to me, don’t talk like that about me, blah, blah, blah.’ What do you think is going to happen? Nothing! Nobody is going to listen to you. Nobody is going to mind your opinion. But instead of making them listen, you just go and burn your grandfather’s study!"

Mr. Reynolds, who’d just opened his mouth to interrupt again, shut it with an audible snap. How did she know that? It had never gotten into the media. Nobody knew – nobody outside the family and now the Academy’s administration. His eyes shot towards the principal, who hadn’t even tried to subdue his student since she’d started on her rant. What was going on?

Meanwhile, Mei continued on. "You’re even more pathetic than him. Can’t you stand up for yourself? Don’t let it eat you up inside. You’re not letting them destroy you. You’re destroying yourself!"

Jermaine stared at her with wide eyes before narrowing them. Who is she to tell me what to do?

"And antagonizing everybody I meet is going to help me?" he asked coolly. "Snooping in their personal files in order to gain an upper hand and catch them by surprise is going to help me face my problems?" She had the decency to blush at that. Ah, that’s how she knew – I knew it! "I’d rather play civilly, thank you very much."

She snorted, raising an eyebrow. "And trying to burn your house down while your family sits downstairs eating turkey is playing civilly? You’re a hypocrite!"

That shut him up for a moment. A moment that Dr. Stanwood knew to use well. "Children, children," he raised his hands. "How about we’ll all play civilly. Mei, what are you doing back here again?" Now she really did blush, looking at the tips of her shoes. The principal sighed. "I’ll deal with you later. Now, how about you show young Jermaine around? He’s going to be in your class anyway."

They both looked at him uncertainly and, on Mei’s part, more than a bit reluctantly.

"Go, go," he urged them. "Let me deal with picking up these pieces. I expect both of you back here in an hour, understand?"

Grudgingly, both children nodded.

"Good, good." Dr. Stanwood shook his head, seemingly satisfied. "Now run along."

And they did, not looking at the other. Walking past Sam’s desk, however, Mei quickly grabbed a few more cookies, grinning cheekily at the secretary, who just rolled her eyes and shooed them along.

"Hey." Just a few feet away from the principal’s office, Jermaine caught Mei’s arm. "Wait a moment."

"What?" She turned. "Want to call me a mean spy again?"

He frowned before grinning. His smile was blinding, she had to admit, and if she hadn’t known he was such a hypocrite, she would’ve fallen for it. "You did start it," he reminded her. "But … I wanted to thank you." He said the last part quietly and she pretended not to hear it.

"What?"

"You heard me, all right. I won’t repeat it anyway."

"Suit yourself."

She turned to walk down the corridor again. He stared at her retreating back. Somehow, he didn’t want this particular person to leave him. What a funny feeling that was.

"All right!" He called when she was already what felt like a mile away. "All right, I admire you, okay?!"

She stopped in her tracks, slowly turned around. "You do? You don’t hate me?" She seemed almost vulnerable for a moment.

Slowly, he walked the down the corridor towards her. "No, even though you’re not a very likable girl. But nobody ever talks to the old man like that. He must be pissing his pants just about now, he looked so angry."

She smiled. "He did look somewhat red, didn’t he?"

"Purple."

Her smile deepened and she held a cookie out towards him. "Thanks."

He took it, returning her smile with a somewhat lopsided one of his own. "Thanks," he echoed her previous sentiment.

She grinned, surprising him by taking his hand and pulling him along with her down the corridor. Her small hand felt strange in his bigger one. So warm. He’d never thought a human hand could feel like that.

"Now, how did you get your hands on my file?" he asked, half joking, half genuinely curious.

She just laughed, stuffing a cookie into her mouth.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Before meeting James Jermaine Reynolds, IV – the boy who only responded to one of his three names – Mei Bellany – the girl who beat up little kids on a regular basis – had had a rather lonely stand in her class.

That hadn’t always been the case.

When she’d first entered the Academy in September along with all the other sixth graders, she’d made friends with record speed. A fact one of her closest friends, the ominous Dahlia Paddock, had minded very much. No one should surpass her in popularity – that had been her set goal upon entering the Academy. She was to be the most popular girl in BAG – a feat her big sister had never quite managed to accomplish due to Mei’s very own older siblings.

Learning from her sister’s failings, little Dahlia had resolved to keep history from repeating itself no matter what it took. True to the saying that one should keep their enemies close, she had been quick to befriend the unsuspecting Mei.

The friendship had been a rather short one. Soon, Dahlia had found the perfect tool to rid herself of the offending competition. And what could be better than a small, pimple faced, weak, know-it-all boy who, on top of it all, was smitten with Mei? In a world where everybody still half believed in cooties, a rumor about liking the class outcast was social homicide. A homicide Dahlia had no qualms about committing.

Never in her wildest dreams, however, could the little blonde have imagined that Mei would – figuratively speaking, of course – take the knife in her small puny hands and push it in deeper herself. But that she had done, for upon hearing the vicious lies circulating about her and poor Nash Foss, Mei – true to herself – took it upon herself to personally befriend Nash and to stand up for him publicly.

Needless to say, she’d been quite friendless since – apart from Nash and Scarlet Whiting, her best friend since they’d sat next to each other during the school’s enormous and never ending entrance ceremony.

With the unexpected arrival of James Jermaine Reynolds, IV, this unfortunate status was to change quite drastically.

~*~

Half Greek, half American and more than a little bit Irish, the talkative redhead Scarlet Whiting was, of course (as of her status as Mei’s one and only best friend), the first to join their little circle.

And where Scarlet Whiting went, Ruben Séars was never far behind. Half French, half Egyptian and not in the least bit American, the boy had never had many friends since his ambassador father had practically abducted him from his comfortable home in southern France to toss him into the busy life that was Washington D.C. when he’d been but seven years old. Ruben hadn’t wanted to go; he’d begged his grandparents to just let him stay with them. He had wailed, he had cajoled, he had negotiated, and he had threatened – to no avail. Just five short days after his father had first been notified of his promotion, the sullen little boy had been forcibly sat down in an uncomfortable Air France seat. Hence, losing all confidence in the spoken word, young Ruben hadn’t said much of anything since.

A year and a half later, during a painfully boring charity dinner, Ruben met Scarlet. Her father being an advisor for the Greek Embassy, she was a blazing flame of life that broke into the quiet he’d so carefully erected around himself. Since Scarlet had also been transferred into his elementary class, there had been absolutely no way for him to resist her destructively good nature.

Just like there hadn’t been any way he could have resisted her pull when she’d first dragged him along to meet her new friends at BAG.

~*~

Tucker Goodrich was, in contrast to most of his close friends and family, a very likable sort. The rich trustfund baby of a British model and a German billionaire had never had much trouble with anything – apart from having been practically deserted by both of his creators for most of his life. But who was he to hold a grudge, really?

He was a likable sort as long as you played by his rules. And the minute James Jermaine Reynolds – the boy who threatened everybody who wouldn’t call him by his middle name – stepped into Tucker’s class, the blond just knew Jermaine would be trouble. He was intelligent, good with a ball, with any sport really, and was – against his own will, it seemed at times – charismatic beyond anyone Tucker had known so far in his young life – and he’d known quite a few. Everybody liked the mixed boy, even the teachers who’d been wary at first and the girls who were only bordering on the age at which they developed a distinct interest in the other – so far seen as utterly disgusting and vile – gender.

It wasn't long before it became more than Tucker could take – he officially hated the arsehole. Who was he anyway to tread on his carefully selected and prepared territory?

For Tucker Goodrich wasn’t like other boys his age. Instead of being enthralled by computer games or wrestling matches, he was already looking for an entirely different kind of sport – the adult kind.

Since he had never waited for anything in his life – least of all growing up – Tucker didn’t watch Jermaine from the sidelines for long. The rivalry between them became the stuff of many junior high legends, as did the notorious P.E. basketball game during which their animosity finally found its expected peak. The end of the bloody and vicious fistfight between the two eleven year-olds, however, had been rather unsuspected.

Barely had they caught their breath and rubbed the sod and blood from their faces when the realization struck that they were better off being on the same side than they were opposing each other – and possibly losing face once and for all."

Nobody would have thought those fierce rivals would leave the place of their greatest match – dragged away by the ungracious hands of their P.E. instructor and the football coach – and return as something they only half-jokingly referred to as blood brothers.

~*~

Unlike Tucker Goodrich, Moriah Tremaine had never been overly social. She had always preferred books over people – a trait she’d clearly inherited from her lawyer grandfather – and liked to keep her life sorted and organized. It might have been due to the early divorce of her parents, the resulting various moves all over the country or the fact that her father’s lifestyle as a pro basketball player was, by nature, anything but sorted or organized. Whatever it had been, Moriah didn’t care. She liked herself and her life the way it was just fine, thank you very much.

Only one little, tiny detail had been missing since her enrollment into Beausejour Academy For the Gifted – the daily basketball matches with her father and his colleagues. She missed them, she craved them and no book or subject seemed to be able to grant her even the least bit of relief. And so it came to be that deprived little Moriah ventured out to find a surrogate.

Unluckily for her, the only ball sports for girls her age at the Academy were softball and lacrosse , and poor Moriah had always been rather horrible with a bat. Left with only one last choice, Moriah traipsed one sunny afternoon to one of the Academy‘s gyms where the junior high boys' basketball team was practicing. Even though her layups and tear drops beat even the captain’s with ease, Coach Langinton was anything but impressed. He was from the old school and for him a girl only belonged on court when she was waiving a pair of pompons.

Still, she didn’t leave with utterly empty hands. New recruit Ruben Séars had been more than impressed with the fact that she’d managed to outwit him with a wicked crossover dribble two times in a row. Too bad his opinion as a rookie weighed close to nothing, especially since he never even opened his mouth to voice said opinion.

Having failed at her last chance for personal sanity, utterly defeated and seemingly friendless, Moriah Tremaine did the one thing she did best. Study. And where better to do so than at an isolated green patch near the lake?

Seeking solitude and her own depression, Moriah was accordingly put out when, only minutes after she sat down, two boys her age appeared, kicking a soccer ball back and forth between them.

Never actually having played a game before that required her hands not to touch the ball, Moriah couldn’t help but stay instead of walking farther down the path in order to find a more isolated place to culture her dejection. Since the place she had chosen to sit was anything but covered, it didn’t take long for the ball to come spinning towards her.

Instead of shrieking and chucking the ball back at the offending guys – as any normal girl would have done faced with such rude behavior – young Moriah took the round piece of air filled leather and started experimentally dribbling it as she’d seen the boys do – with more than satisfactory results. No cajoling from their side could make her give it back afterwards, at least not until the boys finally agreed to let her join their game of two.

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to tell that, before the game was through, Moriah Tremaine had gained not one but three new friends in Jermaine Reynolds, Tucker Goodrich and, though he hadn’t spoken up for her earlier (something she never quite forgave him for), Ruben Séars.

~*~

Having reached the lucky and round number of six, the friends were quite content with their close-knit circle. For the duration of almost a year, no other kid was able to break into their group – and not from lack of trying. Since they consisted of such a variety of characters and their friendship became close to legendary amongst junior high and high school students alike, they had gained an almost magical appeal. An appeal that, in seventh grade, also attracted the newly transferred Holden Kaori.

Holden Kaori had always been something else. No matter if he was in Japan, where he came from, or in L.A., where he lived with his actress mother and younger sister, he had never been like all the others. This fact hadn’t kept him from making more than his share of friends, however – friends that couldn’t help but feel drawn to his wickedly funny, almost flamboyant nature.

When, in the winter of his seventh grade year, his teacher attested him to be well over average intelligence, his mother was secretly very glad to be able to finally send him away. His mischievousness had caused her countless sleepless nights – something that was fatal for a woman who made more money with her face than her actual talent.

Arriving at Beausejour Academy For the Gifted in early spring, Holden was soon enthralled by the gossip traveling through the grapevine about them. Deep down in his small, sly heart he felt – No, he knew he needed to be with them. It was where he belonged, where his destiny lay. And so, with all the melodramatic ability passed down to him by his mother, he set upon realizing his dream.

Nobody would ever know how long it would’ve taken him, how many banners of "I’m the One! The Only!" he’d have written, how many school announcements he’d have intercepted or during how many sport meets he’d have streaked if Scarlet Whiting hadn’t noticed him first. With the uncanny ability of one that recognizes a kindred soul, Scarlet did not hesitate to take him under her wing.

Jermaine, at that time more than occupied with his very own shrewd scheme to con the school Board into letting all of them share the same dorm, did not put up much of a resistance. Indeed he thought the flamboyant, frail looking little Holden would be the perfect addition to their inner circle. It was one of the few times Mei actually readily agreed with him. Moriah was not as fast, as she never cared much for change – and change was what Holden’s continuous presence more than promised.

However, the ones to object most strongly against the Japanese’s inclusion were Tucker (true to himself, he felt more than a little threatened and had no qualms about voicing his animosity) and not as characteristically, Ruben – who had a strange, wary feeling whenever he was around the two-heads smaller boy.

A wariness that found its ground just three short weeks later when young Holden announced publicly – during the school’s end of year ceremony – that he was indeed very much, and irrevocably, gay.

~*~

For years their tight circle stayed intact, never wavering, never shrinking, never growing – despite the efforts of those surrounding them. It survived Holden’s short, innumerable and faceless flings, Mei’s very known but thankfully equally short relationships with both Jermaine and Tucker, Moriah’s stoic nature that left her quite boyfriendless, as well as Ruben and Scarlet’s long-term, still going strong love affair.

It was their senior year that was destined to change everything they once believed about each others, themselves, and life.

And so it was that, at the "Welcome Back! We’re gonna rock!" party of said year, their story truly began...

AN: So.... this is my new story.... I hope you guys like it so far, I know that I just love writing it!

A really big, big thanks goes out to my beta cu-kid who just finished a really fantastic story of her own (Briar Wood, it's on FP so go check it out) and is suffering from withdrawal right now ^.^

And remember: Reviews make an author's world go 'round ^.^!!! So don't hesitate to tell me just what exactly you think about this new story (good, bad, can't stand it...) or ask me any question you like - I will answer them all as best as I can!