AN: One for my OF 100, 44: Two Roads. I was having trouble getting these two off to a good start with their stories, so I decided to parallel them… let me know how it worked.

Boyfriend? Boyfriend?

I love how Alaina thinks it’s important to mention I’ve worn the same pair of pants three days in a row but not that she has a boyfriend. Just. Fucking. Adore it. Who the hell is this Jamie kid, anyway? What makes him so damn special? I want to ask her—want to shout it in her face—but I know better. “He’s the first person who’s acknowledged that I’m a girl, not part of the upholstery!” Ouch. She had a point, but she didn’t have to scream at me.

I flick a scrap of paper off my desk. Instead of falling, it bumps into a pair of long, pale legs stationed in front of my desk. I resist the urge to follow them up slowly—whoever it is must have come from somewhere where there is a serious shortage of skirt material—and look straight up. The girl standing there smiles a little. Not in a shy way, in a “I knew you’d notice me just like that” way. She sets a hand on my desk and leans forward. Honestly, why do girls bother saying “Eyes up here” when they put their cleavage right there all the time?

Not that I’m interested-interested; it’s just not worth the effort to look away… and anyway, her breasts are a work of art that even a plebe like me can appreciate. They’re a welcome distraction from thoughts of Alaina.

“Hello,” she says. She has an accent so thick her voice is practically coated in it—Russian or something like that, I’d guess. “My name is Nadia Svitkona. I am new here. Would you care to assist me?” Her accent is thick, yes, but she has diction any debate team kid would die for.

“Not particularly, no.” I prop my chin on my fist and look up at her face. She has sharp, harsh features, like someone cut her from stone with a very sharp knife. She’s too smug to be beautiful, if you ask me, but I’m sure that none of my classmates feel the same. “But I guess I need the good karma. My name’s Agamemnon. Is this your first-hour class?”

“Da.” She has a pentagram choker that she keeps playing with; it catches the light and distracts me. I want to smack her hands away, but I think that if I touch her, I’ll get something slimy on my hands. “But I need directions to my next one.” Her upper lip curls in disgust, smudging thick lipstick and revealing straight, very white teeth. I don’t want to get anything sensitive near those choppers. Her version of a lovebite would probably put a guy in the hospital.

I hold out a hand. Frowning a little, she looks at it. “I need your schedule to know where your class is.” Her face smoothes, and she hands me a crumpled piece of paper. As her hand brushes mine, her fingernails catch my eye: they are bitten down almost past the quick and paintless. Out of character, if you ask me. She draws her hand back and clasps it in front of her before I can study it further. I smoothe the paper out—damn. “We have the class together,” I mutter. “I can show you the way.”

Nadia blinks at me for a second, and then she breaks into a smile that’s almost real. I can still see the smirk lurking in her eyes, though, and for some reason, it makes me recoil. I’ve dealt with girls like her before, but I’m sure now that she’s in a league of her own. What have I gotten myself into?

***

It’s been three days, and she hasn’t shown. No registered absence, no callbacks, no indication that she’s even alive. Carolyn drives me up a wall sometimes. As if she weren’t taking me for granted enough as it was. “We’re still best friends, Jared. We’ll always be friends, Jared. I’m just busy, Jared.” And all the while looking at me like I’m the one causing trouble. Now she up and disappears!

Somebody sits by me, but I don’t care. I’m pissed, dammit! Whenever she gets back—“Are you planning to pay for the fork or just ‘accidentally’ throw it away?”

I blink. My anger dissipates like the shadows of a dream after waking. “Uh?” The girl next to me—someone I’ve never seen—points at my hands. I realize I’ve bent my fork almost in half. Blushing, I drop it. “…I think I’m stuck with the ‘accidentally throwing out’ plan.”

She props her chin on her fist. “I’ll be your lookout if you want.” She smiles in a disconcertingly pretty way and pushes her fork toward me. “Here. I promise I didn’t spit on it or anything.”

I look at our silverware instead of her face because she confuses me. Not only do I have no idea who she is, I haven’t noticed pretty girls—in the important way, not the “Oh, she’s hot!” way—since I hit puberty. Too fixed on a pair of brown eyes that haven’t looked my way in a painfully long time. “Thanks… um, have we met?”

“Nah. I’m new. My name’s Sarah Ellerton.” She pauses. “I swear I’m not always this interested in flatware.” She looks down into my field of vision—she has the cutest nose, like something more befitting a pixie than a human, and her eyes are a bright blue, like clear water. Adorable is the word that comes to mind.

“Jared Rieux.” I offer her my hand, and she shakes it with a smile that I can’t figure out. But, then, I suck at girls. Everything but flirting is over my head.

“French?”

I raise my eyebrows. “Cajun.” She smiles. It makes me think of Kewpie dolls—but she’s all cute, no creepy.

Someone else sits. I look; I can’t help it. Not her, of course: it’s Ags, and he looks cheesed. He prefers to be left alone at times like these, and I am all too willing to give him his space today. I look at Sarah. Peace signs shaped like hearts dangle from her ears, and her smile is like a delicious secret. Why am I thinking like this? Maybe because she caught me when I was considering Carolyn. AKA Miss Globetrotter/Friend Blower-Offer.

“Who’s she?” Agamemnon asks suddenly. “Don’t tell me we’ve got another new girl.”

“Yes, actually,” Sarah says with a bright smile that hides her thoughts even better than a fan held in front of her lips. “I’m from upstate. I go by Sarah.”

“Agamemnon Jones.” As usual, Ags’s full name disarms her. Unlike usual, Ags doesn’t make some smartass remark. Rather, he starts to eat with a disgusted expression, like the lunch ladies have done him some great personal disservice.

“Hmm,” Sarah says, and she looks back at me. She starts playing with her earrings. “So are you upset about something, or does the school food contain some horrible steroid that pisses everyone off?”

I blink at her for a second or two. Goodness, she’s odd. She’s almost as difficult to follow as Ags can be some days. “…I haven’t eaten yet, so I couldn’t know, but your first guess was right.” I hope she doesn’t enquire further. I pride myself on being open, but that’s just too much for today.

But Sarah just nods. “Good. I just wanted to make sure that my powers of observation are still functioning.” She points a finger at me, like she wanted me to join in some conspiracy. “I’m a girl. Evolutionarily speaking, that’s the only thing I’ve got going for me.”

“I’m pretty observant,” Agamemnon comments. His eyes are fixed on a girl across the room; although his tone is light, his eyes are dark with anger, maybe even hatred.

“You won’t be if you have super-adrenaline flowing through your system,” Sarah replies, totally deadpan.

Ags stares, and I snort. He looks over at me in a way that made us an us—and suddenly I can’t remember what I was upset about.