"She's new." Whispered Alora.

"Of course she's new. Look at her. She's positively glowing, spick and span, with a sort of new girl aura." Answered Quincy.

"She's got gorgeous hair." Said Alora.

"She's probably part Spanish or something."

"Puerto Rican."



"Brasil is not a Spanish country."

"Shut up."

Lunetta Lombardi was not Spanish, Puerto Rican, Columbian, Bresilian or anything else even remotely close to that. She was part Italian. According to Luna the only truly wonderful aspect of her was her hair, which was ridiculously long, calling for envy, thick, heavy, silky, even wavy. She hated her face, and had, over the years, convinced herself that she looked dead. Solemn and sharp cheeked, and her nose. Gosh, her nose... thin, it appeared small, but only because it was narrow. And it would have appeared straight if she hadn't broken it.

She liked her lashes, they were long and thick, like her hair. But she wished she had blue eyes, fiercely. Instead she got a black tinged with toffee. Like someone had dropped a bit into her eyes. And her body. At eighteen, she was stuck in the small breasted mode, for all the good it did. It made it awful hard to make friends with those growing at a normal pace, and tinged with snottiness. Why couldn't god have put everything of hers into proportion? She was thin and willowy and tall. Coated her eyes in eyeliner, and hated bright colours.

In fact, the only thing Lunetta Lombardi ever really bothered with was art. It didn't matter what kind. She spent every ounce of her free time honing her skills. Painting, sketching, pottery, scultures, portraits, novels, songs, the guitar, monologues, the piano, and, of course, her photography. Not to mention late hours writing monologues and rants. As she sat in the back of her classroom, she worked on the later, glaring fiercely at anyone who turned to stare at her.

"Excuse me?"

She glanced up, grinding her teeth, and met the eyes of a girl that wavered on the term opposite, from her point of view. With soft blonde curly hair to her shoulders, wide blue eyes, a developed, strong body, and a round, smiling face, it was impossible for Lunetta to deliver the swear word on the tip of her tongue.

"Yes?" Lunetta answered, her voice a tad too sweet. A tad too fake.

"Um, hi?" said the girl nervously.

"Hello." Said Lunetta. She raised an eyebrow.

"I'm Quincy. Are you new?' she asked.

Lunetta scoffed, "Yes." She said slowly, as if making something very difficult very clear to a very small child.

"Oh. What's your name?" asked the girl.

"Lunetta." Said Luna. "why do you care?"

The girl shrugged.

"She prods." Said another girl on the other side of Luna. This one was just a little shorter than Luna with long brown hair, deep brown eyes, and square-framed glasses.

"I noticed." Answered Luna. Abruptly she turned away towards the front.

"Where're you from, Lunetta?" asked Quincy softly.

"What is this?" snapped Luna, "The third degree? Yes I'm new, yes I'm your age, yes my hair brown. No, I don't like you, now piss off!"

She was faintly embarrassed when she discovered that the entire class was staring at her.

"Ms. Lombardi, perhaps you ought to go explore the hallway outside the classroom?" asked the teacher nervously.

"Fine!" snapped Luna angrily, slamming her book closed. "I haven't got the time for this shit classroom anyways!"

She stalked out of the classroom and leaned her back against the wall, sliding down to the ground, gritting her teeth and muttering swear words under her breath.

Across the hall, a classroom door swung open and slammed shut.

"What the hell was that, Walker?" snapped the teacher bursting out, face red. He was following a tall boy with the strong, lanky build of a tortured artist and an empty gaze.

"What did I tell you?"

"Not to bring my lighter into class."

"And what did you do?" bellowed the man.

"I brought it to class." Muttered the boy, pronunciating each word very slowly. Not unlike the way Luna had answered Quincy.

"What did I say when I saw the lighter?"

"You told me to put it in my bag."

"Did you put it into your bag?"

The boy's answer was tense and angry. "How could I put it into my bag," he griped, "If I was using it to light a fire?"

The teacher roared. He turned, snarling to the boy and grabbed him by his collar. "I will personally make sure that your filth is removed from the pure grounds of this school. I don't care if I have to go to the school board, heck I don't care if I have to see the Prime Minister of Canada and the President of the United States!"

"My filth." The boy's voice was quiet, soft, and cold as ice. "My filth? What filth? And what pure grounds do you speak of? You know that girl. That special student you love so much?" his sullen lips twisted into a half smile. "She's dirty. She does dirty things in dirty places. And the boy, the one with so much potential? It isn't just blood coursing through his system." He gave the teacher a shove, looked down on him as he lay, shocked, on the ground. "Your filth," he sneerd, "Precedes my filth, old man." He turned and took off down the hall, snapping a lighter in his fingers, matching the clicks step for step.

He walked right past Lunetta, stopped, and backtracked. He didn't look at her, kept his gaze and his stance aimed straight ahead even as he held out a hand.

She wanted to say no. She wanted to tell him he was wacko and to piss off. But instead she put her hand in his. He hoisted her up with surprising strength and they commenced an awkward run down the hall.

They burst out of the doors and onto the street. Jogging now, they stopped by a old black vintage convertible. Gasping for air, they stared up at the sky. It was a pure blue. Clouds drifted across it like unherded sheep.

He swung the door of the passenger seat open and beckoned inside.

She should have said no. But she didn't. Instead she slid into the seat and stared out at a world swimming in sunlight and sound.

He slid into the seat next to her, lit a cigarette, and leaned back.

After a few minutes of smooth, lazy driving, he said. "You're new." It wasn't a question. It was a declaration.

"Yeah." She breathed. She couldn't help but wonder what she was doing. Sitting in a car with a tall, dark, handsome stranger.

"Lunetta Lombardi. That would be italian." Once again, a declaration. "sixteen years of age, recovering a a temporary bout of multiple personality disorder and… you are a cancer."

"How do you know all that stuff?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I know everything."

They were driving through country now. Fields fraternised on either side and mountains beyond that. Still, above, was the endless sky.

They stopped by the side of the road and climbed over a rickety fence into the field beyond.

Laughing, running, they traversed it, quick as lighting, and collapsed in the long, lush grass.

They stared up at the clouds as they passed by.

"A bunny." Said the boy.

Luna laughed. "A tree."

"A dragon."

"A ship."

"A sword."

Rolling in the grass, he turned to her. So close their faces were that she could feel his hot breath fan over her cool face. "Your eyes." Soflty, he trailed his lips across them.

"Your nose." She whispered, running her finger along the length of his.

"Your neck." Quick as lighting, he trailed his tongue over her collarbone. She shuddered,

"Your mouth." She sighed. Leaning over she kissed him.

And as her lips met his, she could not help but think that they were sharing lazy kisses. Or rather, he gave lazy kisses. His eyes, bright and blue, met hers for a split second before they closed.

"Hmmm………" she sighed softly. His deft fingers slipped under her shirt and she melted at his touch once more. And then it struck her. She was lying in a field in the middle of nowhere kissing a stranger on her first day of school in a new town and she was all alone.

"Hey!" she cried, pushing him away. She stood abruptly and ran across the field, not daring to turn back.

She swung herself over the fence and began running down the road. She was barefoot and she had discarded her sweatshirt, so that she ran, shoeless, in only a short black skirt and a black sleeveless shirt.

It wasn't long before she heard the roar of an engine and heard his voice over blasting music. "Get in the car." He snapped.

She shook her head.

He swerved in front of her, blocking her path. "Get in the fucking car" he griped.

Shaking, she slid into the seat. He reached across her and slammed the door on her side. He pushed a button, locking them inside.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"What wrong?!" she cried, 'What's wrong?! Here I am, making out with a stranger in a field, I don't even know you, but you know everything about me! You took advantage of me!" she accused.

"I did not take advantage of you. Luca Walker never takes advantage of anyone." He said, exasperated. "You made the first move, first of all, secondly-"

"No, no! There is no secondly. Secondly does not exist! Secondly can die for all I care! What you are going to do is you're going to take me home. And we are never going to speak of this again."

"Okay." His voice was unnaturally calm.

Softly, then with more force, it began to rain.

"I suppose you know where my house is, too?"

"6558, Willow Drive." He said.

It wasn't long before they were pulling up in front of a large blue house.

As she started to get out of the car, he stopped her. "Here." He snapped. He proceeded to fling something blue and satiny at her.

Her heart quelled. It was her bra. "How did you-"

"In the field. It's called skill." He said, he turned toward the front leaning back in his seat casually, arm flung over the back of her chair.

Suddenly, Luna felt guilty. She wanted to get back in the car, but she could see her mother running down the steps of her front house. She stuffed her bra into her kangaroo pocket and slammed the door, turning to her mother just as the car was driving away.

"Luna! What in god's name happened? The school called! They said that you ran right out of the school with some boy. My god! I was so worried………" she promptly burst into tears. Which was normal, because she was pregnant.

"Um……… Does Robert know?" Luna asked, referring to her stepfather.

Her mother nodded. "I called him at work."

"Shit." Hissed Luna. She stalked into the house and slammed her door, curling up in her bed and waited for the huge argument about to ensue.

When she heard the slam of her front door, she knew. She heard the stomping of his boots on the stairs, and the door swing open. "Luna!" he roared, spit flying.

"Yes, father?" she asked innocently, looking up from her book.

Then the ranting began. "Out of school! Into a boy's car, and you disappear for the whole day! And of all boys! Luca Walker?! Do you have any flying idea who Luca Walker is?"

Luca just shook her head.

"His father's in jail! Heck, the kid was spawned by a murderer! Now we noth now how I feel about genes! Heck, if you were my kid, you wouldn't be such a sorry excuse for a teenager! This kid watched his father stab his mother to death, and he didn't do shit! Who knows what he might try with you! Both of his parents, off in limbo land!" he snapped.

Luca's heart sank. "Well……… who does he live with now?"

Her father turned around, furious. "His aunt. But that isn't the fucking point! I have had it up to here…"

His voice faded back into the gray of the rest of the world.

Luca watched as he paced. His voice a low humming in the backround. A murderer?

Surely it had to be a rumour.

"Hullo, Aunt Reimer."

The middle-aged woman turned, and her weary face lit up as she watched her nephew walk through the front door. "Hello, Luca. How was your day?" she asked.

He sighed as he opened a can of pop. "Long." He groaned, then his voice lit up a bit, "I met a girl, though."

His aunt gave him a sly look. "Oh yeah? D'you kiss her?" she asked.

"And then some."

"You like her?" she asked, sliding a cookie sheet out of the oven.

"A little." He mumbled through a mouthful of chocolate chip cookie.

"well, that's nice." She said, but her eyes said more.

"Sure is." He said carefully, watching her warily.

"Your daddy called today."

Luca's fist cleanched on the edge of the counter. "Oh yeah? What'd he say?"

"Lots of things. He asked how you were."

"What'd you tell him?"

"I told him to go screw himself."

Luca snickered. "Did he get mad?"

"As a bull." She laughed, she poured herself a glass of milk."Your mother said hi, too."

"Auntie." He warned.

"She says she loves you."

"Mother's dead. She's been dead for a long time."

"How can she be dead?" his Aunt snapped, "If I talk to her every day?"

"Because daddy killed her!" he yelled.

His aunt said nothing, she just sobbed.

His furious gaze softened. "I'm sorry auntie. I didn't mean nothing by it."

She looked up at him then. "Go." She snapped.

"Aunt Reimer-"

"Go! Don't you come back, neither! You just go!"

"Fine!" he roared, "I hate you anyways!"

He slammed the door behind him. Drifted out into the cold of the night. He stared down at his feet. He had no shoes. No jacket. He looked back into the lighted window of his aunt's apartment building. He couldn't go back there now.

He wandered around a bit, lost in thought. And before he knew it he was outside the blue house on Willow Drive.

He picked up a stone. Big enough to make a noise, small enough not to break anything. With a grim smile on his face, he lifted it up to throw it, but decided not to. He let it drop and ran over to the wall. He hoisted himself up onto the rose grate and commenced the awkward climb up to the window.

Luna almost screamed. There he was, crawling through the window, dripping wet, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt.

He tumbled through the window and onto the ground, shivering.

"Um… Luca?" she asked softly.

"It's fricking cold out there." He muttered.

"Here… pass me your clothes and put them in the drier. I'll get you something…" she wandered out into the hall… down the stairs and into the laundry room. Quiet as a mouse, she fished some boxers and a t-shirt from the laundry, as well as a towel.

"Here you go," she murmured to him as she passed him the clothes. She turned around as he changed out of his soaking clothes and into her stepfather's discards.

"You don't have to turn around if you don't want to."

"I want to." She said softly.

There was a silence broken only by the rustling off the clothing and the wet smack of his wet clothes falling onto the floor.

Luna tried not to think about his wet jeans smoothing, sliding, slick and wet over his narrow hips and down his thighs.

"Done." He murmured, finally.

She turned. He was sitting cross-legged on her bed, towelling off his hair.

"So…" she said, not quite sure what to do next.


"Why'd you come here?" she asked.

"I dunno." He said softly, " 'cuz I wanted to."

She nodded wisely. "How long are you staying?" she asked.

"I'll be gone in the morning. I just need to sleep somewhere, is all."

"You got me in a lot of trouble today." She said as she crawled under the blankets of her bed.

He crawled in after her, but she didn't protest. Instead, she moved closer to him, seeking warmth.

It was so familiar a position.

"Tell me about yourself." She sighed.

"My name is Luca Walker." He whispered. "I'm eighteen years old. My birthday's in december. I hate carrots. My favourite song is 'Gravedigger' by Dave Matthews."

"Gravedigger?" she asked over a yawn. "I never heard it before."

"It's a wonderful song."

"Sing it to me."

"I can't sing."

"Sing it to me anyways."


" Sirus Jones 1810 to 1913

Made his great grandchildren believe he could live to a hundred and three

A hundred and three is forever when you're just a little kid

So Sirus Jones lived forever

Gravedigger, when you dig my grave

Could you make it shallow

So that I can feel the rain

Miriel Stonewall 1903 to 1954

She lost both of her babies in the second gravewall

I mean, you should never have to watch your only children lowered in the ground

And you should never have to bury your own babies

Gravedigger, when you dig my grave

Could you make it shallow

So that I can feel the rain

Ring around the rosy

Pockets full of posy

Ashes to ashes

We all fall down

Gravedigger, when you dig my grave

Could you make it shallow,

So that I can feel the rain

Little Mickey Parsons '67 to '75

He rode his bike like the devil until the day he died

When he grows up he wants to be Mr.Vertigo on the flying trapeze

Oh, 1940 to 1990

To Gravedigger

Hwen you dig my grave

Could you make it shallow

So that can feel the rain


When you dig my grave

Could you make it shallow

So that I can feel the rain I can feel the rain I can feel the rain

Oh Gravedigger

When you dig my grave

Could you make it shallow

So that I can feel the rain




He ran his fingers over her cheek.

But she was already asleep.

He started up his car, and wheeled out of the driveway. Smiling grimly to himself, he drove by Luna's house one last time. The lights were off, but he could see her, staring out at him accusingly from her rain-streaked bedroom window.

She had a towel wrapped around herself, and her hair, dripping and heavy with water, had lost it's volume, it looked sleek and dark against her pale olive skin.

Her eyes focused on his.

Her cheeks were streaked with tears.

He felt a great guilt, and something else, though he wasn't all sure what.

Lifting a hand, he blew her a kiss.

Even through her solemn glare, she returned it.

In the fog on his window, he wrote "I'll be back."

In response, she wrote in the fog on her window, "I know."

He smiled at her softly, and drove away. Oddly, he felt that perhaps he could come back. He could wander back into the smokey little town, as long as she was here waiting. He'd probably have a reason to, after all.

He didn't know her.

Had barely known her a day. But then, suddenly, it didn't really matter.