(J/S) To the Old: Marcus' name has been changed.

To the New: Don't worry about it P

Vampire? Please. -1-


I had always thought he was a strange kid; right from the start. He was always by himself, only referred to as the New Loner Kid in school. He always wore the same sweater too, with the hood up so we couldn't see his face. I was surprised to hear that none of the teachers harassed him about it. Normally, if someone had their hood up in school, they'd be sent to OCR faster than Principal Barkley could eat a foot long, subway Italian roast, which I had heard was pretty fast. Never spoke either, the New Kid, just sat there, did his work, and only muttered short, one word answers.

So along with his complete isolation from the rest of the student body, added with his 'stay-away-from-me-I-want-nothing-to-do-with-you' vibe people in school naturally avoided him and that, of course, included me. As far as I know, no one else bothered with him either. There had been those nasty rumors, though. A few guys had tried to jump him one day after school. The next day, Micheal Simons, Samuel Fuentez, and Blake Hall didn't come to school due to, "facial and abdominal injuries." Which served them right, because who in the world messed with a kid who had a freaky smiley face with fangs on his sweater?

". . . so what do you think, Vee?"

"Hm?" I muttered, just noticing that I had been pulled into the conversation. Amber rolled her eyes at me.

"Marcel, you idiot. What do you think of him?" Oh, of course. She was referring to the New Kid. That seemed to be her only topic of conversation these days.

I shrugged my shoulders lamely. "I don't know. I've never spoke with him before."

"Tch. You don't have to speak with him to have an opinion on his looks."

True. But I did need to actually see him to have an opinion, which I have not, so I don't.

I said nothing and instead, changed the subject. "What did you get on Mr. Danners test?"

"I wonder, do you think if I paid him, that he would take off his hood for me?"

That was Amber Alders for you: a one track minded, boy-starved, and foul-tempered young lady. Once she started to focus on one thing (which was a rare enough occurence as it stood) there would be no change in the subject, and she always demanded a response.

She was a bit on the pushy side, but I just correlated it to her being a red head. Not that I'm saying that all red heads are pushy, because I'm not (though it sounds an awful lot like it), but since I'm forced to, I place her into that particular stereotype. She didn't have all those freckles and sun spots, and had green eyes instead of the usual icy blue, but after that, the formalities ended. She was quick to anger, and was a hell bent raging mass of estrogen if a very unlucky someone managed to piss her off that much. Most of the time, though, she was pretty reasonable; however people didn't really bother her. If they didn't believe in the stereotype, then her height of five foot ten and the athletic build she sported would be enough to intimidate them.

"I don't think he'd take it off, even if you had a gun to his head." I sighed, poking uninterestedly at my bologna sandwich.

How pathetic was that? I'm a sixteen year old junior in high school and I still bring paper bag lunches with bologna sandwiches that my mommy made for me. I could at least have gotten a chicken sandwich or something.

"I think Vienna has a point. He doesn't look too friendly to me." Trish stated, taking a leisurely sip of her Coke.

Trisha George was my super friend. You know, those kind of friends that, no matter what they do, is always considered perfect in every single, effing way. She was five foot four, weighing 126 pounds exactly with naturally blonde hair and the bluest of blue of even bluer eyes that you have ever or will ever see. Ever. Good natured, and caring, it was almost impossible for her to lose her cool, though I pray for the person who was stupid enough to make her mad.

"I'm sure he would if I offered him something a little extra." The red head responded, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. I choked on my milk at her meaning, and Trish patted gingerly at my back.

"She was kidding, Ienna." she said, taking another sip of the fizzy, black liquid.

"What the hell makes you think I'm kidding?" Amber asked, sounding offended. Trish wrinkled her nose.

"So your saying that you really would give up your chastity to some random guy just because you want to see his face?" She asked, disgusted.

"No, but I might for Marcel." I giggled at her answer. Sure, it was an uncomfortable topic for me to listen to, but that didn't mean it wasn't funny.

The bell rung out over the campus and Trisha, Amber and I said our good byes, and dispersed through the crowd.

It was hard to believe that it had already been two months since school started, and that there were only three more months until first semester ended. It sounded like a long time, but it really wasn't.

I sped through the throngs of students, making my way towards my last class of the day on the other side of campus. History had to be one of my worst classes; not so much academically as it was mentally. History just couldn't keep me interested, which is why I must always ask myself: Why the heck did I pick it as one of my AP classes? Mr. Perry was funny enough, but it takes a lot more than just a little humor to keep my interest in something.

I made it into the classroom a few minutes later and sat in my assigned seat. The classroom itself was pretty big, maybe 17' by 15', but the desks made it look smaller than it actually was. The walls were decorated with laminated posters and old newspaper clippings and on the wall opposite the door hung a very large version of the american flag. This was also the side my seat happened to be on, in the very back, closest to his desk.

The way Mr. Perry had arranged our seats was so that the students on each side of the room sat facing each other instead of towards the front of the class. I don't really understand the concept of that since it made it easier to communicate to people from the other side of the room, but I wasn't complaining. It wasn't like I had anyone to talk to in class.

Taking my binder and a pencil from my backpack, I scrawled my name, the date, and period in the top right corner of a fresh sheet of paper, and leaned back, pushing up my glasses, and pulling back my mass of curly brown hair into a messy ponytail.

"You ready for the test?" The girl in front of me asked with an air of nervous excitement.

A perky, yet nice Philipino girl who was into her own style of clothing. She was petite with a bright smile and skinny arms. I think her name was April. Or was it June? May? I didn't really pay attention to anyone in particular in this class, so I didn't know.

"I guess," I said, "ready as I'll ever be anyway." In case you didn't know, in AP classes, you weren't just tested on one chapter, you were tested on three, or however many you studied for the past two weeks. Thankfully, amidst all the other things that I had had to do yesterday, I had remembered to read chapter fifteen in the AP book which also happened to be what made up about 50 of the test. Of course, that didn't account for the other 50 of the test that would be on both chapters fourteen and sixteen (that I had NO time to study what-so-ever), so I could very much be screwed over by this test.

- - -

For the most part everything had went smoothly, I guess. I was about half way done with my test, when the door was opened, and then slammed, signaling that someone had come in. A lot of people came in and out of this classroom during the two months that school had been in session and I had learned to ignore the door completely. Seconds later, hushed whispers wafted across the room. This was new. Hushed whispers didn't exist. It was either loud talking, or dead silence.

Slightly annoyed, I pulled my eyes away from my test to gaze around the class only to feel my jaw drop ten stories because, standing less than five feet away from me, was Marcel. He was having a whispered conversation with Mr. Perry, handing him a piece of paper. The teacher nodded, went to his desk, scribbled something, and handed the paper back, pointing to the empty space to my right. I watched as Marcel nodded in understanding and turned, walking towards me. I quickly averted my attention back to my test.

Amber was going to kill me when she found out this tid bit of information.

"Mr. Lior, your test." Marcel sighed, but got up to take it.

That had to suck. This test would definitely be showing up on our first progress report, and if he failed it, he surely wasn't going to pass. But if wanted to protest he didn't. Just sat down, looked over it, and began filling in the answers like he knew what he was doing.

I watched him silently for a moment, trying to figure out whether he actually knew what he was doing, or whether he was just filling in random answers. I had never clumped him in with the nobodies around campus that did nothing but sleep in class and wasted their time in school, but I had to admit that I never imagined him taking a higher placement class either. It was a surprise to say the least.

He finished his test in fifteen minutes flat, and sat back, tilting his head to rest on the wall behind him. I cocked my head at an angle, curiosity overcoming my common sense, hoping to at least catch a glimpse of his face. Unfortunately, I made myself seem a little too conspicuous.

"Owens, is your test plastered on Liors' face?" Mr. Perry asked, smiling from his seat at his computer. I blushed and hurriedly looked down at my test. As the rest of the class chuckled, continuing on with their own tests. I could feel Marcel's eyes as they bore into the side of my skull. When I peered at him though, he had turned back to staring at the ceiling. I told you he was a strange kid.

- - -

As the bell signaling the end of class (and school ) buzzed from the P.A, Marcel stood in a movement so swift and fluid, I thought the only person who could pull that off was Trisha. Apparently though, the luggage he was carrying couldn't handle it as well and fell to the floor with a soft thunk.

I peered at it with soft eyes. It was a necklace and a very pretty one at that. The chain was made of white gold, I think, and the pendant was a sapphire in the shape of a tear drop in one of the most lovely hues of blue I had ever seen (apart from Trish's eyes anyway)

"Oh," came the soft cooing of April/May/June, as she adjusted her bag strap with one hand, and picked up her books with the other. "Is that yours? It's really pretty."

She had been collecting her things in those bone skinny arms of hers. I swear on Moushi's grave that that girl would most likely blow away in a strong gust of wind. I shook my head.

"No, it's Marcel's . . ." I trailed off. The boy had disappeared, seriously.

Now, trying to get out of class before The Rush comes is all fine and dandy, but there were exactly two things that really, really bugged me about Marcel just disappearing into thin air. One, in the two minutes or so that it had taken for him to drop the necklace to the end of Skinny's and my conversation, he should have still been in the class. I don't care how fast you walk, run or crawl, it was impossible to be out of the classroom and outside the door in two minutes.

Second of all, along with Marcel's pulling a Houdini, so did half the girls in the class. The only one left apart from Twiggy, and myself was a girl who was 'in love' with her boyfriend of two weeks. Disturbing no?

- - -

"So Mr. Mysterious sits next to you, huh? That's not going to go over too well with Amber. Have you told her?" came Trisha's voice from the other end of the receiver, five blocks down from my house.

"Are you crazy?" I blurted out. "She'd kill me, bring me back to life, and kill me again."

I'm serious too, she really would have it were possible to bring me back to life to do it again. She'd probably kill me, and then desecrate my body, then cut me up and feed me to random wild animals. Hell hath no fury like Amber Alder.

"She'll find out sooner or later. Might as well be sooner," Trish stated calmly, then added, "besides, I wouldn't let her hurt my little Ienna."

I could literally hear Trisha rubbing her cheek against the phone. For some reason, Trisha had taken it upon herself to become my "mother" at school. I wasn't complaining though. It was fun to be fawned over every once in a while.


"I'll talk to you later Trish. My mom's calling." I whispered.

"Alright. Tell Angie I said hi." she said before hanging up. Since Trish counted herself as my mom, she always referred to my mom by her first name. My mom's real name was Angelina Oscara Rodriguez Guerra Rosalia Owens, not Angie; but to keep it simple (and people sane) she shortened it to just Angie.

"Vienna!" My mother called again, putting more force into it.

I scrambled off my bed to put my phone back on the receiver, and open the door before she had to come upstairs.

"Yes Mom?" I shouted from the door frame.

"Venga aquí por favor." She asked. In truth, it was a command. My mom asked in English; she demanded in Spanish.

I thumped down the stairs, and bounced into the kitchen. To say that I was just a little hyper at home was an understatement. I bounced off the walls as soon as I got home, expending energy that I hadn't used in school.

"I need you to run to Rite-Aid for me, mija and pick up some stuff for me." she said, while tending to my baby sister.

"Where's Ric?" I asked, not really up to going out. The sun had set a hours ago, and I wasn't really fond of the dark. Mom knew that, and would only send me out as a last resort.

"Your brother is staying at Josh's house, I'm on call, and I have to meet your Papá at the airport." she said.

So it wasn't a real emergency, but she wouldn't have anyone else to do the shopping. If she really was on call, she'd speed like a demon down the road to get to dad before anyone had a chance to die. Plus, there would be no convincing Ric to come get groceries if he really was at Josh's house. I guess I had no choice.

"Alright. Do you have a list?"

"En la mesa delantera. Gracias mija." Mom said absent-mindedly. I just nodded, and walked out the kitchen and down the small hallway to the front door, grabbing the little piece of paper and heading out the door

The night air was chilly, yet refreshing and cooled my heated face. I decided to take the main road for two reasons; one being that it was much brighter down the particular road and two, becuase there was at least five cars driving by at a time, so if there was a strange, crazy person trying to abduct me, I (might) get a little intervention.

I plugged my headphones into my ears and turned the music up to distract myself as I walked that first stretch of dark road. To those who care and won't laugh at me, I am what you might call a slight achluphobic. That meant that I was only slightly afraid of the dark. A little. Sólo un poco.

Well, the trip to Rite Aid was pretty uneventful, except for the small fact that a rabbit almost gave me a heart attack by jumping out of a very dark corner of the street. Other than that, I made it to the store in a little less than fifteen minutes.

"Hey Vee! Ya mama sendja out again fa milk?" Mrs. Parker asked as she spotted me when I stepped through the doors. I nodded.

"Yes. Are you locking up?" Mrs. Parker shook her head.

"You got about anuh fi'teen minutes, but I think I'm jus' gonna lock up when ya done." I nodded and thanked her.

During vacation, I work here just in case any of you are curious. When I'm not working here, I shop here and that's why Mrs. Parker and I are so friendly. Well, there's that, and that she lives around the corner from me.

I had gotten about half of the things on the list and was looking over it again to be absolutely sure that I didn't need to go back to certain sections while I was already there. Yes, I was that anal. While I was checking the list, someone brushed roughly against me, and I swear I felt a hand on my upper back give me a light shove. Without fail, I began to topple towards the now very pointy looking hooks that held some of the bagged candy on the shelf. Someone up there likes me though, since I ended up tripping over my own foot, and turning at an angle to avoid falling against the not-so-pointy hooks, but still falling onto the floor, taking a few bags of candy with me.

"Ow. No, that didn't hurt at all." I muttered, rubbing my now sore elbow. I'm expecting a bruise bigger than the state of Texas tomorrow.

"Really? I thought people only said, 'ow' when they hurt themselves?" a deep, smooth, obviously male voice said from behind me. I leaned my head back, and felt like a total fool.

Picture this: a stunned me, lying on my back with my elbows propped to hold me, head tilted back at an angle to gaze up into the face of none other than Mr. Mysterious himself.

- - - End of Part 1