Cast & Characters:
Monica Wilson (Emilie De Ravin)
Alexander Bachelor (Ed Westwick)
Leonel Stompborn (Paul Wesley)
Amanda Pembroke (Candice Accola)
Demetria Adamson (Daneel Harris)
Samuel Nachman (Jensen Ackles)
Sylvester Gilroy (Gabriel Mann)
Bridget Fairchild (Nina Dobrev)
Rachel Redbert (Jennifer Lawrence)
Steven Wilson (Alan Rickman)
Noah Parker (Raphael Sbarge)

Chapter 1: Monica

I hate small towns. I don't like the fact that almost everyone knows each other maybe a little too much in those places. I don't like the fact that you can leave the place on foot in a few hours. Small streets creep me out, one school and a hospital for everyone makes me feel somehow lonely. I had to sacrifice city life to come and live with my uncle in Rusondia for my parents. Dad cheated on Mom, they got divorced, I decided it would be best for me to step away until they can at least tolerate each other again. This is how I got here, and I'm regretting it.

As my uncle and I walk to his loft – since his rusty, old 1960s Mustang decided to shut off completely in the middle of our way there - I study the place. Small houses, little streets, everything I hate felt somehow welcoming, as if I was coming back home after staying away for a very long time. Well, I am a descendant of one of the founding families of this town, maybe it's natural. I'll get into that later on.

As we walk, I notice something weird, but before I can comprehend, someone's shoulder bumps into mine. I turn around and see a blonde head passing me and stepping inside a house a few steps away from us. She bumped into me pretty hard, though I did catch an "excuse me". Anyway, as I was saying, I notice something weird. Each front yard has a full garden. That's normal, what's weird is, there's one, same tree duplicated into every other garden. Perhaps it's just a town thing, but you can't be sure. Does our front yard have the same tree?
    
Of course it does. As I walk by yet another house with a same front yard, I realize the sound of footsteps behind me stopped. As if on Que, I hear my uncle's voice, "Monica, did you really think I'm poor enough to live in the woods?" I stop and look up, instead of houses, or at least a plain field with a road in the middle, I see trees. I turn around and see our house, the last one in town. Then back at the trees, as I put the bags down and reach out for the tall plants. Real, normal trees, just standing there, a little distance away from our house. No road, just trees, so many trees close together that you can barely reach your arm out to touch one without touching the other.

No, I don't say "Sort of," or "What is this?" after my uncle asks me if I like it. In fact, I just pick my bags up and go inside without opening my mouth or even looking at him. As I walk in, I pause and think. Those trees freaked me out. I don't know why, they just seemed scary. Like in a horror movie, where you find something weird before it comes to life or something comes out of it and eats you alive. Maybe that's my problem, maybe I watch too many horror movies. But I shouldn't let this out on Steve, my uncle. I try my best to smile and turn around, he's already behind me. "They... they're interesting." Is the best I can manage to say. That put a smile on his face, at least.
    
He showed me to my room. Inside, a wooden bed stuck to the left wall, next to the bed, at its head – and at the end of the room- was a small, poorly handmade desk, it stood next to the window above the bed. To the left of the door, behind the foot of the bed stood a closet, and on top of it, a small TV. The space between the closet and the bed only allowed the closet doors to open. What totally shocked me were the walls, they were not painted gray, as many of you might think, nor did they have butterflies painted on them. Instead, they were coloured bright, blood red. Now that is something I, for some reason, did not believe.

    "How do you like it?" he asks.

I have no problem with the size, but the colour disturbed me my whole life. What came out of my mouth was, "This was a storage room wasn't it?" though I wanted to say something completely different.

Think I offended him? You have no idea. I see his face flush and his eyebrows pull upwards as he looks at me. He only does this when he's utterly embarrassed. Nevertheless, it always made him look younger. Well, he doesn't look his age anyways. His shape, his height, his pitch black eyes, high cheekbones and long nose make him look at least fifteen years younger, though his hair is gray, and he's exactly fifty. I love him. I would never mean to offend him on purpose, and he knew that, which meant it only took me one look in his eyes for him to understand everything I want to say to him, smile, kiss me on the forehead and leave. Steve has always been as close to me as my dad once was, he's the only positive I have to coming here.


    
Before I tell you how I spent the rest of my day, I must tell you how much I hate the colour red. It might not seem important to anything in this story, but trust me, it is. This colour reminds me of everything bad: war, jealousy, murder, death, a billion other things, and cheating that resulted in my parents' divorce. Still don't think it's important? Just you wait.
    
Now you'd think it would be time to unpack things, change into something more comfortable, sit on the bed and perhaps cry. I only have half an hour to myself, so no time to cry, really. Instead, Steve comes and tells me it's time to go book shopping. School starts tomorrow.
    
Usually, here in Nebraska, the school gives us books and we pay for them when the first school bill comes, or at least in all the schools I've been in. Rus High is different, I guess. They give you a list, and you go and shop for the books in the local bookstore. I couldn't help but notice the resemblance this situation held with the times when mom wrote a list and gave it to our driver, Billy who gave it to our caretaker, Sarah who then went shopping. That's just one of the advantages of your dad being a billionaire. In a way or another, it feels like I'm the caretaker now.
    
You might think, "Oh I get it now. She doesn't like small towns because she's a money-spoiled, daddy's girl." Well yes, I am money-spoiled, but I'm certainly not a daddy's girl anymore. I mean, don't get me wrong, I used to love him more than I love anything on earth, but that all changed when I found him in his and mom's bedroom, lying next to my mom's best friend and my godmother, Anna just a couple of months ago.
    
You might also wonder why is my uncle so poor. Steve doesn't have that much of a wealthy job, and he never asked my dad for anything. They were never really brothers. Steve was already twenty-six and married when my dad was six years old in kindergarten. He was already in a boarding college by the time dad was born, so when he was told about the wedding, dad didn't know who my grandparents were talking about. They always thought of each other as strangers.
    
And yes, I do have money. I don't really ask dad to do anything, but he dumps over fifteen thousand on my, technically his, credit card a week. Probably just to earn my apology. Though I'm not going to forgive him, I still use the money, it's fifteen thousand dollars a week for crying out loud, and I'm not one of those depressive people who don't really give a crap.
    
After Steve gave me the list the school gave him, I went shopping. He did offer me money, but I of course refused. I'm not letting him run a penny lower than he is now, especially when I already have around a million on my card. On the contrary, it's my money that's supposed to help him.

As I walk to the bookstore, I try to recall what I know about Rusondia. Mom told me she read that it was founded by nine families, other than Wilson, my family, I remember Gilroy, Fairchild and Stompborn. That's all I know. Dad interrupted us after she was done listing them. But I was curious, and-despite the fact that I hate small towns-I still am. Which is why I get a rush of excitement when I look at the first book; 'Local History: Level 10' I am going to find out more after all.

The other books were pretty much the same as my old ones, except they read Level 10 instead of Level 9, since I'll be a tenth grader tomorrow. What I also find new is the Science Book. In my old school, we had separated Biology, Chemistry, Physics and Geology classes. Here, it looks like it's all been crammed up in one subject and titled General Sciences. There are two history books, the local one and the normal history. I don't know about you, but I'm more interested in the local history.
    
English and French are the same, Math is different. I'm going on Algebra II course next year and I struggle to find the book. I usually prefer doing things alone, which is a flaw I'm working on, but after half an hour of what felt like endless searching, I finally decide it's time to ask the staff for help. I look around and see a guy in their uniform passing right by me; I nudge forward and call him, "Excuse me, hi," he stops and turns around, "May I help you?" If you're thinking I'm quickly going to ask him to look for the book, think again.
    
I have no idea how I kept my jaw from falling right open when he turned around. No, it was not because he was handsome, although he was like hell. There was something about him, something I can't express to you in words, something about his deep, bright, honey eyes, something about his high-styled, dark brown hair, something about his muscular shape and slightly tanned skin, something big, something strong, and something that sure as hell makes my next words stuck in my throat.
    
I try to swallow, but it seems hard to even do that, it's like I'm paralyzed, as I speak, my voice cracks, "I was looking for-"

    "'Algebra II by Isaac Walker'?" he asks.
    "How.." I try to clear my throat, and somehow succeed, "How did you know?"
    "You're far not the first one who's been asking for it,"
    "Well, it's almost impossible to find."
    "Not if you look had enough."

He pulled a long ladder towards him, it was leaning on the shelves and I hadn't even realized it, and starts climbing. Out of all the weird things here, I have to tell you one thing, this bookstore is the weirdest. It's by far not small; our penthouse back in Lincoln would fit five times in here. What's even weirder is that it looks just the size of our penthouse from outside. Inside, it's designed like a nineteenth century library. First of all, it's round. Second, it is made out of wood. Everything here, the chairs, the floor, the cabinets, and the shelves are pure, light brown wood. There is also a giant, wooden fireplace right the opposite of the reception counter which is to the right of the entrance door. Statues of famous writers and poets are scattered around the circle, those, at least, were made from cement, though each one had two cushioned seats and a wooden coffee table next to it. Did I mention the height of the shelves? Well the ceiling is so high you can't see it, because the light doesn't reach there, the shelves get darker the higher you go, but the books don't end, it seems like you can walk this ladder for eternity and not reach the ceiling. There are no windows or conditioners, and it's not hot at all. The walls are covered with book shelves and the only gap is taken by a huge aquarium the shape of the shelves. I still have no idea how I realized all of this just when he climbed the ladder.

He climbed just half a foot above me and retrieved a big, dark green book. Then he jumps down and gives it to me with a smile and a "here you go". I smile back and thank him. He doesn't leave, as I expect him to, instead, he asks me, "So, you're new here?"

     Maybe that's a good thing, "Yeah," I answer, "Moving in with my uncle"
     "Is he the one that lives at the very end?" he asks, "Steve right?"
    "Uh... yeah..." He knows my uncle, well, Steve was always friendly, I try to make a joke, "Is it on breaking news already?"

He chuckles, his voice is deep, but has a very bright ring to it, and when he chuckled, it became even brighter as he exposed his pearl white teeth just a little, "It's a small town," And I couldn't help but smile.

    "I forgot your name, though." he says.
    "Monica, I take it you remember my last name,"
    "Wilson."
    "That's right, and what do they call you?"
    "Leo,"
    "Leo... Leonardo?"
    "Leonel," he sniffs before saying that. "Stompborn."
    
The next thing I say was supposed to be thought, but I guess my tongue takes over, "Yeah, I prefer Leo,"
In one second, I cover my mouth with my free hand, and can't help but smile a little under my palm, "I'm sorry" I say.
To my surprise, he smiles and says, "It's alright; I get that a lot,"
    
I remove my hand from my mouth and purse my lips together to keep from laughing. Laughing from what? That I don't know.
    
There's a pause, then Leo breaks the silence, "So I guess I'll see you in school,"
    My eyes pop out in shock, "You go to school?"
    "Yeah, going on tenth grade, I don't look like it, I know,"
    No, he doesn't. "No, you don't, not really."
    "I get that a lot too,"

Not surprising. He doesn't look like a tenth grader, or a twelfth, he looks like he's in his second or third year in college, and if it wasn't for his bright eyes, he'd look like a businessman.

Again, he breaks the silence, "So, I'll see you around?" he's carrying a grin on his lips.
    "Yeah," I pull my hair behind my right ear and smile, "of course, see you." He nods slightly, turns around, and walks away.

As I walk out of the museum, I meant to say the bookstore, a feeling that was making me laugh fades away, as the sensation to go back gets stronger. But I try to fight it; I need a good night's sleep if I want to go through tomorrow. However, you and I both know that's impossible.



It's already getting late and I need something to at least give my room a little touch, make it look brighter. The only thing I can think of is a mirror, so I go to buy one. The one I take is squared, with a beige frame and some brown, Greek writing that matches the ceiling's cornice. I like it, plus the cashier said I had great taste. Another good thing is that it's one of those mirrors that stick on the wall, so you don't have to screw it in or anything. When I come back home, my uncle is already fast asleep on the couch, with the TV still on. I grab the remote from under his palm carefully before turning it off.

When I was a kid, I remember when he, my mom and I used to go out, how he constantly thanked my mom for getting him one of those couches which lower parts open, where you can store things like blankets or pillows. It was for his birthday, and my mom knew he'd need it. Though my uncle and my father aren't as close, him and my mother certainly are, he often tells me how he thinks of her as his own daughter -Steve is old enough to be my dad's dad, and there's a five year gap between my mom and my dad, her being younger.

Given that I remembered about the couch, I look at the one he is sleeping on, and it certainly does look familiar. I come closer and sit on the ground, putting the books and the mirror quietly on the floor, I try to open the lid carefully. It works, and as I pull out what looks like a drawer, I find a few blankets. I take one out, close the drawer, and cover Steve with it. After which I take my things and go to my room.
    
In my room, I have an alarm clock standing on the edge of the desk, near my bed, saying 9:15. Steve told me school starts at eight sharp, just like my old school. I was eager to get to bed, I could barely stand. I dump the bags on the floor, between the bed and the closet, stick the mirror on the wall, turn the lights off, and throw myself on the bed, not bothering to change. And my eyes close shut for the rest of the night.

************************************************
Or so I thought. A cold breeze wakes me up, as my eyes open, I see it's still dark, and I'm shivering. I look a t the window and realize it's open. Knowing that perhaps all my sleep will fade away, I reach out and close it, next I turn to my right side, and try to go back to sleep. I succeed, but not for long. I wake up another time from a loud, beeping noise. It must be time for school, but as I open my eyes again, it's still dark. I realize what's going on quite quickly; my phone alarm. It's in my bag, and I don't want to get it, so I try to go back to sleep hoping it would stop. You guessed it, it doesn't. You see, I had to be stupid enough to put it on snooze yesterday; when I set it to the time I had to wake up to get here. I woke up that day at 5:20 A.M so I guess it is around this time now. With a huge moan, I get up, open my bag, and shut my phone off as I remember I need an alarm for school. I remember the one on the desk, and set it to 7:30 A.M. That gives me about two hours of sleep. I decide to pull back the blanket, and crawl under it. I wake up the next time about half an hour later, for no particular reason, and spend another half hour trying to get to sleep. In what seemed like five minutes, the sound of the alarm wakes me up.
    
Yeah, so much for getting a good night's sleep. I raise my head from the pillow and replace their positions, trying as hard as I can to block that annoying noise. After I realize that's useless, I reach my hand out and somehow find the button to shut it off. Getting back to sleep will be pointless, I can't sleep when the sun's out, so I straighten up and sit on the bed. Just as I get up, my uncle bursts in to wake me up for school. To make long things short, I brush my teeth, eat scrambled eggs for breakfast, and quickly get my school books, change, pack my things, and head outside before struggling to brush my hair, I always do it in front of a mirror, and I wanted to punch this one, or at least shave my head bald.
    
I have to admit, I feel sort of embarrassed not telling you how I look yet. I'm pretty tall, shorter than Leo in about a centimetre or two, and that guy is as tall as the six foot Shakespeare statue he was standing next to. I'm not sure if I like my height. I have dark red hair, so dark that it only flashes its colour slightly when sun rays hit it, otherwise it looks almost pitch black with a hint of brown. I like that. My eyes are blue, dark blue, I have my grandpa's eyes, same eyes Steve has. I love it, it suits my hair. My lips are small, but very pink. My nose is just fine length and size. What I do like about myself for sure is my long neck and high cheekbones. Then I have something that I hate, my skin colour. It's weird, it's sandy-coloured-ish, not like the yellow sand you find on the beach, more like a cold yellow with a hint of gray, sort of like a sand foundation; the makeup, I mean. I have to deal with this for the rest of my life, or at least when I'm not tanned.
    
On my way out, I pass the tree and glance at it. It's tall, with branches all covered in leaves, I don't know how else to describe it, but I assure you, it's actually quite beautiful.
    
I reach to my pocket as I approach school; Steve already gave me the school map and schedule, so it saved me from going to the receptionist and all that. As I study the map, I notice something weird; there's the bookstore slash library slash museum I bought my books from, and there's the school five houses away, with two light brown lines cutting across the page , towards the bookstore. A tunnel, and it seems to be underground, hence its light brown colour. Then curiosity hits me. Is it secret? If so, why would they show it on the school's map they give out to their students? For what purpose does it exist anyways? Why is it connected to a school? For some kind of an escape? A project? My thoughts are interrupted by the sensation of pain shooting from my head, down my body as I hit the wall.

I curse as I cover the place I hit with my right palm and step back. Again, I bump into something, but – thankfully – something softer, and – not thankfully - something that can talk.
"Usually people bump into other people," I turn around to face the guy, wanting to say something, but studying him instead. I see he's quite good-looking. Very good-looking. With his messy, brown hair, blue eyes, a bit brighter than mine, bronze-tanned skin, my height, long, wide neck, wide jaw-line, fine lips, he's just about everything a girl wants. Well, what can you say? Another hottie in the house.
    
"Didn't I just bump into you?" I ask, somehow finding tendency to talk this time.
    "You bumped into the wall first," he replies, his voice a bit softer than Leo's, but it was somehow less dreamy.
    I rub my forehead on the place I hit the wall with, "Gee, thanks."
    "Alright, alright, I didn't mean to offend you,"
    "Who said I'm offended?"
     "Are you being serious right now?" he folds his arms.
    I roll my eyes and say, "Whatever," as I look back at my map. I'm having trouble focusing, so I stupidly flip it upside-down and back, trying to make sense of it.
    Then he speaks again, "Down the hall, turn left, fourth room to your right."
    I pause and look up one more time, "Huh?"
    "You're heading to English, aren't you?"
    "How do you people know everything around here?"
    He shrugs and pulls out his right hand, "Name's Alexander,"
    
I fix my eyes on his. If he wasn't dreamy or anything, his eyes sure were. I shake his hand, only half knowing what I'm doing, and not tearing my eyes away from his, it was pretty hard to do so,

"Monica. Can I call you Alex?"
    "Everyone calls me Xander."
    "Well, not everyone anymore."

He smiles, but I barely notice. His eyes are very hard to look away from. And by very hard I mean almost extremely impossible. I don't even let go of his hand, I just look deeper and deeper into them; it's like looking into a water vortex from above, and the more you look, the deeper you go. And I don't know if I'm being delusional or not, but I can certainly almost hear the water in that vortex, and the rattling of... pipes?

    "Do you hear that?" I ask.
    "Hear what?"
    "The-" I was cut off by the sound of the faucet of a water fountain at the end of the hall flying off.

And what happens next you ask? Well, what happens is that as soon as I remove my hand from Alex's, it stops. Don't ask me how yet, that part of the story is still to come. What you have to understand now, is that at this moment, I'm just as confused as you are. And Alex... well, read on and see.

    "What the hell just happened?"

Surprisingly, I find my voice calm, though I barely hear myself, since I said it almost in sync with the first class bell.

"I have no idea," and with that, he leaves, apparently for class.



********************************

"A new year has started, and new accomplishments stand ahead of us. It would be my honour to teach you everything you need to know. But first, it seems like it would be a good idea for us to find out more about each other," says a tall, middle-aged man with short, light brown hair, round glasses and a big, white-toothed smile. He stands behind a white desk, in front of a black chalk board that reads 'Professor Noah Parker – Local History'.
    
This is my third lesson, after this I have my lunch break. I am sitting in the row before the last, mainly because I didn't want anyone to distract me from the lesson. Don't you remember me telling you how I want to find out more about this place? - Technically, it didn't begin yet, because the bell is still to ring. And just as it does, two girls and a guy storm in.
    
"Sorry we're late, Mr. Parker" says one of the girls, her voice is stern, like it belongs to an adult rather than a teenager.
    
"You're not technically late, Miss Abrahms," Mr. Parker nods quickly, still wearing his big smile.
    "Thank you," replies the girl, and they turn to pick seats. I take a good glance at her; red hair, amber eyes, slim-shortest but not that short- figure, and very pretty.

"Hey," says a gentle voice next to me. I look to my right, and see the other girl that came in. I feel like I've somehow seen her before, considering her looks are quite common. But that's just it, she's one of the girls that makes common look pretty appealing. Perhaps it's her eyes, why does everyone here have pretty eyes? They're deep green, with dark green at the edges, making them seem polished like expensive gemstones, and her hair is perfectly straight as it falls down her shoulders. If I stand up, I'd be taller than her, but her height is average. She has high cheekbones, big, pink lips, and a small nose.

    I smile and say, "Hi,"
    "Would you mind if I sit here?" she places her hand on the back of the empty chair next to me.
    "Not at all," I say. She smiles, draws the chair back and sinks into it.

Mr. Parker starts speaking, and I look up at him."As in every year, I shall give you this first lesson to talk to each other. For those of you who are wondering why am I doing this, since most teachers are usually boring, old cranks that think talking should be saved for break time and too much sugar in coffee gives you diabetes," everyone lets out a small laugh, so do I, "I'm doing this because I think that in this class, we are learning about our town history, how a few families bonded into one and founded it. And I'm sure they wanted us to continue their legacy. Therefore, talk to each other, find out things you don't know about each other. And try to be nice. I'll be right here if you need anything." As he sits, he doesn't drop his smile or cheerful tone, he didn't drop it even once throughout his speech.



    I turn to the girl next to me, smiling. She smiles back and says, "So,"
    "I'm Monica," I say,
    "Amanda" says she, "but everyone calls me Am."
    "Nice to meet you, Am."
     Her eyes narrow and her eyebrows pull together, "I never said you can call me that,"
    "Oh..." okay, ouch. "I'm sorry,"
Unexpectedly, her smile returns in a flash, "Relax, I was messing around,"
    "Oh..." I say again, "okay...." I suppress a small chuckle. Stupid. I think to myself.
    "So, what do you want to start with?"
    "Oh I don't know..."
I look down at my hands, and see the tattoo on my right wrist. It's a Green Day symbol, a small grenade in the shape of a heart. I look back up,
"How about... what kind of music do you like?"
    Her eyes look where my eyes did just moments ago, and she raises her eyebrows, "Nice ink. You like Green Day, huh?"
    "Thanks. Yeah, consider me a fanatic."
    She looks back up at me, "You'd probably love to meet Leo; he's a huge fan, too."
    "Oh, the guy that works at the bookstore?" I try to speak casually, as if my heart never started to race like a thunderstorm when she mentioned his name.
    "So you did meet him. He's awesome, isn't he? We've been friends since kindergarten, all of us have. Pretty handsome," She leans towards me, and whispers, smirking, "but a total pain in the ass sometimes."
    I chuckle again, this time in sync with her, and whisper back, "You don't say?"

    "I heard that." That was not Am speaking.
    My eyes widen as I look at her. She looks back, and we're both thinking the same thing.
    "It isn't…" I say to her," ...is it?"
    "Oh, you bet it is." She replies.
    We turn our heads slowly, in sync, and- well you guessed what's next.
    "Hello, Leo," says Am slowly, smiling the widest smile she can manage, so am I, "looking good, have you been... working out or something?"
     He raises one eyebrow, and folds his arms, "Am, I last saw you hours ago."
    "Right..."
     I snort and say, "Fail." under my breath,
    "Whose side are you on?"
    "Sorry. Leo, how did you... how did you suddenly appear here anyways?"
    "Oh, it's easy," he places his arms on his desk and leans forward, his biceps contrasting, making them look even bigger. How on earth can he be sixteen years old? "To make yourself not noticeable, make sure you walk in when someone's talking about you," he looks at Am and smirks, "preferably when they're calling you a pain in the ass."
    "Oh, please," how many 'oh's' have I heard today? "you've called me worse."



    A new but familiar voice speaks, "Hope we're not interrupting."
    I look up, and see the redhead with the guy she and Am walked in with.
    "Hello, Tria," says Leo, not looking away from us.
    "You three seem to be getting along," she looks at me, "I'm Demetria, this is Samuel. I prefer Tria, he prefers Sam. Not so hard to memorize."
    "Hi." says Sam, also smiling at me.
    I smile back, "Hey."
    His voice is stern, somewhere between deep and sweet, it has a certain ring, a musical tone to it. Sort of like Leo's, but a bit different. The 'musical tone' is clearer in his voice. He has green eyes, a little lighter than Am's, the colour is more natural, wide jaw and neck, messy, sandy hair, and, like Leo and Alex, a huge body. So far, every single guy I met here is totally hot and doesn't look his age at all.
    I look back at Tria, "Isn't Demi usually a nickname for Demetria?"
    "If I wanted people to call me that, I would've worn a rabbit skin." She replies.
    Am looks at me, "She means costume," she turns to Tria and gives her a glare, but the other one just shrugs it off. And that reminds me of Alex.
    "So, Monica, is it?" she asks.
    "Yeah... how did you-?"
    "Your uncle wouldn't shut up about you," Sam was the one who cut me off.
    "You know my uncle?"
    "Of course, who doesn't know Good Old Steve?" as soon as I hear these words from behind me, I spin my head right and up so fast I hurt my neck.
"Alex," I say.
"Hello again, Monica." This time, I notice his smile, and take deeper breath, because it's pretty breath taking.
"H-hey, it's... good to see you... too." I try to smile, and manage to do it, nervously.
     I hear a snort, then turn around to see Tria elbow Sam in the ribs, and him saying "Sorry." Dammit, I'm so highly influenced by guys.



"Beware, the awkward zone." One more new voice speaks, and I look to my left, a few feet steps away from our desk stands a man, well, a teenager that definitely looks like a man, and two girls that I've seen before in the hallway, but never got the chance to meet.

"Ves!" Am sticks her arms out, rushes towards the guy, whose nickname is apparently Ves, and hugs him what I think is strongest hug I ever saw.

He hugs her back, with the same strength, I assume. You can almost see the excitement radiating from these two; I couldn't help but smile at the sight.

A few moments pass, and one of the girls next to him, a brunette with gray eyes, clears her throat, bringing Am to pull away from him, say "Oh, right, sorry,", and hug both the girls, they hug back.

    "Good to see you, man" says Sam, hugging and clapping him once on the back of his shoulder.
    "You too," he replies, doing the same.
    "Looks like Germany did its job, huh?" I turn to look at Alex; he's wearing a huge smirk on his face.
    "What do you mean?" asks the Ves guy.
    "You lovebirds looked beyond adorable." Leo answers his question, and flashes his eyebrows.
    "Oh shut it, you two!" Am snaps at him, and then looks at me, "see what I meant when I said he's a pain in the ass?" they both exchange a smirk.
     "Yeah," I smile, letting out a small giggle, "I see."

"Am I missing on something?" the Ves guy asks, looking at me for the first time. I never noticed his English accent until now. But I noticed he's the only male blonde in this group. His eyes are gray, and other than his voice having an English accent, it's much deeper than Alex's, Sam's or Leo's, but it's somehow more friendly. And why is every guy here hotter than the other?

    "Ves, meet Monica." says Tria, clapping me on the shoulder.
    "Monica? You're Steve's niece?" asks the other girl, she also has brown hair, but she's a little tanner and has blue eyes.
    "Yeah... is he some sort of a local celebrity here or something?"
    "You can say that," she smiles, "I'm Bridget, by the way."
    "Vester," says the guy, "call me Ves. And this is Rachel." He gestures to the one with gray eyes, she steps forward and smiles.



    "Just El," her voice doesn't match her looks. She has a small, heart-shaped face. Her hair is perfectly straight, with bangs hanging over her small, silver eyes. Though she is about my height, she looked so small, tiny, even, so sweet and delegate. Why did I say 'looked'? Because when she spoke, all my views towards her changed. Her voice is strong, the sort of voice a woman in an army would have. It makes her seem strong, brave and definitely selfless. Someone who looks like a small, helpless thing, but is much, much more from the inside.



"No one calls me Rachel anymore."
    "Well aren't you glad things are going so well?" says Tria... sarcastically.
    "Relax, dude," responds Bridget. I turn to look at her. Her hair falls in long, dark brown waves, she's a little taller than Am, and has very pink lips. Now that I look closer at her eyes, I can see their colour exactly identical to Alex's. They're differently shaped, a little more round, but the colour is exactly the same, deep blue. I tear my glance away before something weird happens again.



Despite all that, I smile to myself; I don't even notice Am sit back beside me until she asks,

"What are you smiling about?"
    "When you said, 'all of us have been friends' just before Leo interrupted…" I look up at her and see a smile on her face as well.
    "All nine of us are as close as a family can get."
    I look around, "But you're eight,"
    "No, we're nine," I look back at her, and she holds my hand in both of hers, "you're one of us now."
        
And just like that; somehow, somewhere, something made me feel like I am most definitely home.
    
The bell rings, and I hear Alex ask in a quiet, but somehow amusing tone, "Who's up for some beer?"

End of Chapter One.