Wow, two reviews for a prolouge! I love you all! Thank you!

To Starsign Leo: Thanks Mel! My first reviewer! =]

To rock 'n' roll junkie: wow. really? I'll try to get this out asap then!

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Thump. A wad of paper knocked Rayne on her head, causing her to jerk it sideways from the impact. Muffling her surprised gasp, she leaned to her right unobtrusively and picked the note up. Keeping her eyes straight at the teacher who was droning on about the history of China, she slowly unravelled the crumped note and smoothed it out with the palm of her hand and slipped it under her table.

Hey gal. How's the view in front? -Dylan

Rolling her eyes, Rayne turned slightly in her seat to catch sight of her best friend several rows behind doubling up in silent laughter. Usually, they'd have sat together, but today Mr Boring (as they had nicknamed him) was observant for once and separated the two of them after they had erupted in laughter in the middle of his lecture on Mao Tze Tung (whoever he is). Rayne slid her hand across the table and quickly brought back a pen. Being careful not to be too obvious about it, she scribbled a hasty reply before crumpling up the paper and lobbing it back to Dylan. Except that Rayne didn't have a very good aim. The note flew through the air and hit Ned right on the centre of his forehead instead.

"What on earth-?!" Ned, who had been busy copying down notes on whatever "Mr Boring" had been mumbling about, stopped writing and gaped in astonishment when the wad of note hit him. Rayne groaned inwardly. Of all people, Ned had to be the one to intercept her note. She bit her lower lip and chanced a glance at Mr Boring, who had paused in his lecture and was squinting at them through his thick owl glasses.

"Mr Nickleson, do you have a question for me?"

"Actually, sir, this... thing just hit me on the forehead." Rayne glared daggers at Ned. Why, why why did it have to hit him?! Any other classmate would have just shut up and just passed the note along, but no no, it just had to hit the class-goody-two-shoes, who would undoubtedly hand it over to the teacher without a single protest.

"Oh? Bring it forward, then." Ned obediently put down his notes and walked forward with the note grasped tightly in his grip. As he walked past Rayne, she had this sudden urge to leap out and snatch the note from him. But before she could decide whether or not to do that, Ned had already passed her and was handing the incriminating piece of notepaper to Mr Boring. Rayne dropped her head into her hands and shook it sadly. Indeed, the expected summons arrived.

"Ms Hailey and Mr Benson, I would like to see you two after class, please." Rayne sighed and stuck her tongue at Ned, who, as she expected, ducked his head towards the floor and turned an interesting shade of red. Only ninnies like him do that. Jeeze.

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"Now... to sum up, I expect the two of you to pay more attention in my class from now on. Your grades have been absymal, you behaviour disgusting, and your attitude unpromising. If the pair of you refuse to adhere to ..."

Rayne sighed. He had been at this for the past half hour. Not that she was listening, though. Her mind had gone far away since. She snuck a look at Dylan, whose eyes had already glazed over. He seemed to be trying to un-glaze it by rolling it repeatedly. Unable to stifle a giggle, Rayne tried to convert it into a cough instead.

"You said something, Ms Hailey?" Mr Boring questioned severely, his thick eyebrows merging with his unsightly fringe.

"No sir." Rayne smirked and shrugged. Unless you count me feeling like wanting to tell you to shut up.

Mr Boring regarded her with a thin sneer on his face. "You had better listen to my advice, Miss Hailey. Trust me, you'll need it. Oh, by the way, both of you are given detention again. I believe Ms Hailey's detention records have extended till next month. Do try to finish it up, Ms Hailey. Dismissed."

Rayne gave a barely audible snort and slung her backpack over her shoulders. "Its not my fault that asshole teachers like you keep dumping detentions on me," she muttered. Luckily for her, only Dylan walking beside her heard.

"Hey, detentions till next month, huh? Isn't that your best record thus far?" Dylan deadpanned, then flashed her a grin.

"Oh, yeah, sure. Just that I have absolutely no intentions of ever "finishing" it, dude. Can you imagine? The notorious Rayne without detentions left over from last week?" Rayne executed a dramatic mock gasp. "That would just totally ruin my reputation, eh. Uh-uh. Can't do that, can I?" The two of them emerged from the classroom, laughing uncontrollably. But outside, she was intercepted yet again by an unwanted presence.

"Umm. Rayne?" She heard a timid sounding voice calling her name and scanned her surroundings with a frown to determine the exact source. Which came from a barely visible shadow which was currently camouflaged in the shadows of the dark corridor.

"Who's that?" Rayne raised her voice.

"It's Ned." Dylan, who could see better than Rayne in the dark, nudged her gently in the direction of the dark shadow. "Looks like goody-two-shoes was waiting for you."

"Jeeze. What on earth do you want?" She glared at him when he stepped out into the pool of light from the classroom.

"I... I wanted to apologize. For... For getting you into trouble. I'm sorry." Ned managed, hanging his head as his voice came trembling out.

"Oh god. I seriously have much things better things to do than to listen to this ninny." Rayne muttered and grabbed Dylan's arm, pulling him in the direction of the school gates. The two of them chatted happily, totally forgetting Ned, who stood where he was. As such, they never heard what he said.

"I'm not a ninny," Ned said softly, looking sadly at the pair of figures disappearing fast. He sighed again and drooped even further. "I'm not a ninny." Slowly, he turned and walked down the empty corridor, alone.

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"Now, now, to the beat, girls and boys!" A cheerful voice, rather shrill at times, called out. The voice belonged to a woman dresed in a leotard hidden by a loose-fitting T-shirt. She was in her 40s, but was what others would have called "well-preserved". Long brown hair was neatly tied up into a bun, and a few strands of hair had escaped the bun, framing her petite face beautifully. She raised her hands above her head and clapped her hands to the beat, moving with a innate gracefulness that identified her as a dancer. Indeed, she was the teacher of the dance class currently in progress. Her class was made up of 17 teenage girls... and a boy.

All of them began swaying gently to the beat, some with more gracefulness than others. But it was the boy who managed to look even more graceful than the girls, a fact which never failed to surprise his teacher. She used to remark, "Now now, girls, see, even Ned moves better than any of you here!" But after seeing the effect that this sentence brought to him (turning his face beet red and stutter a stiff reply), she stopped saying it. Nevertheless, she watched him move with approval, and wondered at the grace of this boy. Few boys took ballet, and even fewer did well at it. Especially those who did as well as him - he seemed to move with an innate grace, never pausing to think what his next moves were, just seeming to flow into them beautifully, dancing with a passion that showed in every movement of his limbs.

That was the way Ned felt too. He loved dancing - he felt that it was a way of portraying life, portraying beauty. For dancing was an art which needed gracefulness and gradual movement, something that could never be achieved by pure muscle and sheer bulk. It was beauty in itself, especially ballet, a dance which often left him speechless by the emotions that it let him feel. And so he had entered this class, even though he had been embarrased to at first. But his aunt, who was an art teacher, had noticed how he swayed to the beat of any music, and had encouraged him to do so. His parents, too, were supportive of his decision. But Ned had never deemed it fit to let his classmates know what he did as a hobby. They would never understand, and would simply scoff at him. So he kept it a secret.

Ballet let him forget his woes, his troubles, his problems. He simply danced, letting his movements show how he felt, letting his body sing the song. Sometimes, he would wish that he was more like his schoolmates, those muscular boys who attracted all the girls. Ned would only be known as the goody-two-shoes who paid attention in class, the quiet nerd. That, he knew, would be inevitable. So he blocked it out, poured his heart and soul into the dance.

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