Rose Fox

Written By: TigerBlizzard aka EarthDragon aka FirePhoenix aka WolfHurricane aka many more!

Chapter One: First Encounter

The newest student was also the latest arrival—thirty minutes late, to be precise, on her first day at her new school. She had just transferred to Fortuna High in South Carolina from a place call Sub Rose High in Alaska (or so her transcript claims) and the principal assumed that she would be nervous and early, or at least courteous and on time. When she didn't arrive by 8:00—when the last bell rings, signaling the start of homeroom—the Principal (Mrs. Andrea Summers) went back inside from where she was waiting, just outside the front double doors, for the newest arrival; the most awaited arrival; the lucky arrival (for the school).

The most-awaited arrival was neither absent nor late. She waited purposefully for the principal to go inside. Mrs. Summers' intentions may be sweet and innocent, but the new girl learned early on that adults tend to make things worse whenever they try to help. Waiting for her gives her "special treatment" and only succeeds in helping her stick out more, not fit in. If this exchange was to work she would have to remain as inconspicuous and unmemorable as possible. She cannot stick out or have any extra attention—the opposite of most what most teenage girls want.

But such a thing is hard to accomplish—when you're a prodigal genius of 15!

She stood atop the grassy green hill not to far away from the school building; although it was very high up, which explains why she was not noticed. She stood at the very tippy-top, feeling the slight breeze, feeling free. Her black shirt billowed and her matching bellbottom pants fluttered in the pleasant wind. If she could, she would have skipped school and just stood there all day, enjoying the wind and the feelings it inspired within her. Feelings like those a bird may feel, of freedom and joy, of happiness and control over your own destiny and fate—whatever it may be. But, she couldn't—that would most definitely draw attention to her, especially since the principal would call her mom and cause a ruckus.

With a begruntled sigh, she began her way down the hill she wants to stay on, towards the school she wants to run away from.

I knew I had to, but that didn't mean I wanted to, or that I would do it fast or particularly well. I would take my time, but I wouldn't shirk my duties completely—I couldn't do that to mom and grandpa again. Not after the last time. Sis wouldn't like it either, and they are the ones I absolutely despise disappointing. I just can't stand making them unhappy, or causing them anxiety or pain—no matter how small the amount or minor the offense. Not after the horrors of before; not after what I have already done and put them through.

Funny, if anyone ever discovered that a genius could let her family down, they'd probably laugh. How could it be possible? Not even I truly know how (I am much more than a genius, for one thing), but I do know that it does, and I cannot bear having to ever see those looks in their faces ever again. Sadness, disappointment, shock. I just can't stand it, and so I submit myself willingly to torture and torment, knowing full well it would only end horribly, eventually—such things are most inevitable and quite unavoidable. Yet they make me try, and I can't say no. I just can't—could you? You may say yes, but you don't know what I've been through, so you can't even begin to know. Nor do you know my family, and most definitely don't know me.

So I walk towards the building, admitting defeat to myself, and inner weakness, and I can't do anything about any of it. Grrrr—sigh—ah well. I must go on, and I must not let them down. My mom has become sweeter, gentler, weaker since the last time; she takes joy in any little thing. This increases her happiness, but it also increases her grief. Any little disappointment threatens to tear her apart. And it's all my fault—a fact I can never allow myself to forget. My mom had been strong, but I broke her down. I broke my mother's heart, just like my dad had done before, and now we must all fight to make it right: me, my twin sister, my mother's father, and most especially—me.

I walked down the hill, careful to retain my balance, picking up speed as I proceeded farther down the sloping hill. Gravity pushed down on me, hard, and it was all I could do to prevent myself from falling, rolling down the hill, and breaking my neck. I was unable to slow, and stopping would have been the end of me. My heart-rate quickened and adrenaline rushed. I felt fear and excitement; terror and adventure; a mixture of enlightening feelings.

And then it ended.

I was forced to pause and take my time recovering. I took deep breaths in an attempt to calm my racing heart and lower my adrenaline levels. I felt giddy and light-headed, ready to take on the world. I was drunk on my own power, and I knew I could do anything. These feelings scared me, and I fought to get them under control. If I didn't, bad things would happen, and it would be the incident all over again, and I can't have that. None of us can. It would be the end of me and my family—I just know it would.

I was finally able to get myself under control, which in turn extinguished my fear and the possibility of repeating my most dismal past. I took a deep breath, my hopes of staying here for an extended period of time now almost gone; if I was that close that quickly… But, I couldn't give up, I had to try—not for me, but you already know that, and for who, don'tcha?

With renewed vigor, followed by my usual empty despair, I walked up to the school to begin my first day, which I knew wasn't going to end without incident…

I hadn't brought anything to school because I didn't need it. Of what use are supplies when you don't need them to work? What use are binders when you know you won't be there long? What use is a uniform when they can't throw you out, and you're going to leave inevitably anyway? What's the point of all of this if you are unreachable, until later, when you'll have to leave for…other reasons? There isn't one, so I came as I wished—free, unhindered, and different.

I don't understand my own self sometimes. If I don't want to be noticed, why do I make myself so noticeable? There really is no point…Damn, I really am paradoxical!

Oh well, I don't care what they think, and they can't do anything to me.

I had memorized my schedule, so I knew exactly where I was supposed to be and at what time. Not only that, I can tell time without the use of a clock, instead using my head. I feel it, I see it, I know it. You're shocked, aren't you? How can a girl do all of this without any aide and without magical powers, you may be wondering? I laugh at you. I said it before. I'm a genius, remember? No magic, no tricks, no deceptions. I wasn't experimented on as a child. I'm not really ancient and know everything because of my years. I was born different—a genius. That's half of the reason we move so much—my…strangeness. The other half is worse, much worse, and you'll see that later.

For now, homeroom.

I walked through the deserted halls, past several closed doors full of average students in their uniforms and business-like teachers. I laughed at their uniformity, their formality, their innocence, their ignorance. So naïve, they are all so naïve. They no nothing of the real world, only the world of school, of boys and girls, of exams, of movie stars, bands and singers. They have chores, allowances, curfews. They are all normal, oblivious, happy. I laugh at them, but on the inside I ache. I want to be like them, care-free, despite what they may thing about their "hard lives." At times I want nothing more that to have the biggest concerns be tests, grades, boys I like, and where I'm going to go for summer vacation, and how bored I am because I got grounded—again.

But I can never be like them—never. It's impossible. And not even because of my mind. It's because of my past, my present, and my future. Because of my family, my enemies, what I am meant to do. I am not normal, and I never can be. I can never have friends, I can never have boyfriends, or normal worries, or a normal life. I can never find love. If I ever do, they will find me, and all I love will no longer be safe. It is better to never love, to be cold and alone, than be warm and surrounded, only to have it all destroyed and killed sometime down the road.

My life is a life of loneliness. If that is how it must be, then so be it.

I stopped in front of one of the doors. It looked like all the others; light oak, stained, polyurethaned, decorated, surrounded by cold painted stone and freezing tiles. Next to it was a blue template. Carved into it, and done in white, read the numbers 1-2-and-3. 123. Mrs. Patricia Ulrich's Room, it read on the door. I sighed. This was my homeroom, and my first period class. She teaches math, advanced as it gets here, and is rumored to be nice. I don't care. Everyone's cold to me, and the teacher's can't do anything, so all teachers are the same in my mind. Now I must suffer through math I've known since I was, like, five years old.

I sighed and gave in. No point in moping about. It's as good as whining, and self-pity, both of which never get anything done, never does a damn anything for me. I fought them back, told myself there was no point in drawing it out, that I was being stupid, that I had to do this, that there was no turning back. I though of my mom, my sister, my grandfather and how they would feel if I gave up so quickly, without even really trying. And I thought of my dad. I thought of how he had hurt mom, and how she only wanted the best for me, to make up to me what he did, like it's her fault. I knew what I had to do, what I must do. I have no choice. I can hear the talking of normal teenagers within the room, their laughter, their normalcy. Oh how I hate it—I want it, and can't have it. I envy it, lust after it, wish for it—but can never have it—so I despise it and they who are more fortunate than I. I growled, composed myself, reprimanded my hesitation ("Hesitating can get you killed"), turned the metal doorknob and walked in.

The room immediately fell silent.

I was chatting with an acquaintance of mine in Ms. Trisha's homeroom (that's what she has us call her). His name is Daniel Jones, and he's not a really good friend of mine—I don't have any of those—but we get along. Then again, I get along with practically everybody; if not that, they hate me. He's a great guy, smart (by high school standards, not mine), athletic and funny. I help him with schoolwork at times and he keeps me company, makes me feel like I belong. I long and ache for companionship, but I can never truly have it, so I take what I can get.

I long for delusions. I want to pretend, because if I didn't I would hurt, and I hate hurting.

I smiled as Daniel told me about the soccer game against the best team in the league he played last Saturday. He was really getting into telling me about how he scored twelve times, and how he had been at the top of his game, playing the best he had ever played. I know how to play soccer, meaning I know the rules, but I had never played outside of school, so I was clueless as to how he got so into the game, as if he was being liberated. He talked about he had felt free, empowered, like a higher being. Like a god, out there on the field. He talked about the hot sun, the sweating, the adrenaline rush, the pounding of his blood, beating in his veins. He talked about it so passionately that I knew he loved the game. I followed along, drawn in by his description. I felt as if I was him, out there on the field, and it was one of the best feelings I had ever felt. I wanted to be able to play as he had, feel as he felt, be as he was. Everything was good, he claimed, when you were playing—even annoyances and pain. Everything was awesome and fun, even such things you would normally look at with disdain.

"Soccer's my life and I can't live without it. I can't say anything bad about it, I love it so much. It's so great, nothing can ever be flawed about it, y'know?"

I laughed. One of his friends, a guy named Matthew Lewis—one of the three guys who sat behind us in homeroom, in the very back row—laughed at his descriptions. "That is so hilarious! Man, you sound like you're talking about a woman you're madly in love with!" Matt roared.

Another one of the guys spoke up, adding on to what his friend had said. "Seriously, man. I've heard guys talk about girls like that—but you sound like you really meant it!" the one named George Kent said, laughing at his own hilarity.

The two of them—Matt and George—roared with glee, along with their other, quieter, more soft-spoken friend, William Clark. Daniel laughed. I smiled. Will reacted inbetween the two extremes, just as enthusiastic as the rest.

And the door opened, and everyone quieted. All was still.

Standing in the doorway was a new arrival—I knew her to be a new arrival because I at least recognize all of the kids at Fortuna, even if I don't know them by name. She was—simply put—beautiful, which is what stunned the previously rowdy boys into silence. Her hair was long, silky and midnight black, flowing down her back from a ponytail, positioned high upon her head. The hair-tie was black as well. In fact, everything about this girl was black, which surprised me. Fortuna is notorious for its strict dress codes and punishments. Even new-comers can get in tons of trouble for not wearing the school uniform (that's why the principal always meets them first) and the school colors. She carried nothing, which I also found odd. If I didn't know better (given the current circumstances) I would say she was a cat burglar. (How close I unknowingly was…)

She wore long black bellbottoms of a thick, flawless cotton cloth. The legs trailed down all the way to the floor, covering up her big black boots, tied with black laces. (She even wore black socks). Her shirt was of the same material as her pants, short sleeved and cut high. Her nails were slightly longer than average, curved—almost pointy—and painted as black as her attire. Her hair was so long it almost reached the floor, reminding me of Rapunzel from the fairy-tale. Yeah, a gothic Rapunzel. Blonde hair and blue eyes—no. Black hair and dark eyes (dark gray—usually, as I was to later discover)—yes.

She was beautiful, yet cold, and hard. No light penetrated the icy depths of her eyes, and there was no humor in her tight features. Her lips—a pale pink line on her empty face. Her skin—extremely pale, silky smooth, and creamily flawless. The guys stared, and so did the girls. Even the teacher did. She violated most all of the rules of dress, and she didn't even seem to care about the school at all. She was obviously new here, and she radiated power and danger.

Who is she…?

I saw Daniel and George staring harder than all the rest, mesmerized. I could tell why.

She walked in and closed the door behind herself, never turning her back to the class. She seemed to ignore them all as she walked up to Ms. Trisha's desk. She engaged the bright and sunny teacher in a short conversation. Their words were whispers, and the class strained to hear. Not even the people in the front could hear what they said. Their talk ended quickly, and Ms. Trisha stood up, smiling. She walked around to the other side of her desk and addressed the class.

"Class, may I have your attention please," she softly requested. The class was already silent—it was more courtesy than necessity on both parts. They hung onto her every word (as usual). Even I did, as she spoke in her usual kind tone. "This is our school's newest student, Rose Lyn Fox. She has transferred here from a most esteemed school in Alaska, and I trust that all of you will do your best to ensure she feels comfortable in her new and unfamiliar environment. Rose, take a seat wherever you would like."

"The name's Lyn," she grunted, shocking everyone but Ms. Trisha. She spoke!

"I'm terribly sorry. Lyn, you may take a seat wherever you would like to sit." Ms. Trisha smiled but received no response. That didn't discourage her in the slightest. The scary new girl said nothing and walked slowly down the aisle, searching for a seat. All empty seats were next to someone else. I could see the obvious look of disgust in her crinkled face, her sneer, the glint in her eyes. No one else seemed to notice. Ms. Trisha sat back down.

She neared the back of the room, and the only possible seat was on the other side of me, closest to the window, to my right. Daniel sat on my left. The Boys sat behind us. Unable to sit anywhere else, Rose Lyn Fox rolled her eyes and sat down beside me. She slouched back in her chair, spreading the message that she was to be left along, unreachable. She crossed her arms and gazed out the window.

She ignored me who sat next to her, Daniel who tried to talk to her, and George who did the same.

She's so much like me…My mom would say she reminds her of myself, in several ways, really…

I slouched, ignoring their stares, their words. I don't like people, and they don't like me. Let them talk, let the try. I hate them all. They can't touch me, I'm unreachable. They can waste their time, but they'll never succeed. I don't need them, but they need me. That's how it's always been and always will be. I've already gotten used to that. I've had to. It hurts, but friendship and love is only a weakness, and my touch and my love can only hurt, never help, never heal.

The only one to let me be was the hot redhead sitting beside me…

The chapters will get longer, and more full of action, and interesting, so bear with me.

I hope you like it.

There will be more, and I will be faster to update if you review.

(That would be a hint!)

Now, what you need to know, and we can move on.

Fortuna High School Uniforms:

(School Colors: Navy blue, Forest Green, Blood Red)

Male Students: Navy blue slacks, blood red dress shirts, forest green blazers

Male Teachers (and Staff): Forest green slacks, blood red dress shirts, navy blue blazers

Female Students: Navy blue long skirts, blood red undershirts, forest green vests

Female Teachers (and Staff): Forest green skirts, blood red undershirts, navy blue vests

There is no "Casual Dress Friday."

Teacher's pants and shirts must always be long, even in the summer (the students are permitted to shorten their for heat only).

All shoes are black; slim heels for adult women, thicker heels for girls, uniform for all males.

More rules, regulations and stuff about school and students and teachers will be revealed later.

READ AND REVIEW OR DIE!

I want reviews, so they are most obviously welcome!