New Home, New School, New Life

Hey everybody. This is a translation of my story . I would like to make it clear that English is not my native language and that this translation was created using various translation tools.

This is an experiment, and I ask for your understanding--but above all, for honest and constructive feedback.

Additionally, I want to point out that although the story takes place in America, I am not from America myself and have little practical experience with the life in the United States. I did conduct research, but I am also aware that some aspects of my story may differ from reality.

Please know that it is not my intention to offend anyone through ignorance, and I welcome any corrections or suggestions in the comments.

At the same time, I ask for your understanding regarding certain deviations that are essential to the story. After all, this is just fiction.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Foreword

First of all, I'd like to welcome everyone who is willing to dive into this story. It is planned as a longer project, and the plot will unfold slowly--and hopefully to your satisfaction.

At its heart, it is a simple high school love story. It will be about finding your way in an unfamiliar school, about circles of friends, rivalries, sports--but also about action and adventure. And much more.

I would like to point out that the story takes place in a fictional town and a fictional high school inspired by the American setting. Some details may differ from the reality of life in the United States.

It will take a little time before there are any actual sexual acts, but I will do my best to build up a fitting sense of tension. Naturally, all characters who engage in any form of sexual activity will be of legal age.

I hope you enjoy the story, and I'd love for you to share any suggestions, questions, or constructive criticism with me in the comments.

Thank you very much for your attention.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"This sucks." Mark Hall, my best friend for ten years now, was sitting next to me on the bare mattress of my old bed.

"It is," I agreed. There really wasn't much more to say about it. The room I had grown up in was completely cleared out except for the bed and my old desk. It felt foreign to me. Only the dent in the wooden floor, caused years ago when a drill fell while we were trying to make a hole in the wall, still reminded of my presence. Mark and I had hidden it under a trash bin for years. If my parents had noticed it in the past few days, they either blamed it on the move or simply didn't care - just like they didn't care about the entire damn house. Our home.

"James, are you coming?" my mother's voice called from downstairs, as if to confirm that thought. "The engine's running!" Sighing, I got up.

"You have to look on the bright side," Mark claimed. "You're moving into a nice big house where you'll be living with your hot new sister." I rolled my eyes.

"She's not my sister, and whether she's hot or not I'll only know once I've seen her. Besides, it doesn't matter anyway since I'll also be living with her parents."

"If there's a will, there's a way," Mark quoted and winked at me. I knew he was only trying to distract me, so I returned his grin before turning away with another sigh.

"Let's not keep my parents waiting, or they'll end up leaving without me."

"Oh no, how terrible", Mark said sarcastically, what actually made me smile. The idea wasn't that bad. I was eighteen, legally an adult. I didn't have to go where they were going. Of course, that thought was purely theoretical. I had neither the money to strike out on my own nor would I ever do that to my family. But the daydream made it easier to walk down the stairs, through the narrow hallway, and out the wide-open front door.

Of course, the engine wasn't actually running yet. In fact, it took another solid fifteen minutes before my parents and my sister Sofia were ready to leave. Finally, though, we were all sitting in the fully loaded Opel Zafira. My father turned the key in the ignition, and with a strained wheeze, the old car sputtered to life. As we hit the road I cast one last look back at the disappearing house. It crouched between larger buildings, the paint peeling from its wooden walls. It wasn't run-down, but it wasn't exactly pretty, either. But most of all, it was one thing: Our home. With a lump in my throat, I turned away and leaned back in my seat.

The drive was long. My father, my mother, and I took turns behind the wheel until we stopped at a small motel next to the interstate. There, I shared a room with my father, while my mother and sister took the one next door. We ate at a small diner attached to the motel and went to bed early. The next morning, we were up with the first rays of dawn and drove on until around midday.

Finally, the road bent in front of us, revealing a wide valley into which a small town nestled. The sun glistened on slate-covered roofs and on the lake that bordered the first houses. The gently sloping hillsides were covered in forests and snow sparkled on the distant peaks. A large sign next to the road proclaimed: "Welcome to Delltown"

Despite my melancholy, I had to admit it was a beautiful sight. We drove down the mountain pass into the valley, and the not-so-small town gradually grew around us. By the time we reached the first houses, it was already afternoon, and the streets were just busy enough that you couldn't quite call it a traffic jam.

We passed through the town center and soon reached the western edge of town, where the streets were clearer again.

"That's the old library," my mother said, pointing to a large stone building we were driving past. "We used to meet there to study."

"Unless we were at the beach or over at Nolan's," my father agreed, laughing. Then he turned to look at my sister and me, winking. "Of course, we mostly studied."

We kept driving west and left the town behind. Internally I was already beginning to grumble about the commute to school, which got longer with every mile, when my father stopped the car in front of a wrought-iron gate.

Sofia and I craned our necks, trying to glimpse something through the trees, and I started to wonder if we were just lost. But my father got out while my mother began tapping something into her phone. My father fished a bunch of keys from his pocket and turned one in a lock set into the gatepost. With a soft hum, the gate began to move and swung open on both sides.

"Brian and Mary are already here, and the moving truck will be there in about forty-five minutes," my mother announced as my father climbed back into the driver's seat. The car rumbled back to life and drove through the gate, which remained open behind us--presumably for the truck.

We drove a few more meters, then the trees thinned out, and suddenly, we were facing a massive building towering almost threateningly over us.

Calling it a villa wouldn't have done it justice. The Victorian house had three stories and rose above the treetops. Broad windows stood out in projecting bays, climbing vines wound their way up the sandstone façade all the way to the pointed roofs. It felt nothing like my old home. It was grand, enormous, and intimidating. The wide windows promised openness and welcome, while the ornate reliefs screamed luxury and ostentation. But it was also foreign, cold, and didn't suit us.

The wheels of the Opel crunched to a stop on the gravel path leading to the house. We all climbed out hesitantly, as if we could feel we didn't belong here, when suddenly the front door swung open with a bang.

Out stepped a burly man in a plaid shirt, his full beard just scruffy enough to keep him from looking like a hipster. He let out a sound somewhere between a howl and a cheer and charged toward us. My mother, who stood closest, was pulled into a bone-crushing hug. Laughing, she returned the gesture, while a tall woman with long brown hair and a kind face also stepped out the door, smiling warmly as she approached us.

"Brian, Diana, how wonderful to see you again." Her voice was as openhearted as her demeanor.

The bear of a man had finally let go of my mother and turned to my father, who greeted him with an equally firm hug.

"It's good to see you again too, Mary," my mother replied, stretching her crushed back and returning Mary's smile before embracing her as well.

"You must be James and Sofia," the bear said now that he'd finished crushing my father, who swapped places with my mother. "I'm Rupert. Pleased to meet you."

To my obvious relief, he merely offered me his hand, which I shook--somewhat overwhelmed by the whole situation. Sofia did the same, eyeing him warily, then half-hid behind me to put some distance between them.

"Emily and Chris are already excited to meet you," Mary added, now standing beside her husband and smiling so warmly that even Sofia shyly returned it.

"Speaking of, where is your brood?" my father asked, glancing toward the house.

"Well, picking out a bedroom is apparently more exciting," Rupert said beaming, before turning back to me and my sister. "You'd better hurry or the best ones will be taken."

At that moment, a slender figure appeared in the doorway. She looked about my age and was nearly as tall as I was--at 6'1" (1.85 meters). Her chestnut-brown hair fell in soft waves down her back. She had a fair complexion, finely shaped features, and long, dark lashes. As she approached us hesitantly, a boy about Sofia's age followed her. He also had brown hair, though a bit darker, just long enough to fall into his face. He grinned at us mischievously but stayed behind the girl.

"Too late," Rupert declared with a grin. "These are Emily and Chris."

"And these are James and Sofia," my mother added toward the newcomers before any of us could speak. We nodded at each other but kept our distance.

"Teenagers," my father remarked, rolling his eyes, which earned laughter from the other adults. I would have liked to point out that I wasn't technically a teenager anymore, but that probably would have undermined my position.

Once the first awkward introductions (for us younger ones) and the exuberant greetings (for the adults) were finally over, our parents led us on a tour of the house. The bright wooden floors and wall colors matched the exterior, as did the high ceilings adorned with ornate plasterwork.

Behind the front door was a large hall, big enough to fit half our old house comfortably. From there, doors led into a spacious dining room, a separate kitchen, and a living room where an enormous flat-screen TV somewhat spoiled the stately feel--though the massive stone fireplace restored it again.

On the first floor were two luxurious bathrooms and a small private library. A sweeping stone staircase led to the second floor, which held four bedrooms of varying sizes, a salon, more bathrooms, and three offices--one set up with multiple workstations, and two with just one desk each.

On the third floor, smaller in footprint than the others, there were two more bedrooms, a billiard room, another smaller living room, and an art studio. In short, far more space than even the eight of us could possibly need.

But the real highlight was the garden behind the house: expansive, manicured, with a large pool surrounded by pale stone slabs.

I was just wondering who maintained all this when a loud honk sounded twice from the driveway.

Our moving truck had arrived. Together with the movers--two rather taciturn guys with plenty of muscle--we carried the few pieces of furniture we'd brought into the house. They didn't really fit here, but I was glad to have a few familiar things accompany me into this unfamiliar place.

From my old room, only my old wardrobe and a comfortable rocking chair had made it, but both had to be carried up to the third floor, as I'd chosen one of the two bedrooms up there. The other had been claimed by the girl--Emily--while our parents, her brother, and my sister took the second floor.

With the movers' help, the little truck emptied quickly, but before we had even finished unloading it, the second truck pulled up with our new housemates' belongings.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Emily

"Why didn't you take any pictures?" My best friend Sarah wasn't actually offended, any more than our other two friends, Sandra and Claudia, who nodded in agreement. But she still did her best to look as if she were. "How are we supposed to share in your life if you show so little initiative?"

Though she meant it teasingly, the words coming through the tinny laptop speaker declared a sad truth: They would hardly be part of my life anymore. And the blame lay with this house they were so eager to see photos of, with my parents, and of course with that mysterious Norman Grimes, who had left the house to my parents. Well, to my parents and the parents of the strange boy who was probably just a few meters away right now, either trying to fall asleep or already asleep.

"And we need pictures of your new housemates--especially that boy," Claudia added. "After all, we have to know what you're dealing with."

Her suggestive grin and raised eyebrows made it perfectly clear what she meant by "dealing with." Annoyed, I pulled a face.

"Sorry, Claud, but you won't be hearing any scandalous stories from me anytime soon. My life is complicated enough as it is."

We'd given her the nickname "Claud" because it sounded like "cloud," since she drifted through life with about as much weight.

"You say that now," Sarah didn't miss the opportunity to needle me further. I rolled my eyes.

"If I were you, I'd keep quiet," I warned her. "Unless you'd like to tell us about your latest adventures with Sam." My best friend groaned and threw her hands up.

"All right, fine, I'll be quiet."

Even this exchange made me a little sad again--soon, I would barely hear any of the latest gossip, like the stories about Sarah and her almost-boyfriend.

"What are they like?" Sandra, the shyest in our group, asked softly. "I mean, your new housemates."

"Nice," I guessed. "At least I assume so. I barely know them."

"But you spent the whole day together," Sarah insisted, as usual.

"We carried furniture up the stairs and had a very weird dinner," I replied.

"Weird how?" Claudia wanted to know. She leaned forward until her face filled the screen.

"Well, our parents were acting like overexcited school kids allowed to have a sleepover, and the rest of us just watched them in disbelief." I rolled my eyes again at the memory.

"That's actually good," Sarah speculated. "You're forming an alliance. That strengthens your bond." I shrugged.

"I guess we'll get along. Not like we have much choice."

"And they have a daughter too?" Sandra asked.

"Yes--Sofia," I said. "She's about Chris's age."

"How cute," Claudia squealed. "One for you and one for your brother." I rolled my eyes again. If this kept up, I was going to get dizzy.

"Chris is twelve," I pointed out firmly. "He's way too young for a girlfriend."

"You didn't say anything about you and the boy," Claudia squeaked, as if she were twelve herself and had just scored a point.

"His name is James," Sandra, of all people, chimed in, stabbing me in the back. I rolled my eyes once more.

We talked for about half an hour longer. I rolled my eyes four more times and eventually promised to take photos of the house, the view, the town, and all my new housemates and send them over. Finally, I managed to cut them off with the excuse that I had to introduce myself at my new school in the morning.

I had almost expected a new flood of teasing as soon as I mentioned the word "school," but luckily, Claudia and Sarah decided I had endured enough for one evening. They sweetly wished me all the best for the next day.

I closed the laptop and set it on the nightstand. The nightstand--like the big double bed with the heavy red bedding--had already been in the room before I moved in. The only thing that was mine was the desk with the thick oak top, which I'd gotten when I started high school.

The other furniture in the room included a huge rustic wardrobe, a dresser, and an empty bookshelf waiting to be filled with my carefully curated collection of literary masterpieces--currently still packed in the heavy moving boxes on the floor. All of it was made of dark wood, which matched the desk nicely.

Otherwise, there was still a lot of empty space. My parents had promised that in the coming weeks they'd go shopping with my brother and me to fill it.

The best part, though, was the bay window overlooking the forest and the twinkling lights of the town beyond, plus the adjoining bathroom I didn't have to share with anyone--even equipped with a bathtub. My friends were going to be seriously jealous when they saw the pictures. Well, after tonight, they deserved it.

When my alarm rang, I'd only managed to get a few hours of sleep. Too many thoughts had been competing for my attention, and the unfamiliar surroundings hadn't helped either.

I pulled the blanket over my head and tried to come up with a halfway plausible excuse to stay in bed. In the end, it was pointless, so I reluctantly hauled myself up and trudged into the bathroom.

Normally, I wasn't much of a grump in the morning, but too little sleep brought it out in me. After a hot shower and my morning routine, I put on the clothes I'd set out the evening before and left the room with one last longing look at the rumpled bed.

Golden summer light was already streaming through the hallway windows, which had no curtains. The dining room on the ground floor was empty, but voices drifted in from the adjacent kitchen. The kitchen was almost as big as the dining room itself and designed so several people could cook side by side comfortably.

At the moment, however, only my father was there, apparently frying eggs while James sat at a table in the middle of the room--big enough to serve as a main table in any normal house--staring down at his plate with a reserved expression.

My father occasionally had this effect on people, which was ironic considering he was a psychologist.

"Have you decided on a college major yet?" he was asking--of course, the one question every high school student loved to hear. Unfortunately, I didn't get to hear James's answer because my father spotted me and greeted me with a beaming smile.

"Good morning, princess. Did you sleep well?"

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes--after all, I'd overused that the previous evening--and settled for just making a face. I hated when he called me that. I wasn't five anymore.

So I muttered something unintelligible and dropped into the chair across from James. He looked at me hopefully, clearly thinking he'd been rescued from my father's interrogation.

He would probably have been wrong--my father wasn't easily deterred--if James's parents hadn't walked in just then. They, however, managed to successfully distract him.

"Well, look at that. I thought we'd have to drag you out of bed on your first day," his mother teased, sitting down at the table as well, while his father walked straight to the stove, pulled a few spices from the rack, and shooed my father away from the pan.

"I remember your cooking all too well," he said, grabbing a spoon and tasting a bit of the scrambled eggs.

"Hey, I've gotten better," my father protested--but fell silent when Brian made a face and quickly sprinkled some of the spices over the yellow mass.

"I wasn't finished yet," my father added defensively. I couldn't help but grin. They were like children fighting in a sandbox.

"They've always been like that," James's mother--Diana--remarked. "Give them five minutes alone in a room, and they're bickering."

"Male bonding," my father said with a grin, as if that explained everything, and sat down with us.

"Where's Mary, anyway?" Diana asked.

"She's turned into a terrible late sleeper," my father lied shamelessly.

"And what would you tell us if you knew we were going to tell her everything later?" Brian asked, now scooping the eggs onto our plates. My father pulled a face.

"Damn it. I thought we were friends," he complained. "But if you're spying for my wife, then I'd better tell you she drove the first stretch yesterday morning, and in return, I got to be the early riser today. You can decide which version you want to believe."

My mother was a lawyer, and while my father worked from home and could schedule appointments flexibly, she usually had to get up early. So it was their standard arrangement that she could sleep in if possible while my father took care of breakfast.

"Speaking of sleeping in, where are Chris and Sofia?" I asked, adding Sofia's name belatedly.

"Middle school doesn't start until Wednesday," my father explained. I refrained from commenting on how unfair that was and focused on the scrambled eggs, which tasted noticeably better than usual.

"By the way," Diana said, "we need to talk to you both before you head out." James and I exchanged questioning looks--clearly, he had no idea what she meant, either.

"Have you looked into the soccer tryouts yet?" my father asked before either of us could ask. My father loved surprises, and James's parents didn't look likely to give anything away.

"The website says they're at the end of August, but apparently anyone interested can just show up--so I don't have to register anywhere," I replied after a short pause. Any impatience on my part would only amuse them.

The rest of breakfast was mostly our parents trading anecdotes about their own school days. When we were all finished, the grown-ups led us outside. The old Opel Zafira was still parked by the front door.

"We thought you could use some independence, considering it's a twenty-minute walk to the bus stop," James's mother explained, gesturing toward the car.

"There's also a third car in the garage that we're all sharing," my father added, pointing to the big shed next to the house, where we'd parked our Ford the day before. "We don't really need three cars, and we figured you'd make better use of it than the used-car dealer."

I stared at him blankly for a moment before realization nearly knocked me over. I threw my arms around his neck.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

I'd wanted my own car ever since I got my license, but my parents had always refused--claiming that, with a bus stop right outside the door, it was an unnecessary luxury. James also looked thrilled, even if he didn't say it quite as effusively as I did.

"But remember, you have to share it," his father warned firmly, once we'd thanked him and Diana as well. "Coordinate who needs it when, and don't take advantage of each other. If you fight over it, we'll reconsider this arrangement."

"We're doing this purely out of self-interest, of course, and will remind you of our generosity if we ever want something from you," my father claimed with a broad grin. "Above all, we don't want to have to drive you to school all the time because you overslept the bus."

We ran back inside to grab our school things. When we returned to stand in front of our new car, we looked at each other, both unsure.

"You drive there, and I'll drive back," I finally suggested. Admittedly, after a rough night, I wasn't eager to tackle an unfamiliar route in an unfamiliar car--especially one I only knew from my father's convoluted directions. But James seemed relieved I'd resolved the question and readily walked to the driver's side. I climbed into the passenger seat.

It might have been an old car, but it was well maintained and spacious. When the engine started, the dashboard rattled a little, but James didn't look concerned, so I assumed it was normal. He knew the car, after all.

In silence, he steered it along the gravel drive until he stopped in front of the iron gate. He pulled out the clunky remote his parents had given him, which successfully opened the gate. He pressed the accelerator and turned onto the paved road.

I used the opportunity to study him out of the corner of my eye as he followed the signs toward town. He was taller than me, had a pale complexion, and messy brown hair just short enough to stay out of his eyes. His face was closed off--I was starting to realize that was his default expression--but his long eyelashes gave his features an unexpectedly soft touch.

I had to admit, he was actually pretty good-looking--though I definitely wasn't about to tell my friends that.

"So you play soccer?" he asked unexpectedly, breaking the silence that had settled in the car. I nodded.

"Yeah, since middle school. I was a starter at my old high school, but here I guess I have to start over." He didn't say anything at first, and the silence threatened to stretch out again.

"And do you play any sports?" I asked, trying to keep the conversation going. He nodded before answering.

"Yeah--football."

I shot him another curious glance. He definitely didn't look out of shape--but he didn't resemble the broad-shouldered football players I was used to, either. He was too lanky for his height, and although the loose shirt he was wearing didn't reveal much about his muscles, nothing about him hinted at any big surprises.

"What position?" I asked, trying not to sound surprised.

"Quarterback," he replied.

"Wow--so you must have been really popular at your old school," I said, trying to reconcile the quiet boy next to me with the quarterback at my old school, who was always surrounded by an adoring crowd he basked in. James let out a bitter laugh.

"I was the backup quarterback at a tiny school that never won anything. Believe me, there were other criteria for popularity." Obviously, I'd hit a nerve, but that didn't stop me from digging further--I really was my father's daughter.

"But you'll play here too, right? And from what I've heard, football is a much bigger deal here. You'll be drowning in admiration." He pulled a pained face.

"We'll see. I doubt the team here is looking for a third-rate quarterback--they probably have plenty of other candidates."

"You have to at least try," I encouraged him. Then an idea struck me.

"I'll come to your tryouts if you come to mine," I challenged. That made him glance at me for a moment before quickly fixing his eyes back on the road.

Luckily, no other driver decided to slam on the brakes or swerve into our lane right then--though that probably had more to do with the fact that there were simply no other cars at all. We were completely alone on the road.

"We'll see," he finally answered evasively.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

James

The school parking lot was still pretty empty when I steered the Zafira into an open space. No wonder, really--we were here early to pick up our schedules before the day started.

Still, a few early birds were already gathered in small groups, probably chatting about vacations, the upcoming school year, and the latest gossip. We drew a few looks, but thankfully, the school seemed big enough that two new students weren't much of a spectacle.

The school itself was one towering concrete block. The walls had been freshly painted, and there was no trace of the neglect that had marked my old school. Above the wide glass doors leading inside, huge letters announced: Delltown High.

I braced myself to have to ask someone where the administration office was, but luckily there were clear signs. We crossed the spacious atrium, climbed a staircase to the first floor, and finally stopped in front of a plain wooden door with a sign next to it reading Administration.

Normally, I would have taken a moment to compose myself, but Emily didn't give me the chance--she simply pushed the door open and stepped inside. I followed her reluctantly.

The room was exactly what you'd expect a school office to look like. There was a small waiting area with several chairs lined up against the front wall. Behind that stood a high counter, broken only by a narrow gap in the middle, and behind it several desks--two directly at the counter and two more free-standing. To the left and right of the counter were doors, probably leading to private offices.

Despite the early hour, one of the seats behind the counter and the two at the desks were already occupied. Without hesitation, Emily walked up to the thin man sitting behind the counter, who looked up at us expectantly.

"My name is Emily Webster," she introduced herself. "I'm new here and would like to pick up my schedule." The man adjusted his glasses and typed something into his computer. Finally, he nodded.

"Emily Webster," he confirmed, and a printer beside him whirred to life.

"Attached to your schedule are your locker number and combination. I assume you've already read up on our extracurricular activities and sports programs. I can give you some flyers if you'd like, but all the school clubs are also listed on the website."

"Thank you, but I've already looked into it," Emily replied, taking the printed schedule.

"Very good. But you should check the bulletin board in the atrium--there you'll find current information on which clubs are actively recruiting new members. The sports teams are listed there as well."

"Thank you again," she repeated. "I'll take a look." She politely said goodbye and turned toward the door.

"See you later," she said with a grin to me before leaving the room. For a moment, I just stared at the door she'd disappeared through. A polite cough pulled me out of my thoughts. The secretary gave me a friendly smile and pushed his ill-fitting glasses up again.

"And how can I help you?"

"James Franklin," I replied after a short pause. "I'm also new."

"Of course," the man said, turning back to his computer. I glanced at the name tag on his chest, which read Larkin--I assumed that was his last name. Again, the printer hummed to life, and shortly after, Mr. Larkin held out my paperwork.

"I assume you heard what I just told Miss Webster about the locker and the clubs?" he asked.

"I did," I answered quickly.

"Good. If you have any questions or need help, just come to me." He winked at me. "I hope you have a great first day."

"Thank you," I said honestly and turned to the door. When I left the office, I glanced down at the papers in my hand. For the first two periods, I had math in Room 2.01--I assumed that meant it was on the second floor. My locker, apparently, was on the ground floor.

Back in the stairwell, I checked my watch and decided I had enough time to drop off anything I wouldn't need for the next few classes.

To my surprise, finding my locker wasn't difficult at all. Several hallways branched off the atrium, each lined with lockers on both sides. But the lockers were numbered sequentially, starting with the corridor on the far left, so all I had to do was check the first number in each hallway until I found the right one--and soon enough, the right locker. A little later, with a much lighter bag, I was on my way upstairs.

By now, the halls were much more crowded, but still, no one paid me much attention. Even when I entered the classroom, that didn't change. Apparently, the school was big enough that even within the same grade, not everyone knew each other.

Still, I felt uneasy as I walked past groups of students clustered together and found an empty seat near the back. Everyone here had already settled into a circle of friends over the past two years--how was I ever supposed to fit in? Before I could dwell on the thought, the teacher--a stocky woman with a pinched expression--entered the room.

According to my schedule, her name was Mrs. Brooks, and that was good to know because she didn't waste any time on greetings or introductions.

"Please go to your seats," she ordered briskly and started calling roll. Even when she called my name, no one seemed particularly interested. After I answered, she simply moved on.

"I'm sure you all spent your summer holidays thoroughly reviewing the topics we'll be covering this year," she announced sarcastically. "Turn to page 23 and do exercises 2, 4, 5, and 8. That will give you an idea of whether you're up to speed." She wasted no time. The class groaned, and I heard a few kids mumble "Sgt. Brooks," but no one protested outright--everyone immediately started working.

The rest of the math lesson passed uneventfully. This course was definitely ahead of my old one, but I was pretty good at math, and with the textbook's help, I managed the exercises to my satisfaction. At least I felt satisfied--until Mrs. Brooks collected our work at the end of the period. Now I wasn't so sure anymore. But there wasn't much I could do about it.

The bell rang, and my schedule told me I should head downstairs to Biology with Mr. Porter. So I packed my things and followed the stream of students out into the hall.

"Hey," someone suddenly said behind me. I turned reflexively. There was a boy with curly blond hair. I thought I'd seen him in math, but I wasn't sure.

"Sorry?" I asked, a little perplexed.

"Hey," he repeated casually, sticking out his hand. "I'm Aiden. Aiden Connor." I took his hand after a brief hesitation.

"I'm James Franklin." He shook my hand enthusiastically and grinned wide enough to show every tooth in his mouth.

"I'm new here," I added, assuming he'd approached me because he'd noticed he'd never seen me before. Maybe he was one of those people proud to know every student in their year. Maybe he was planning to run for class president and was trying to win my vote early. The class president theory fit--at least until he made a face when I spoke.

"Damn," he said. "I'm new too. I'd decided to talk to the first person I saw so I could mooch off their connections. Well, that didn't work out." He winked and grinned again.

"But hey, it's a start, right? Where are you from?" He started walking, still looking at me, so I had no choice but to fall in step beside him.

"From a little town out west," I said shortly. "You?"

"Phoenix," he replied. "My mom decided to move in with her boyfriend, and--voilà--here I am."

"Then this place probably feels like a little town to you," I guessed. He shrugged.

"It's fine. We lived in the suburbs, and it's not any more exciting there than here. So I'll survive--as long as not every teacher is like Mrs. Brooks. Otherwise, I might have to move in with my dad."

"At least you have an alternative."

"Not really," Aiden contradicted me. "He lives in Alaska." That made me laugh. We'd reached the stairs and headed down two floors. In the atrium, I paused to look at the bulletin board.

"You play football?" Aiden asked, following my gaze to the notice.

"Yeah," I admitted a bit sheepishly. "I was quarterback at my old school."

"Damn," Aiden repeated. "You're new in town, you're a quarterback... Can you sometimes take my place at home? Ever since the divorce, my mom's been cooking herself, and I can't stand it much longer. She won't notice the difference." It took me a moment to realize what he meant.

"It says here the football team is looking for a third quarterback. So we're competitors."

Aiden grinned again.

"Then we'll just have to convince the coach he needs both of us," he said easily. "But more importantly--do you have English now?" I shook my head.

"No, Biology." Aiden shrugged.

"Well, the streak had to end sometime."

The bell interrupted us.

"Oh crap--I gotta go," Aiden said, waving before disappearing into the thinning crowd. I watched him go, feeling uncertain. He looked way more athletic than me--and he probably hadn't been second-string quarterback at a tiny Division III school in Phoenix.

I saw my hopes of making the team evaporate--and the worst part was, I actually liked the guy.

That train of thought made me late to Biology, which Mr. Porter used as an opportunity to make me introduce myself in front of the entire class. My cheeks were still burning as I finally sat down in a free seat in the second row, and the rest of the lesson didn't get much better.

Like math, this course was way ahead of my old one--and unlike math, I was terrible at Biology.

I struggled through almost an hour of cell biology and genetics before the bell finally rang and I headed to my next class: Social Studies with Mrs. Green.

I liked her because she didn't subject me to any embarrassment and seemed way more relaxed than Mrs. Brooks. Plus, Aiden was in this class too, and it felt good to see at least one familiar face. I wasn't surprised when the blond mop of hair joined me after class, but I was surprised when, on the way to the cafeteria, he waved over a group of three boys.

"These are Peter, Patrick, and Steve," he said to me, then gestured in my direction.

"And this is James. He's basically my clone, so you'll love him." The three of them looked me over curiously--and I looked back.

Peter was tall, a bit chubby, with brown hair. Patrick was Black, shorter, wiry rather than thin, with black hair. Steve towered over all of us and looked more like a massive wardrobe than a human being. His nose looked like it had been broken several times, but his winning smile made up for it.

"You don't look much like Aiden's clone," he rumbled in a deep voice.

"I think Aiden's confused," I shot back, uncharacteristically cheeky. "Good thing they teach English here." That made all three of them laugh, while Aiden clutched his chest theatrically.

"And that from my own flesh and blood--practically," he moaned, earning even more laughter. I couldn't help joining in. Together, we entered the cafeteria and got in line. Aiden told them how we'd met that morning.

"Steve's also on the football team," he added casually, sitting down at an empty table. "Linebacker. And Patrick's the star of the wrestling team." Patrick looked down shyly at the table but didn't deny it. Steve grunted in agreement.

"Why aren't you sitting with the rest of the team?" I asked--then immediately wished I could slap myself. "I didn't mean I want to get rid of you--it's just... at my old school..." Steve just chuckled dryly.

"It's a fair question. Most of them are over there." He nodded toward a group of tables clearly dominated by athletes. "Let's just say--I'm on the team and get along fine with most of them. But there are a few assholes I don't need to see during lunch too." His face took on a hard edge that matched his imposing build--but not the friendly guy I'd gotten to know.

"Picked up more strays?"

A girl with short black hair dropped into the last empty chair, interrupting the conversation. Patrick grinned cheekily.

"The last stray we picked up was you, if I recall correctly."

She grinned back.

"And you'll never get that lucky again. So--who are you?" She looked from Aiden to me, then rolled her eyes and waved her hand in front of our faces. "Hello? Anyone home?" I finally realized that this time Aiden wasn't answering for us. He was just staring at her.

"That's Aiden, and I'm James," I stepped in, feeling odd about introducing us.

"We're new," Aiden finally added belatedly. The girl smiled warmly.

"Well, you're lucky you ran into us. I'm Lena."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Emily

"Don't stand in my way," said a voice behind me, just before I was shoved aside and--a person you could only call a diva--stalked past me.

I'd just been studying my schedule to see which classes I had tomorrow and was completely caught off guard by the push. Luckily, I managed to grab the handle of a locker before I made painful acquaintance with the floor. Still, I probably didn't look very dignified.

"Hey," I called after the diva before she could turn the corner. "Watch where you're going!" She froze for a second, then slowly turned and looked me up and down with narrowed eyes.

"Do I know you?" she asked disdainfully, taking a few steps closer. "I've never seen you before."

"I'm new here," I said, straightening my back--so I towered a good bit over her. She stopped a few feet in front of me, eyeing me warily until suddenly her mouth curled into an insincere, sugary-sweet smile.

"Oh, excuse me--of course, you don't know how things work here yet," she said in what she probably thought was a friendly tone. "I'm Samantha Cooper, and nobody sticks their bony ass in my way without consequences." For a moment, I just stared at her in disbelief.

This girl was rude, sure--but mostly she looked absolutely ridiculous standing there, hands on hips, entirely full of herself. On the other hand, all the other students had edged away and didn't dare look at either of us. A few had quietly disappeared; the hallway looked much emptier than it had a minute ago. Great. So much for my plan not to attract attention.

"I really don't know how it works here," I finally replied, trying to sound casual. "But where I come from, most people have enough manners to ask someone to move if they're in the way. And the rest at least introduce themselves before shoving someone, not after." That earned me a few surprised chuckles, though no one dared look directly at us. Samantha, however, dropped her phony smile and glared at me, seething.

For a second, she looked like she might actually launch herself at me, fingernails first--I could read the murderous intent in her eyes--but then she just huffed.

"You're lucky I have more important things to do," she declared, tossing her bleached-blonde hair over her shoulder and strutting away. I exhaled deeply and stared for a moment at the corner where she'd disappeared.

Then I pulled myself together and turned back to my locker, putting away everything I didn't need for homework. The lock was a bit clunky, but at least the combination I'd been given in the office was easy to remember. A moment later, the metal door swung open.

"That was awesome," said a voice behind me. This time, no shove followed--just bright laughter.

"Sam really needed to be put in her place. Though she'll definitely try to get back at you."

I turned around to see a tall girl with pale-blonde hair, almost as tall as I was. Next to her, standing slightly behind, was a red-haired girl watching me a little shyly.

"I'm Gabrielle--and officially your new fan."

The blond girl held out her hand.

"This is Nora." She nodded toward her friend, who still hung back. I took the hand without thinking much about it.

"I'm Emily. I guess I got a little carried away." My embarrassed look made Gabrielle snort.

"Don't apologize--that was better than TV. Just watch out for Samantha in the future. She doesn't forgive easily." I nodded.

"Thanks for the tip. So she's always that insufferable?"

Gabrielle shrugged.

"She used to be different. Then she started dating Craig last year and suddenly was the center of attention. Apparently, that didn't do her any good."

"Obviously," I agreed. "And who's Craig?" Gabrielle rolled her eyes.

"Craig Gibson. Quarterback of the football team. Well--actually just the second quarterback, but he acts like he's the star."

"Second-rate player, first-class asshole," Nora piped up suddenly, making Gabrielle grin broadly.

"He is hot, though," Gabrielle insisted, which made Nora blush bright red. Her indignant "Gabe!" was completely ignored by the blonde.

"Anyway, our actual starting quarterback--William Norris--doesn't like being in the spotlight, so he lets Craig play the big shot. And since most of the guys on the team are idiots who love following an alpha male, he gets away with it."

I couldn't help thinking of James and my attempt to convince him to join the football team. Well, he hadn't struck me as an idiot--and if he was, it wasn't really my problem.

"So you're new here?" Gabrielle asked after a pause. "Where are you from?"

"Sacramento," I answered without hesitation.

"What on earth brought you to this glorified cow town?" Gabrielle asked. I smiled at her choice of words. Delltown might be much smaller than Sacramento, but with 70,000 residents, you could definitely call it a city.

"Good question," I admitted honestly. "A few weeks ago, my parents announced that an old friend of theirs--someone I'd never heard of--had died and left them his house."

"Whoa," Gabrielle said simply.

"Why not just sell the house?" Nora asked.

"I asked them the same thing. Apparently, there's a clause in the will that says we only inherit if we move in."

"That sounds legally sketchy," Nora commented.

"My mom's a lawyer, so I'm guessing it's legit. But that's not even the worst part. The will also included a second family--so now we all live there together." The words tumbled out of me. I blamed it on my frustration.

"Whoa," Gabrielle repeated, and I could only agree.

"Is it even worth it if you have to share? Sounds pretty... cramped," Nora remarked--she turned out to be a lot more talkative than I'd first thought. I shrugged.

"The house is huge," I admitted. "More like an estate. And apparently the other family were also childhood friends of my parents, though I'd never heard of them either."

"Wait a second." Gabrielle's eyes lit up. "You don't mean the Grimes estate, do you?" Grimes. That name I actually recognized. If I wasn't mistaken, that was the man who'd left us the house--Norman Grimes.

"I think so," I said honestly. "It's a little outside town, in the woods, if that helps."

"Whoa!" Gabrielle had no intention of expanding her vocabulary anytime soon, it seemed. But she recovered quickly. "If you only knew the stories about that place. You have to invite us over sometime."

"We'll see," I said evasively. The girls were nice--maybe we had the potential to be friends--but to be honest, the enormous house embarrassed me. It was too big, too grand, too showy. It didn't suit me or my family--and if I thought about it, it didn't really suit James or his family either.

As we walked to the parking lot, they told me some of those stories, all clearly made up. But it was still kind of fun to imagine that my new home had something mystical about it--and wasn't just a giant house that had dragged me away from my friends and everything I knew in Sacramento.

In the parking lot, James was already waiting, leaning against the Zafira. I stopped a few steps away and gestured at the car.

"That's my ride," I said, ready to say goodbye.

"Who's the boy obviously waiting for you?" Gabrielle asked, raising and lowering her eyebrows suggestively. I shot a quick glance at James, hoping he was too far away to see me blushing.

"I saw that!" Gabrielle yelled, laughing.

"She's impossible," Nora sighed--but then looked at me just as curiously. "So who is he?"

I groaned inwardly. I'd have to introduce these two to Sarah, Claud, and Sandra someday. Or maybe not--they'd only gang up on me.

"He's just one of my new housemates," I said quickly, before they got any more ideas. "I barely know him. We're just sharing the car." Gabrielle nodded, grinning broadly.

"Sure."

Yup--she'd get along great with Claud.

"I'm starting to see what Nora means," I said, making Gabrielle laugh again. I lifted a hand in farewell and walked toward the car before they could dig any deeper. At least they didn't follow me.

James seemed in a good mood and greeted me with a smile. He should do that more often--his face looked so much more relaxed when he smiled, and his hazel eyes practically glowed.

"Already made some new friends?" he asked, nodding toward the two girls who were still watching us.

"At least they're already annoying me like my old ones," I replied, making him laugh.

The drive back to the Grimes estate was short and uneventful. We chatted a little about school, but we both knew we'd get interrogated once we got home--so there was no point telling everything twice.

In fact, I was surprised my parents weren't already waiting at the door when I parked on the gravel drive. They weren't even right behind the door. Instead, we were greeted by the unmistakable smell of my mother's eggplant casserole. Unlike my father, she could actually cook--though with her work schedule, it was a rare treat.

Both families were already gathered in the kitchen. It seemed it had become an unspoken rule to eat at the kitchen table instead of the dining room. I actually found that reassuring. Sure enough, my father and James's mother greeted us in unison:

"How was school?"

I restrained the urge to roll my eyes and just exchanged a knowing look with James.

After dinner, everyone slowly drifted off. James went upstairs to do homework. My mom went out to the pool with James's parents to soak up some sun. Only my father stayed behind to play a board game with Sofia and Chris. I would've loved to go lie down outside--or even just join the board game--but duty called.

Resigned, I grabbed my school bag and was halfway up the stairs when I had a better idea. I turned around, went back downstairs, and slipped into the library I'd discovered during yesterday's tour. Why not take advantage of living in a house with a room like this?

I took a few moments to walk along the tall shelves. The collection was surprisingly diverse--philosophy, textbooks, thick volumes of poetry, some classics, and even modern fiction. Reluctantly, I pulled myself away before I got lost in the books and settled into one of the comfy wing chairs by a wide desk. I dug in my bag and decided to start with my chemistry homework.

When I eventually glanced out the window, I was startled to see it was already dark. I set aside the leather-bound first edition of Gulliver's Travels and checked my phone. It was after 11. Feeling a pang of regret for the sleep I'd just lost, I stood up. Tomorrow morning would be rough. At least I'd finished all my homework before getting sucked into the books.

I turned off the light and stepped into the hall. The house was silent at this hour. Moonlight streamed through the windows, throwing eerie shadows onto the wooden floors. I switched on the lights. The warm glow suited the old house perfectly. My parents had already discussed replacing the wasteful bulbs with LEDs. I agreed in principle--but tonight, I felt sorry about it.

I hurried down the hall and climbed the stairs to the third floor. I was just about to slip past James's door to my own when a soft moan made me stop.

I froze and listened.

Then I moved closer to the door, curiosity getting the better of me.

The next moan was unmistakable--and it definitely came from James's room. Suddenly, I realized what those sounds must mean--and felt my face flush hot. I was about to turn away to give James some privacy when a low murmur joined the moaning. I frowned.

He was alone in there--wasn't he? Maybe he was on the phone.

Did he have a girlfriend--and was he... talking to her? I leaned closer, trying to hear.

But then a choked cry made me recoil in shock.

I stared at the door, my heart thumping. What the hell was going on in there?

Now I heard whimpering too. My hand rose automatically to knock--but then hesitated. I couldn't just bang on his door in the middle of the night. Again came the moan, followed by more murmuring.

Instead of knocking, my hand closed around the doorknob. I hesitated. I was a polite person--really. I'd never invade someone's privacy like this. Or at least, I'd thought I wouldn't. But now, my hand pressed down the handle and pushed the door open a crack. I braced for a creak that didn't come.

Drawing a deep breath, I carefully peered inside. His room looked much like mine--sparse furniture, a separate bathroom door. Pale moonlight fell across the tangled blankets on the bed.

There lay James--sprawled out, limbs twisted in the sheets. I couldn't see much, but I was sure he was shirtless. I knew I shouldn't be here. James gave another soft cry, and my stomach clenched--I thought he must have woken up and seen me. But then he just rolled over and whimpered again.

Whatever he was dreaming--it was awful.

I stayed frozen in the doorway.

Eventually, I came to my senses, pulled my head back, and closed the door. Then I turned around and leaned against the cold wood. There had to be something I could do. Wake him? But how would I explain myself? Maybe I should get my dad and ask him what to do. I dismissed that idea even faster--he'd just ask me how it made me feel to violate James's privacy and watch him suffer. Helpless, I slid down the door until I was sitting on the floor.

I didn't even understand why this affected me so much. Plenty of people had nightmares--I'd had them too. But this felt different. Somehow, I knew the pain was deeper.

I sat there and listened to the whimpers, the cries, and the murmurs. I stayed until it all finally stopped--and even then, I sat there a few minutes longer, wondering why I hadn't gotten up to go to bed.

I knew I couldn't help him.

When I finally made it to my own room, it was almost 1 a. m. I'd spent nearly an hour sitting on that cold, hard floor. I changed into pajamas, brushed my teeth, went to the bathroom. All of it on autopilot--my thoughts still circling the same questions.

It took at least another hour before I finally fell asleep.