Day: 1, Hour: 1

BEEEEEEEP

There was the first warning bell which signalled to the student body who weren't among those planning on skipping first hour in order to get their first fix of the day that first hour started in five minutes.

We all said our lame excuses for goodbyes and headed to our first torture chamber of homework and Chinese Water torture from the ceiling hour classrooms. Mine just so happened to be Creative Arts IV. s

I trudged along the asphalt parking lot weaving in and out of beat-up pick-ups and shiny SUV's and many vacant parking spots. I suppose people parked torwards the exit of their high school parking lot because they thought that if they were closer to the exit they'd be out of school that much sooner..? Reasons like these made me, and still make me today, curious as to how the human brain works. Why a majority of people in the same age range were bound to make the same assumptions, whether they were correct or not. Yet, psychology never interested me. Not to the extent of wanting to persue it profession-wise anyways. I had much different plans for myself at the age of seventeen. But we're getting way off track...

I trudged along the asphalt parking lot weaving in and out of beat-up pick-ups and shiny SUV's and many vacant parking spots on my way to Creative Arts IV. Painting may have been a strong suit of mine, but I had not once thought of Creative Arts as anything more than another class in my tedious school schedule.

The art classes were on the bottom floor near the elevator that hadn't worked for all my years at Belleville High, and I'm sure it hadn't in quite a while before I showed up. Also this particular hallway was dimly lit and - if could be compared to any other well known hallway - the Potions Corridor at Hogwarts would pertain the closest description; dimly lit and gloomy. Our administration wasn't very keen on the idea of janitorial assistants, so however we treated our school's property was how it would surely be kept for about a decade or two. However, my assumption was that they didn't have the money to hire more workers, and they wouldn't couldn't allow another budget cut.

But while the second bell - the one signalling that class had already started - rang, I was still reading the random flyers hanging on the tattered walls of the Arts hallway. I was never counted absent or tardy in any case. Mrs. Ollivander, the art teacher, was a friend of the family so to speak; therefore, she was biased torwards me and would see me walk into her classroom late at least twice and week, she would only smile and tell me to take my seat.

As if on cue, as I walked on the classroom, we went through our routine. I smiled which resulted in the obvious "Take your seat, Mr. Burton."

However, there was something altering this routine ever so slightly. The girl - New Girl as I called her in my head, not that I thought of her often of course - was standing in the front of the classroom as if giving a speech. Poor girl. It was probably just one of those lame 'Let's get to know something about the new kid' blurbs they were forced into stating.

Short, brunette, skirt and heels.

But now, for the first time in a long time, the class was staring at me from their seats as if silently scolding me for interrupting What's-Her-Face's miniscule spheal. As if they were even remotely interested. She had stopped talking and was now looking at me.

"Mr. Burton, please. Take your seat." Mrs. Ollivander told me again. I guess I was just staring at the new girl, unquestionably startling her, so I took my seat and continued to give her my attention.

"Right," she continued in a voice that matched her personality to undeniable extents, "Well... my name's Laila Richardson and I moved here from Topeka, Kansas. So it's pretty different up here. A lot colder than it was there this time of year.. Um, I have a little sister - " she was rambling, probably nervous, but it wasn't too long before Mrs. Ollivander interrupted her with a 'Yes, Thank you Lily - '

"Laila" she corrected the art teacher,

"Yeah, Laila, thank you. Now, you can take a seat next to..." and who do you think it could have been? "Mr. Burton. Yes, that will do. The nice young man over there by the window. You can take the seat beside him." and at this the majority of the males in the room groaned, probably hoping for a different seating arrangement. But as most of them already had partners, that probably wasn't very rational thinking on their behalf.

I preferred to sit by myself, but she seemed nice enough.

"Hey, I'm Trae." I introduced myself to her once as she neared my our table.

"Laila." she smiled and then took out a sketch pad and charcoals from her bag, so I left her to her art while I continued my painting that I had been working on.

That's all I had recalled of her from this morning at Qwik Trip and then again in the parking lot. But when I took a closer look at her - her face, I mean - she really was quite nice looking.

Author's Note

Don't worry.. it gets good soon! :D And if the updates aren't massive.. I'm sorry.. that isn't how I roll. :/ And, I know that may be somewhat hypocritical of me as I love reading, and long updates of my favorite stories make me like, the happiest I've ever been, but I really hope that my story isn't someone's favorite... Because I take a a while to update, my updates are brief, and.. I don't think I'd personally bother reading this story if I wasn't the one writing it. =]