The Indians of Bending Creek

It's been a week. How is my locker this fucking messy?

These are the words that rang through my head as I slammed my locker closed, fit the metal hook of my lock into the hole, and snapped it closed. The bell was about to ring for first period; history. Jackson and I had grown closer, somewhat, in the week that we had spent complaining about teachers and studying silently at our respective desks across the room and back-to-back from one another. I learned that he smokes like a train, which I didn't mind - even as a non-smoker. The scent soothed me and helped me concentrate. He would always have one right before he started working, staring down at his open textbooks and note-covered binders, tapping the ash into a tray by his left hand, and one right before he went to bed. He would learn out of his window, the ash falling like grey snow from the end of his cigarette to the grounds below. Some nights, I would join him.

My first semester was blessedly easy; American History to the 16th Century, English, Biology, and Drama. I mean - how much better does it get than that?

I had seen the blonde-haired beauty around quite a bit, moving from one class to the next. She sat three seats ahead of me in Biology, but we had yet to speak. Jackson, on the other hand, seemed to be the talk of the school. I could hear his name whispered around me as I sat, usually by soft, feminine voices. He sat beside me in History, and across the room in Biology. So far, the first week had passed in a blur. Waking up too early, the orange sun barely kissing the darkened horizon, shower, uniform, History, English, lunch in the cafeteria with Jackson and usually a friend of his that he dragged along (Benny Ktsin on Monday, Sam Clearview on Wednesday, and Amanda Ross yesterday), Biology with cute girl I hadn't spoken to, Drama with psycho teacher I am convinced is a pedophile, order food for dinner and eat in the dorm with Jackson or go to the cafeteria again, study, smoke, sleep. It was a peaceful life, and I was just beginning to enjoy it.

Of course, that means everything is about to come crashing down around my head.

"So why are you stalking me?"

I jumped at the voice, whirling around to meet the eyes of the person who had appeared from behind the locker I hurled closed. I knew who it was before I saw the wide, clear green eyes and gentle-featured face. It was a voice I would recognize anywhere, soft-spoken yet firm.

"Uh." I hesitated, the words melting from my tongue as I met those eyes. I realized I was gaping a second later, and snapped my teeth closed with an audible click, lowering my eyelids and leaning against my locker. I swallowed quickly, trying to force words between my locked lips. "S-Stalking you?"

"I'm surprised you've gotten any biology homework done, with the amount of time you spend staring at me." the girl said, a small grin touching the edges of her lips and pressing a dimple into her right cheek. The action narrowed her eyes and gave her innocent-looking face a decidedly roguish cast. "It seems like every time I turn a corner - surprise, stalker guy is there. Bus? Stalker guy. Studying in the library? Stalker guy. So ... what's up?"

Stalker guy?!

"Can't say it's on purpose." I said, trying to make my voice casual. "You seem to spend a lot of time looking for me, by the sounds of it."

Stalker guy. What the fuck.

The grin on her cute face was infuriating. "I suppose that's fair." she admitted, sticking out one hand. It looked suspiciously like a truce agreement. "My name's Annabelle, but my friends call me Anna."

"Yeah," I scoffed, taking her hand and shaking it lightly before returning my hand to my dress-pant pocket. "Your friends. I'm not falling for that one, Annabelle."

She laughed lightly, raising a hand to tuck one strand of curly blonde hair behind her ear. I could smell something clinging to her grey dress uniform, which dipped dangerously low down her considerable chest. I made sure to keep my eyes centered on hers. It smelled kind of like shampoo, I thought at first. Or like cooking, maybe. Herbs ...

Oh my God. She smells like pot!

My eyes widened slightly as I realized that the smell was, but I kept my face flat. She seemed to know that something was up, though, because her face instantly became more mysterious; veiled, somehow.

"So, stalker guy..." she began, that maddening smile edging around her lips once more. "Do you have a name?"

Stalker guy, my inner monologue sulked. I am not a stalker.

"Jay Scarentho." I answered. "My friends call me Jascer."

"I'm not falling for that one, Mr. Scarentho." she said, and I was amazed at the way her mouth fit around the last name, accent and all. I could tell she was mocking me, but she still managed to take my breath away. "I think I'll call you Scar."

"I don't even have any scars." I countered, raising one eyebrow.

"Yet." she winked.

Holy fuck, I think I'm in love.

"We'll fix that." she promised, leaving me to ponder (see also: salivate) over her words. "I don't think you've noticed, because I haven't seen you stalking me back to my dorm, but I'm three doors down from you and Jack. Jack and Jascer ... good thing you're Scar now, because I don't think I can keep two hot guys straight with names like that."

Wait, did she just go from calling me a stalker to hitting on me?

"Anyways," she grinned slightly at my stunned face, "I've gotta get to Chem. I'll ... see you around?" As much as the girl's voice was steady and flowing, it caught there for just a second at the end. I'm pretty sure it was a question; and maybe, just maybe, she sounded a little hopeful.

Oh, please be hopeful.

"Uh, yeah." I stumbled, my voice sounding rough and unruly beside her perfectly-clipped whisper. "Nice meeting you."

She pressed her teeth into her bottom lip gently and nodded, the motion slow and thoughtful. "I guess it was, at that. Later, Scar."

And with that, she turned and disappeared down the hallway. Her blonde hair brushed across her back as she walked - though her quick, swinging steps could be called nothing short of a saunter. I watched until she disappeared around a corner, her grey dress swirling around her slim body.

"God damn." I whispered, turning toward the classroom.

"Yeah." a voice said, catching me off guard as I turned. I jumped slightly, and then shot a glare at the slightly shorter form of Jackson. His grey-black eyes turned to meet mine from where they had been watching the girl disappear. "She's cute, but remember this: if we were Aztecs, she would be sacrificed to the Gods for her beauty."

When did he get there?!

"Seems like a waste." I muttered, making to move past the boy and into the classroom.

To my surprise, one of his hands shot out and wrapped around my arm at the bicep. His stormy eyes were cold and serious as he tilted his head to the side, regarding me out of the corners. He wore the same uniform that I did; navy pants, grey undershirt, white tie, navy blazer, and polished black shoes; but - God damn him - he wore it slightly better. For a brief moment, I thought I saw a flash of anger in his cool grey eyes. They were like razor blades. This might just be the first time I had seen Jackson seriously look anything besides calm, teasing or, well ... hot.

"Jascer, listen to me." he whispered, drawing me slightly closer with the pressure around my arm. I could feel his breath on my ear, hot and close. "Don't trust that girl. Like her. Fuck her, if you want to. But don't love her. That girl is bad news."

Bad news for my virginity. the thought shot through my subconscious and was gone, leaving a slight grin in its trail. Unfortunately, the boy with his hand wrapped around my arm seemed to take it as a sign I wasn't listening to him. Which, I had to admit, I kind of wasn't. He sighed lightly, and then let go of my arm. Blinking his dark eyes, he shrugged slightly.

"Sorry, Jascer." he apologized in his throaty, hushed whisper of a voice. "I shouldn't tell you what to do. I'm the last person who should be giving advice on who to fall in love with, but remember this: seduction involves the appeal of destroying that which seduces us."

"Georges Bataille." I mumbled, naming the author of the quote, and turned to meet his eyes. Exhaling slowly, I dipped my chin in a tiny nod. "Okay, Jack. I'll remember."

He grinned wide suddenly, releasing my arm and stepping back. "Good! Now then, let's go learn about the Renaissance and what brought about that particular political shit storm."

I followed the boy through the open door of the classroom, and straight into the lesson which would change my life forever.