SUMMER
WHEN I first met Octaveus Fleur, I knew that he was different. I just didn't know how different he would be.
When I first saw him, I thought, 'Oh, great. Another rich white guy to join Seth's clan. Like we need any more of them in this school.' Then when actually I met him, I was even more surprised. Beneath the vampire-white skin and emo look, he was actually a nice guy. He was shy with new people-- I found that out soon enough-- but after you got to know him a little and he got comfortable talking to you, you'd realize that there's a lot more to him than what was on the surface. He did, in fact, like emo and punk rock music and dress in all black most of the time (with the exception of red and grey), but his personality was basically the complete opposite of most of the good-looking guys at our school. Or at least, he was deemed more than "good-looking" by literally every girl in the building. I could tell that they all liked him by the way they'd always stare at him whenever he walked by, or whisper about him behind his back to their friends. I've even heard some of the guys talking about him, though they seemed more intimidated than oh-my-gosh-you're-so-gorgeous-I-want-to-kiss-you. Most of them, anyway.
   All of the popular girls have been bugging me about how lucky I was to have befriended him, but really, most of them never even tried to be friends with him. Sure, most of them talked frequently about asking him out, but they didn't really know him.
He basically looked like one of those sometimes-stereotypical lead vocalist guys from a hardcore emo band-- with black flippy hair that was left long enough to go down to his shoulders, and thick black eyeliner and eyeshadow (I only noticed the eyeshadow when he closed his eyes and his eyelids were black; my first thought was that he had frostbite) and facial features somewhere between feminine beautiful and masculine handsome-- plus paper-white skin, black fingernails, and huge yellow eyes. His personality, however, was more like a stereotypical secret-school-genius kid-- seemingly shy at first, introvert, but when you actually get to know him. . . he's still an introvert. But he's more comfortable talking to you and is actually really nice, besides the threatening I'm-depressed-and-emo-and-I-will-hurt-you-if-you-touch-me look he gives everyone. (And he lives up to that look.) Well, everyone except Drew. He gives Drew the opposite kind of look, if you know what I mean.

After PE, Octaveus and I were walking to our second period, which was Math, and I noticed for the first time the looks the other girls were giving him. A group of them that were standing in front of the Art room were staring at him and whispering-- not about his face or anything in that area-- and I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"Hey, Summer," I looked to my right and saw Lily, the head of the clan of Sophomore girls that dominated the school alongside Seth's group and the other groups of populars from the other grades, walking next to me. Octaveus looked at her over my head and she smiled at him. She was wearing a skin-tight sky blue V-neck tank-top and grey booty shorts, why she hadn't been dress-coded yet was beyond me. She was wearing gallons of makeup, per usual, though today her eyeshadow was blue (probably to match her tank-top), and her straight blonde hair was loose around her shoulders. She wasn't my friend, though now she acted like we'd been buddies since kindergarten.
"Who's this?" She asked, looking at Octaveus, who was messing with the cuff of his black hoodie (it was for some band called 'Crown The Empire') and avoiding eye contact with Lily. It looked like he was trying to cover his left hand with the cuff, but I didn't understand why. He eventually gave up on the jacket and just shoved his hands in his pockets.
"This is Octaveus," I introduced him to Lily, mocking the sing-songy voice she'd used when she had asked who he was. Octaveus looked at her through his hair and smiled nervously.
   Lily smiled back at him and extended her hand. "I'm Lily." He looked at her hand cautiously for a second before shaking it with his right hand. He immediately shoved his hand back into his pocket after he shook hands with her, though he kept glancing at her apprehensively, like she might charge at him with a knife. I had no idea why he was looking at her like that, or why he insisted on keeping his left hand hidden all of the sudden.
   "So," Lily said in her sing-song voice again. "Octaveus, have you ever been to New York before now? Someone like you can't be from around here." She added, smiling at him flirtatiously. I resisted the urge to gag. Lily was the biggest flirt in the school when it came to new boys, especially when she actually felt attracted to them.
   "I've lived here for ten years," Vee said, and I could tell that he was trying to keep the French accent out of his voice, but he only partially succeeded. He still rolled his r's and s's when he spoke, and ten sounded like tin, almost like he was tempted to say something else and accidentally said both words at the same time. (To be honest, he still sounded like a guy you would see at a cafe eating a croissant and being super sassy to everyone.) He probably thought that Lily would like him more if she knew he was French, and he was right.
   "Oh," Lily said. "Where did you live before then?"
   'Ooh. No way out of this one,' I thought to myself.
   "I lived in many places," Vee said, obviously beating around the bush. This time he didn't even try to hide his accent. (He probably knew that it was useless.)
   'Nice. Beating around the bush. Good touch.'
   "I mean," Lily started, "you weren't born here. Where are you from?"
   'Well, good luck getting around this, my friend. I have faith that she won't attack you. Yet.'
   "France," Vee sighed, knowing that there was no way to get around answering this truthfully. Lily raised her eyebrows and her smile widened.
   "That's really cool," she said, walking behind me to walk alongside Octaveus. He watched her carefully as she approached him. "Have you ever been to Paris?"
   Vee nodded, though he didn't look any less uncomfortable talking to her when she was right next to him than when she wasn't. "I was born in a town near there. But I haven't been to the Eiffel Tower." He added.
   "Cool," she seemed to see his discomfort and decided to make him even more uncomfortable.
   "Well, I'd love to stay and hear everything about you," she said to Vee, taking a Sharpie marker out of her back pocket. (Who even carries around Sharpies? I mean, seriously?) "But we should probably be getting to class," she took Octaveus's right arm, much to his discomfort, and wrote her number on his palm with the Sharpie. "Talk to you later?" She smiled flirtatiously at him one more time and sashayed away down the hall. Vee stared at her number on his palm, then shoved his hand back in his pocket. I gagged.
   "That was horrifying," I said after Lily had entered a classroom to the right of me further down the hall. "You're not going to call her, are you?"
   Octaveus shook his head, and I noticed the discomfort in his eyes as he took his hands out of the pockets of his jeans and wrung them together, rubbing his fingers over his left knuckles.
   "Hey, what's wrong? What are you doing to your hand?" I asked him lightly. He looked at his hands, as if just realizing what he was doing, then reluctantly held his left hand out in front of me with his palm down. My eyes widened as I looked at his hand; scars completely covered his knuckles and wrists.
   "What. . . what happened?" I whispered. He looked down and put his hand back in his pocket, but didn't say anything. I didn't need him to say it to understand.
   "Oh," I found myself feeling embarrassed that I'd even asked. We walked the rest of the way to Mr. Kit's room in silence.

Once we entered the classroom, I directed Octaveus to Mr. Kit's desk and took my seat at the back of the class as he limped over to it. We were the first ones in the room, so no one was there talking to the teacher or anything. Mr. Kit was tall and lanky, with close-cropped fiery red hair and blue eyes. He, like most of the other teachers, was wearing a navy blue Northside T-shirt and jeans. He and Octaveus talked a little bit, then Mr. Kit walked around the back of the filing cabinets behind his desk, pulled out an unused math journal, and, handing the journal to Octaveus, directed him towards the empty seat next to me.
Octaveus took the journal and limped over to the seat (well, not so much of a limp as just an unusually uneven gait), dropping his bag on the floor next to the desk and sitting down. By now, other students had started coming in the room, staring at Vee as they walked by him but quickly looking away when he noticed. Most of the other students in our Math class were coming from the Junior's Science hallway, which was on the other side of the building, so there wasn't a detention if you were late for our class. That's the good thing in being in our advanced class; we get longer passing periods because everyone in our class is coming from the other side of the school.
   Octaveus flipped through the math journal that Mr. Kit had handed him and started sketching something inside the front cover with a pen he found in his desk.
"I'm sorry about the hand thing," I said to Octaveus quickly. He looked at me momentarily then went back to scribbling inside the front cover of his math journal.
"It's fine." He said, looking down at his pen sketch. "As I said before, I get asked a lot." I got the feeling that it wasn't too fine. It had surprised me; he just hadn't seemed like the kind of person to do that. I doubt my reaction really helped him feel good either, and I started to feel really bad. He must've trusted me to not react badly when he showed me, but what did I do? I made him feel bad about it, when what I should have done was comfort him about it. 'What kind of person am I?' I thought to myself.
Almost half of the class was now in the room, the rest of the students waiting outside of the door until there was enough room for them to push their way into the room. A group of the popular Junior girls walked through the door basically all at once, gossiping and comparing how many likes their posts got on social media. (Lucky for us there is a group of five popular Junior girls in our Math, all of whom are almost as bad as Lily's gang. Yippee.)  
   All five of them barely glanced at Octaveus as they walked by, which I thought was probably better for him because that means less girls trying to harass him-- for a little while, anyway-- but he ruined it by looking up. I guess they hadn't been able to see his face before he lifted his head, but when he did and they did see his face I could tell they were surprised. Octaveus regarded them with no particular interest and returned to his pen sketch, but the girls kept glancing at him and whispering, even after they'd sat down at their desks.
I glanced over at the pen sketch Octaveus had drawn into the front cover of his Math journal. It was a blooming flower of some kind-- lotus, maybe-- with a circular shape drawn around it and weird symbols written inside the inner circle.
   "Cool flower," I said to him. He looked at me, then studied his sketch, as if looking for something wrong with it.
"Thanks. It's my family crest."
"Nice," I said, "I don't think my family has a crest."
Octaveus nodded awkwardly, then turned his attention to Mr. Kit as he started class. I could still hear the popular Junior girls talking about Vee throughout the entire period. On the brighter side, Octaveus seemed a little bit better to not be focusing on my reaction to the scars on his hands.

OCTAVEUS
After Math, Summer and I walked down the hall to meet Micah, who was waiting outside of Mrs. Johnson's History classroom.
   "Hey, Superman," Micah piped at me as we approached.
   "Did-- did you just--?" I stammered.
   "Ye-up."
   Summer smirked, trying not to laugh. "Looks like you have a new nickname."
   "Oh, shut up." I grumbled at her.
   We walked together down the hall, Summer and I headed to French while Micah was going to Science. (French is sort of like my English class, while English served as a sort of "foreign language" since I speak predominantly French.) As we walked, Micah started asking questions. Lots of questions.
   "So, why did you move away from France?"
   "Family reasons."
   "Okay. But why do you wear eyeliner?"
   "Because I can." (I don't really wear eyeliner; it's just the thick black marks around my eyes that makes it look like I do.)
   "Do you wear earrings?"
   "Yes."
   "Can I see them?"
   "No."
   "Why do you wear that necklace?"
   "Because."
   "How did you get arms like that?"
   "Training."
   "Training with what?"
   I sighed as Summer and I walked into the Home Ec classroom; French didn't have its own classroom, so French class was in the Home Ec room. Micah finally stopped asking me questions and continued through the hall to his next class while I talked with the teacher-- Mrs. Chandler-- by the door. She was on the shorter side for adults, with dirty-blonde hair that was pulled back in a neat bun and hazel eyes. She, like most humans I've met throughout my life, didn't meet my eyes, but she told me to sit at a table of two girls and a boy. (All of the other tables had four or five people per table.)
   As I limped toward the table, I noticed with disappointment that the girl next to whom Ms. Chandler had told me to sit was Lily, the blonde girl that had written her number on my palm (against my will). She smirked at me flirtatiously as I sat down, putting my bag on the floor by my feet. The tables were so low that my knees touched the underside of the table. (That, or my legs were just that long. Most likely the second option.)
The other boy and girl at the table also appeared to be part of the popular kids group, judging by the way they snickered at people across the room and gazed around like they were better than everyone else. The girl had a pixie cut, but her entire head of hair was dyed teal green. She wore little gold flower earrings and minimal amounts of black eyeliner. Her eyes were a shade of green lighter (and more realistic) than her hair was dyed. She, like the other girls that I've seen from the popular clan, wore tight clothing; a tight-fitting Panic! At The Disco T-shirt and navy blue skinny jeans with rips in the thighs and knees, showing her pale skin. (I do appreciate the band T-shirt, though.) The boy had short caramel-brown hair and was built like a football quarterback. He was wearing a plain grey T-shirt and jeans. He was watching me through narrowed brown eyes, but looked away when I caught him staring. 'Typical,' I thought.
   The Home Ec room was large, with six cubicles divided by marble-topped wooden counters. Each cubicle had an oven, a sink and a paper towel dispenser, a blending machine, a toaster, a row of four cabinets above the sink, a microwave, and a table. The walls and ceiling of the room were painted cream white, the floor made of a slightly darker colored tile. Ms. Chandler's desk was basically a counter island with a chair behind it, cluttered with papers and a laptop computer and for some reason a small toaster.
   Ms. Chandler walked up to the front of the room to address the whole class. "Alright, so today is a make-up day for any late or unfinished work," she said, wringing her hands together. "If you don't have any late work, you can have a study hall. You may be on your phones, just be quiet and stay in the room." With that she walked back over to her counter desk and sat down behind it, taking a stack of papers and looking through them as students around the room started talking, pulling out their phones or incomplete work (but mostly phones).
   "So," Lily turned to me beside her. "Fancy seeing you here again."
   "Yep," I responded awkwardly.
   "Lily," the teal pixie cut girl said. "You know Angel Boy here?"
   "Yeah," Lily smirked at her. "He's in my PE first period."
   "Lucky," pixie cut muttered.
   "This is Octaveus," Lily introduced me. "Octaveus, that's Willa and Carlos." I smiled a quick hello at them. Willa gave me a flirtatious smirk, and I got the uncomfortable feeling that she was studying more than just my face. Carlos glared at me challengingly, but I could tell he was scared of me. 'Nice to know I intimidate someone,' I thought, thinking about Seth.
   I pulled my phone out of my pocket and absently looked at the top right corner of the screen. '28 messages?!' I thought, logging in. Jesus, somebody wants my attention. I checked my texts, and noticed that most of them were from anonymous numbers, but there was one from Anna. I deleted the unknown messages and then had a text conversation with her.
   Anna: Hey. How's school?
   Me: Ugh. Just as bad as always.
   Anna: Ha. Anybody asked u out yet?
   Me: Yes. It was horrifying. I have her number on my palm.
   Anna: Oh, poor baby. U gonna call her?
   Me: Pfft. U kidding?
   Anna: Why am I not surprised, Mr. Hard-to-get.
   Me: I am offended.
   Anna: About what. Mr. Hard-to-get?
  Me: *gasp* HOW DO U KNOW MY MIDDLE NAME?!
   Anna: Ha ha. What, Chance?
   Me: Shut up.
   Anna: Chaaaannncceee.
   Me: Be quuuiiieeeettt.
   Anna:
   Me:
   Anna: Chance.
   Me: Uuuugghhhh.
   Anna: Ha ha.
   Me: Sigh. I gtg, 5 mins until the bell.
   Anna: Alright. See u at the Restaurant.
   Me: Yep
   I slid my phone back into my pocket, thinking to myself, 'Dang it me, why don't you just tell her 'no' now to avoid later pain? . . . because I don't want to hurt her now,' and watched the clock until the bell rang. I grabbed my bag and limped out the door before Lily could flirt with me anymore, Summer hurrying to catch up with me.
   "Hey," she said, walking alongside me. "You going to lunch?"
   "Where else would I be going?" I responded, smirking at her to let her know that I was joking. We met Micah and Katie by the double doors to the cafeteria, both of them carrying home lunches, and entered the cafeteria together.

After lunch, Summer, Micah, and I continued on to English, Micah pestering me about my "diet". The English teacher, Mrs. Craw, was about five-foot-seven, with wavy brown hair, brown eyes, and a stern expression to her fair features.
"You're Octaveus?" She asked when I came up to her, her voice a lot kinder than her face portrayed her to be. She held one hand out for me to shake.
"Yeah," I smiled slightly in hello and shook her hand.
She nodded, returned my smile, and gestured at an empty seat toward the left side of the room, saying, "You can take that empty seat while I'm updating the seating chart."
I nodded and went over to the seat, stealing a glance at the girls on either side of me as I sat down. Luckily neither of then seemed to be part of the popular clan, but I still caught them stealing glances at me when they thought I wasn't looking. Mrs. Craw went up to the front of the class as the bell rang for class to start and began talking about new book response dates. I noticed that the girl to my right was writing something on a slip of paper as the teacher was talking, glancing occasionally at me as she was writing. She folded the paper into a tiny square and passed it to the girl behind me, who unfolded the paper, read the message, and wrote a response, handing the paper back to the other girl.
I rolled my eyes at their note-passing and returned my attention back to Mrs. Craw. Almost as soon as I did this, however, I felt someone tap my shoulder while Mrs. Craw's back was turned as she wrote on the whiteboard behind her. I looked behind me at the girl that had tapped my shoulder. She had green eyes and curly brown hair. She held out a folded scrap of paper to me. I considered whether or not I should take the paper, but my curiosity got the best of me and I took it. I unfolded the paper in my lap to make sure that Mrs. Craw didn't see it, but I was in the second-to-last row of desks in a far corner of the classroom, and she wouldn't have seen it anyway. I looked down at the words written on the slip of paper.

Hey. U a Senior?

I checked to make sure that the teacher still wasn't looking, then pulled a pen out of my bag and responded.

No, Sophomore. Why?

It took a couple minutes before the girl had responded and returned the slip of paper to my desk again.

Jesus, you're tall. I'm Sophie. Nice handwriting, by the way.

Octaveus, and thanks. I've spent practically my entire life since I was three learning how to write in English.

You're not born English?

French is my predominant language.

Well, I'm gonna be coming to you for my French homework then.

Oh, yay me. I've never wanted to be a teacher.

Trust me, neither have I.

Before I could write something in response Mrs. Craw had finished writing on the board and turned around, scanning the class with her eyes. She watched us suspiciously before continuing to talk about whatever she'd been talking about before.