"They call him Zeus," Another intern whispers to me.

"Zeus?"

"God of all gods."

(edited xx)

****

Fear blossoms in my chest, forcing me to drop my things like an idiot, and sprouting a lump in my throat.

"What the hell's your problem?" Michael smirks, his eyes shifting from my things on the floor to my surprised face. I kneel down and gather up my new stuff in my arms quickly, my cheeks heating from embarrassment. My dress pools around me, and I almost trip over it trying to rise up again.

"You're in my dorm room, you know." I inform him after I stand, cradling the bags in my arms. He shrugs, crossing his legs at the ankle. "So?" So? What the heck? This is my room, and he's imposing. Does he have no home training?

I decide to ignore him, even if he is who I think he is, and begin to unpack my purchases. He's quiet again, and then only sound in the room is the ball in his hand as he flings it up and down, catching it again. I close my drawers softly after I finish, and keep my back turned to him.

The quiet eases my irritation, and my curiosity gets the better of me. I steal a glance at him out of the corner of my eye, picking at lint on my dress with nervous fingers. His eyes dart to mine, and I jump, my head jerking back toward my things. "What?" He snaps, and I attempt to swallow past the lump in my throat.

I turn, against my better judgement, and square my shoulders. "Are you Michael Jackson?" I breathe, biting my lip in anticipation of his response. He rolls his eyes, almost sneering at me. "No, Dumbo, I'm Ozzy Osbourne." His eyes are like ice, cruel, and unforgiving, though he met me only minutes ago.

"It was just a question," I mutter, attempting to hide my bruised feelings. He shrugs. "An annoyingly obvious one. What the fuck do I look like?" Anger begins to work its way into me, an emotion that I do not welcome kindly. "What happened to you? You used to be so sweet." "What happened to your clothes? This isn't an abbey, you know." He mocks with another one of his seemingly signature smirks.

What the heck does he think he's doing? He may be a celebrity, but I don't care anymore. He has the nerve to come into my room, and insult me repeatedly, when all I've done it try to be civil to him. He's snarky, rude, and getting on my nerves quickly. I attempt to bite my tongue, but... I've never been good at that.

"What's your problem? This is my room you're in right now, and it's not like I asked you to be here. Then you have the nerve to be rude and insult me? I've done nothing to you! Apologize." I cross my arms, pretty satisfied with my comeback, only to have it thrown in my face seconds later.

He bursts at the seams with laughter, rolling over on Becky's bed, and swiping the tears of amusement from his eyes. He laughs a long, hearty laugh, and my confidence rapidly begins to leak through me into the floor. My eyes sink down slowly, focusing on the red carpet below my feet.

"You really are naive, aren't you? 'Apologize.'" He takes a brief break from his cackling to mock me with words. "Whatever." I whisper, turning my back to him again, my pride wounded significantly. "You need a wake-up call." I think I'm extremely down to earth, actually.

The door opens, and Becky waltzes in. Relief floods me immediately. I may not trust her, but her company is definitely way better than Michael's. I've figured out that much. "Hey... oh, sorry Skipper. I meant to warn you about Michael being here." I stare at her, waiting for explanation on why she didn't, but instead she just struts to her closet, searching through the racks noisily.

"Hurry up," Michael groans, resting against her head board, and lying on his hands. "Give me a minute," She sighs, removing articles of clothing, examining them, and then shoving them back inside.

Suddenly she turns, gazing at me with a smile. "Hey. You wanna come with us?" "Oh come on, Beck. Look at her, do you think she wants to come to one of our parties? Wool ankle-length dress over here?" I flush in embarrassment for the hundredth time tonight, and study my nails carefully.

"Shut up. Ignore him, and come with us. It's fun! You don't wanna spend all night cooped up in this tiny room, do you?" I don't know, it seems like there's much to do, preparing for Monday and all. Parties... aren't my style, especially since I've never been to one.

"I don't think parties are really for me," I explain. "Aw, really? Come on." "I've never really been to one before, and... I wouldn't really know anyone there." "You'd know me, and Michael. He'd be happy to drive you along with us." "Happy's an overstatement." Michael says flatly, throwing the ball up and down again.

"Please? Pretty please? Say you'll come, it'll be fun." I ponder in my head, my eyes drifting to the window. I guess I have the whole weekend to plan so.. why not? Meeting some new people can't hurt. "Alright." I give in reluctantly. "Yes! Well, um... you might wanna change clothes. You should... wear one of my dresses?" She swipes two options from her closet and holds them up, my eyes widening.

"Um, no thanks." Both choices leave nothing to be imagined, and if they're short on her tall frame they'll be terrible on me. "I don't know if you'll really... be comfortable in that." She gestures to my clothes, looking away. Michael snorts. "Ain't that the truth. She'll stick out so bad-" "Shut up!" Becky snaps again, and smiles a toothy smile at me.

"You sure?" I nod, and rub the back of my neck. "I'm fine, I promise." She looks unsure, but nods in response. "Alright." She picks the dress in her right hand to wear, a simple black one. She begins to strip, and I cough loudly. "Woah, wait! He's in here." I half-whisper, pointing urgently to Michael on the bed. "So what?" She says, her plaid skirt pooling at her ankles.

Michael shakes his head, sneering. "Of course." I turn away while she's changing, because someone in here needs to have some common decency.

Becky finishes in a matter of minutes, before tossing her curls triumphantly. "Ok. I'm ready." "Finally." Michael grumbles, hopping up from the bed.

I follow the two of them back downstairs, through the somewhat less busy lounge, and around back to the parking lot. Michael digs a key fob out of his pants pocket, and presses a button, a corresponding honk issuing from a car to our left.

I turn towards it, and my eyes bulge. A shiny black muscle car sits in the spot, far outdoing the rest of the cars in the lot. There aren't many, given the fact that this is New York, but his is by far the classiest in the area

"Are you getting in the car or what? I'm not hesitating to leave you." Michael snaps, and I blink myself out of my daze. "Yeah, sorry." I mumble, and carefully open the back door, climbing inside. I hate to admit it, but a pleasant scent lingers inside. I think it's his scent, but either way, it smells amazing.

"I swear, if you fuck up my leather seats." Michael warns, even though I'm sitting here primly with my hands folded. Becky shoots him a stern look from the passenger seat, and I notice that neither of them buckles their seat belt. It doesn't stop me from doing so.

I'm silent as he drives down the street, ignoring his and Becky's loud banter in order to take in the city.

I'm mesmerized by the buildings, and the people, and the fading light of the dusk replaced by the city lights of the night.

The car halts, and Michael snaps his fingers. "Hello, nun? We're here, you can get the hell out of my car." I growl inwardly, and look out the window again. We must be in a suburb of the city, because in front of me is an enormous house, classy, with big windows and made of brick.

My heart swells in anticipation, the yard is covered in people, all obviously from St. Mary's. Some sport their school uniforms, and others wear dresses similar to Becky's. I suddenly don't want to get out, or get near the hooligans who seem like identical copies of the ones from school.

"Come on!" Becky squeals in excitement, slamming the car door after she hops out. I notice Michael is long gone, already having disappeared into the crowds of people.

I ease out of the car, closing the door behind me. "Becky!" I yell after her as she skips through the vast groups of hooligans. She disappears.

I sigh, standing there with my hands clasped. All the people here resemble different forms of Becky, with tattooed skin and pierced faces. Loud music pumps, from where I can't pinpoint, and everyone seems to be holding a red cup of alcohol. I take a deep breath, and decide I'm gonna force myself outside of my comfort zone. I'm in a new place, with new people, and nobody knows who I am. I have a chance here.

I penetrate the crowds of people, pushing my way around the side of the house to the backyard. This is where everyone seems to be, and I begin to cold sweat at the scene unfolding here. Girls dance wildly and half-naked on top of tables, grinding on each other for the hungry-eyed men watching below. Others have formed a giant dance floor in the middle of the yard, also bumping and grinding in an extremely explicit way.

I fight my way through for about half an hour, desperately searching for any sign of Becky, even seeing Michael right now would be better than not.

I climb up on the porch connected to the mansion, and sigh in relief, having finally spotted Becky's curls. She sits on a couch crowded with other people (to my dismay), people who I recognize as the group of hooligans who Michael was with in the lounge when I first got here. Its seems the people who couldn't fit on it have formed a circle around the couch, with a blazing bonfire right in the center.

"Oh, there she is. Skipper!" Becky calls, and every head in the circle turns in my direction. They're all just like Becky, wild-haired and tattooed, some of the girls with the same dark-red lip color Becky sports. Michael rolls his eyes as I walk over reluctantly, my heart once again in my throat.

There's about seven or eight people in this circle, the three boys and three girls from before plus Becky. "Guys, this is my roommate Skipper." "Is she twelve?" The ebony girl from before comments, patting her perfect afro. "That's what I thought," Becky laughs, clapping a hand down on my shoulder.

"Well? What are you?" The Latino boy asks, tightening his arm around the frowning latina girl beside him on the couch. "I've just turned fifteen." "And you got into St Mary's Prep?" I nod, proudly tossing my head.

Michael frowns, but doesn't say anything, focusing on the fire in front of him. "So what's your real name?" The girl sitting on the porch in front of me asks. She's got long hair, with light brown highlights that I doubt is real. "I'm Nat by the way." She adds, and I rub my arm uncomfortably. I hate my real name. "Well? Spit it out." Ebony girl demands, kicking back whatever liquid's in her red cup.

"Princess Joanne Nelson." I mutter, horror overtaking me when they all burst out laughing, including Becky. "Oh come on, be real. There's no way your name is 'Princess.'" I sigh, licking my lips. "It's true." I frown. "Aw, don't be sad, we're just playing." One boy didn't laugh, an olive skinned boy with a quiff. He must be mixed, his complexion is light, reminding me of my own. I may not be mixed, but all those years of studying indoors lightened my complexion greatly.

"Your name's Princess huh?" He smiles, almost sweetly, his light brown eyes seeming genuine. I shrug. "I go by Skipper." "I like Princess better." He licks his full lips. PJ is the alternative name I went by back home, for the people who didn't know me so well. I absolutely detest my full name.

"So what're you here to study?" He asks, looking up at me. "Medicine. I'm Pre-med." He nods, smiling. "Interesting, I'm undecided... but I have time to think about it. I'm Jay." Undecided? How could he be undecided? I've known what I wanted to do since I got Anatomy Jane for Christmas 12 years ago. "Aw, Jay likes little 'Princess.'" Carleigh sneers at him.

Jay only frowns at her.

"Why don't you play truth or dare with us?" Nat smirks, and Jay frowns, looking down like he knows something I don't.

Of course he knows something I don't.