"You two are adorable," Nat teases, tossing her long hair over her shoulder as she stares at Jay and I. "I know she is," Jay responds, pulling me even closer to him. I flush, and Michael gags.

"Do I taste jealousy, Michael?" Nat arches one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows. "Oh please." Michael's ferocity seems artificial as he studies the smog-covered night sky.

(edited xx)

****

Truth or dare seems a bit childish to me, and extremely played out, but for some reason I don't want Michael to think I'm a prude or something.

"Guys, seriously?" Jay groans, his eyes drifting back and forth between Nat and I. Michael rolls his eyes, not bothering to tear them away from the bonfire. Jay seems to be the only one with actual decency and common sense. His caramel eyes are warm and friendly.

"Look at her, she looks like she would faint if someone said the word 'penis.'" My eyes half lidded, I stare hard at him. Body organs have never fazed me, but I guess he wouldn't know that. I just don't understand why he insists upon insulting me. Repeatedly. His eyes are a bit too intense as he glares at me, waiting for my response.

"I'll play." I tell them quickly, the guilt of bad behavior already forcing heat into my cheeks. Jay's mouth sets into a hard line, but he moves over on the couch for me anyway. "Here." I gaze at him a moment, pondering. "Are you gonna sit or stand there like a damn idiot?" Michael spits. I frown, and drop down between Jay and Becky.

"Ignore him." Jay whispers, situating himself to be closer to me than I am comfortable with. I shrug. "I try, but he doesn't really make it very easy. Do you know why he hates me?" "Michael hates everyone." Jay's voice is a bit too casual for that statement.

In the next half an hour, I pick up the names of all of them. The ebony girl, Carleigh, kisses Becky sloppily (yeah, I know), Nat takes off half of her clothes, The latino boy, Angel gulps down about half a bottle of vodka, and his girlfriend Tania does the same.

"So, Princess Skipper. Truth or dare?" Nat burps, fiddling with her bright pink push-up bra. "Truth?" I squeak impulsively, and Michael rolls his eyes bitterly. "Of course." I don't know what room he has to talk, he's been just sitting here the whole time, passing on every turn. "Just do dare, honey." Becky coaxes. I sigh, and bite down on the inside of my cheek. "Fine."

"I dare you to take a shot of this vodka." Nat's expression is unreadable. My eyes widen, and I can practically feel the vibrant color in my face draining, leaving me pale and sweaty.

"It's not like she'd actually do it." Michael's gaze is probably the single most intense thing I've experienced in my life thus far.

Again, and for the umpteenth time tonight, I wonder how I got myself into this wildly stupid situation. The New York breeze blows once more, and stray stands of hair fly in Nat's barbie-doll face. She smirks again, holding out the bottle of clear liquid.

I take it shakily, wincing at the cold glass against my skin. I make the mistake of breathing in too close to the opening of the bottle, and the rank stench burns my eyes, drawing tears. I force myself to look up, and examine the mocking faces of each person sitting in the circle. They all expect me to chicken out, to be the weak little girl they know I am. I was never good at living up to expectations, but I guess now is the time to change that.

I tip the bottle, and pour it out onto the wood below our feet, where it slowly seeps through the cracks in the porch. "See? I told you she wouldn't." Michael smirks, the fire in the middle of the circle dancing in his eyes. The heat it radiates isn't nearly as burning as Michael's anger. I want to tell them that they're ignorant, that alcohol impairs a human's ability to function, but I have a sick feeling that that'll get me nowhere.

"Prude." Michael spits, and for some reason the simple insult hurts me inside. I decide promptly that I'm done trying to be friendly with such a rude person, and stand quickly, crossing my arms over my chest. "Whatever." I whisper, masking the hurt in my voice, and turn my back.

Before I go, I spot a mixed bag of emotions in Michael's eyes. They seem to be there for a split second, before they vanish, long before I can decipher them.

And another part of me, deep deep down, knows that this is just the beginning of something bigger, big enough to consume me before I can stop it.

Jay seems nice, and I'd like to talk to him more, but I can't stand to be around Michael, he's infuriating. His words always seem to be like knives, and back home I could just brush off mean comments. But him? His words lodge in me, and twist every time he smirks.

"Leave it to Beck to bring little miss stick-up-her-ass to a party." I hear Michael snicker. I frown deeply. I would rather be anywhere but here right now. I obviously should've kept to myself and stayed inside my dorm room.

The only place that seems to be free of people is the house, so I walk back around to the front and stumble through the front door. Whoever owns this house really needs to pick up the slack, because it's a really classy and clean in here. It could easily be raided and trashed.

I look around the house, marveling. It's a beautiful place, with tall ceilings, and walls painted a beautiful cherry color. I turn in circles, taking in the view. The plush and perfect white furniture contrasts perfectly with the walls, and the paintings hanging on them seem tasteful. Whoever lives here has amazing interior design capabilities.

I walk across the marble floors to the grand staircase, carpeted with a long and polished wooden banister. I step up one by one, caressing the warm wood, all the way to the second floor. The hallway waiting there is long, with even more elaborate paintings. All of the doors in the corridor are wooden, beautifully untouched, and closed... all except for one, temptingly left open a crack.

I creep over to it, and push the door open further. Inside waits an enourmous master bedroom, with a bed as big as my dorm room back at St. Mary's. There are sliding glass doors looking out on the backyard, and two tall cherry wood bookcases, filled with binders. Just... thick black binders.

The walls are still painted gloriously, but the carpet is tan here. The room is picked up and neat, scented with the freshness of clean linens. The room calls to me, a safe haven, hidden away from those terrible people in the yard below. The binders are shamelessly enticing, and I can't help but crack one open.

I close the door behind me softly, and advance slowly towards the bookcase, gently running my hand over the clean black comforter on the bed. Once I reach the shelf, I'm unsure of where to start. All of the binders are marked with a few words, which I lean forward to read.

'Polio outbreak, 1940-1956.' That captures the medical side of me, so I reach for the corresponding binder. "Don't fucking touch my stuff." I freeze mid-movement, and turn on my heel, panic flowering in my gut. Michael glowers at me from the doorway, his arms crossed defiantly over his broad chest. "Your stuff?" I didn't hear him open the door.

"Yes, my shit! This is my house, and nobody's allowed in my room. So get out." He spits like an impatient child, opening the door for me. "You're such an ass!" I blurt before I can think twice. Surprised at my own actions, I place a hand over my mouth tentatively.

"'You're in my room you know, and it's not like I asked you to be here,'" He says, mocking me cruelly and repeating my words from before. I'm so confused, utterly confused. Nobody's ever been so rude and off putting to me in my life, and I don't know how to cope with it.

"Why do you hate me?!" I whimper, when truthfully it's much too soon for that accusation. I just... don't know what else to say at this point. "Hate you?! I met you today!" "That hasn't stopped you from being cruel to me!" I retort.

"You wanna know what your problem is? You're so superficial, and judgemental! I bet I could tell you about your entire life right now! You grew up in a perfect little house, with two perfect parents who gave you everthing you ever wanted! And now you come here, and look down on us because we're not pretty perfect barbie dolls like you are! Wake up, and step off of your pedestal!" Pretty? And who the hell asked for his opinion?

My jaw drops at him, my fists clenching angrily at my sides, unclenching, and then tightening again. "You're right Michael! We met half a day ago, so you DON'T know me! If you did, you would know that my dad left me when I was 5 years old, and that my mom has had to work her ASS off to get me here! You'd know that I had to work MY ass off to get here, just to be shut down by some... famous tough-guy pain in my side." I end my speech whimpering like a puppy, and unable to look at him any longer.

Heat rushes to my cheeks, burning them, and tears prick at my eyes. He only stares at me, clenching his jaw, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He doesn't say a word, turning to face the bed. There's something about the way he considers my words and the way he looks at me that's off, like once again he knows something that I do not.

"I'm so done!" I whimper again, annoyed at his taciturn behavior. I storm past him and out of the room, furious at myself for becoming so emotional. I can't breathe in this house, I can't breathe around these delinquents, I miss Moonsie, and I'm alone all alone again.

The tears spill down my face as I start to stalk back down the street, away from Michael's house and the hooligans who only seem to want to hurt me. It's a suburb, but I know that once I make it to a certain part of the city, an excess of taxis will be waiting to transport me back to St. Mary's.

Eventually I reach the last of the suburbs, and the beginning of the city. I work to put myself back together, and wipe away the cold tears on my cheeks. Using some emergency money, I hail a cab, and get a ride back to school.

I go around back to avoid the lounge, and drag up the stairs to my room. It's empty, but I am extremely thankful for that. I take this time to get ready for Monday, and refocus myself on what I came to New York to do. First, I spread out all my class brochures and forms, and fill out my planner. After that, I steel my courage and head down to the communal washroom to shower away the stench of Michael's place.

"Co-ed?" I mutter to myself with extreme discontentment, and quiver with discomfort. I push the door open anyways, and square my shoulders. The room is composed of several different stalls with shower heads, and nothing but a curtain protecting people's naked bodies from the open air. The air is steamy and hot, soap-scented.

This dorm is co-ed, but it's not like the boys are supposed to be in the girl's rooms. It seems in my hall especially (composed of mostly minorities) that the rules aren't actually enforced.

After an extremely uncomfortable shower-I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching me- I settle down in my bed, pulling the blankets up to my chin. Tears threaten to spill again as I think over my first day, and just take everything in. So far, I've made enemies as opposed to friends. I never needed friends before, back home, so I hate myself for the fact that I have begun to care.

I reach onto my nightstand, and grab the photo of me and Moonsie I placed there. A few more tears ooze from the corners of my eyes at I examine it, running my fingers over the glass frame. I wish I could be at home, because then, at least I would have Moonsie to talk to.

****

Thankfully, Saturday passes quickly as I take time to explore the campus, alone and on foot. Sunday eases along as well, and now I've settled down just to make sure that everything is set for tomorrow's classes. I iron and set out my uniform, so it'll be ready for me in the morning, and organize all of my papers and things for the next day.

Becky came in Saturday at noon, and she's been in and out since. When she asked me why I left, I quickly fibbed- "I wasn't feeling well." I refrained from adding 'emotionally.'

I glance over at her as she yet again cakes makeup onto her face, her mouth hanging open as she thickens the mascara on her lashes. "Where are you going?" "Back to Michael's, he's having a... small get together tonight, not nearly as many people this time." "But it's a school night, we're not supposed to leave campus." She chuckles, puzzling me a little. "Nobody ever follows that rule."

I shrug, and look back down at my favorite medical journal, Rare illnesses and ailments. "Hey, you should come with." I scoff, remembering my mental oath to keep away from Michael and his army of scandalous 'friends.'

"Why would I do that? You guys all hate me anyways." "I don't hate you, girl, lighten up. Plus, I'm sure Jay would love to see you," She grins, blotting her lipstick on a paper towel, before smacking her lips. I blush involuntarily. "Jay?" "He's cute isn't he? He wouldn't shut up about you, I think he has a little crush." I swallow, feeling my once steady walls of will power beginning to crumble.

Eventually, they fall, and I give in. "But we can't stay for long, and there's no way I'm riding with Michael." "Relax, we'll take my car. But this time, why don't you try some of my clothes? It can't hurt."

I decide to take her up on that this time. I'm not gonna succumb to my irrational fear this time, I'm gonna prove to those hooligans that I'm not as square as they think I am.

Does saying 'square' mean I'm square?

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