I leave literacy class early and start heading to my second class of the day, math, which also happens to be my least favourite class of the day. I take a quick detour to the bathroom since I have the time. Standing in front of the mirror, I readjust my ponytail to be tighter, pulling the last few light brown strands off of my face. I make eye contact with my ordinary brown eyes and smile, quickly reverting back to a neutral face. I've always disliked my smile, even after I went through all of the orthodontic work that an average pre-teen goes through.

I walk down the empty halls until I'm at the math class. The period isn't over, the class still going, so I drop my bag and sit up against the ugly green wall of the hallway. I close my eyes and focus on the class going on adjacent to me. Most of the thoughts are complaints about the class and their lack of understanding of the topic. I pick out the thoughts of Milo Bradford, who, after multiple one-way conversations with, I consider quite intelligient. He always has thoughts of numbers and inventions, some of which I think are quite ingenious. Pulling out a notebook, I pluck pieces of key information from Milo and swiftly scribble them onto my lined page. My head starts to get a small ache since Milo is separated from me between a wall, but I ignore it.

The C major arpeggio rings through the school, signifying the start of the next period. I pack away my book and pencil. The dull pain in my head goes away. Grabbing my bag, I stand and wait for the students to leave the classroom. I enter as soon as the last student exits and head for the desk in the exact middle of the class, which is the desk I always sit in, no matter the class. I watch as the students pile in, a bored look on their faces as they stumble to their desks. As the late bell rings, a student quickly runs into the classroom and takes a seat two desks behind me since it is the last available desk. However, I don't recognize this student. He is wearing a black hoodie, zipped up all the way, with fading blue jeans. He has dark brown hair and icy blue eyes, matched with an emotionless face. The teacher ignores his sudden entrance and starts the class.

"We will be starting chapter four in our textbooks today; Trigonometry," The teachers says in a monotonous tone. A few groans sound from the back of the classroom. "But before we start our textbook work, I'd like to introduce a new student. Will you please stand up and introduce yourself?" the teacher asks after the class quits the groaning.

The whole class turns to the sound of a chair sliding across the floor. The guy I didn't recognize stands up and looks around the class. He meets my eyes and holds my gaze for a split second then keeps scanning the class.

"Hi. I'm Blake Langley. I moved here from Boston because my dad has better work here," Blake states, then sits down and ignores all the questioning eyes around him, including mine.

The teacher nods. "Ok then. Thank you Blake. Would everyone please pull out your textbooks if you haven't yet?" he says, going on with the lesson.

Curious about the mysterious new guy, I turn my thoughts toward Blake's and start to probe. Yet, his head is odd. He isn't easy to try to get into, and I have to try really hard just to get one word of thought out of him. I try to reach and uncover at least his first surface of thoughts, but can't. Finally, I give up and tune out.

'Why is he so difficult?' I think. Immediately, Blake turns to face me and snickers with a smug face. I raise my eyebrow at him, a questioning look planted on my face. He just shakes his head and turns back to his work. I roll my eyes and do the same, focusing on the challenge in front of me. I am distracted yet again, this time by the sensation of being watched. My head shoots up from my work as I glare around the classroom looking for any set of eyes that are even glancing at me in the slightest way, giving me a creepy sensation. But no one is.

'No one is looking at you Stacy. Get back to work,' my thoughts say. But they're not my thoughts. It isn't even the voice of my thoughts. The voice is hard to distinguish, but after a few seconds of thinking, I realize who the voice belongs to; It's Blake's voice. I shoot a glare over to him, trying to look annoyed, but in all honesty, I am afraid. My heartbeat starts to speed up. I haven't ever met anyone who is a telepath like me, forget having them talk to me. Questions fill my head, as well as the main one; how the hell does he know my name?

'Mind your own business,' I think, trying to seem confident in my thoughts although I'm shaking on the outside. Blake doesn't respond, but I can feel his presence sitting in my mind, preying on my thoughts. I let it lay there the rest of the class, not thinking anything he could use against me, or much at all except for my math equations, both tasks being quite difficult.

As the C major arpeggio rings around the class once more, signifying the end of the class, I pack my things up right away, wanting to stay away from Blake. Noticing him approach me in the corner of my eye, I shove my last book into my bag and walk out of the class, not letting him get a chance to talk to me.

'You'll have to talk to me sometime,' he thinks to me as I walk out of the classroom.

'No I don't,' I think back, then leave into the hallway.