Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ I Got Game! ❯ Anything But Ordinary ( Chapter 1 )

Alternate Universe, Sci-Fi, Sporty, Some Events Based On Authoress's own experiences....(wee! Basketball!)

Standard Disclaimers Apply: Don't own Gundam Wing, but I own every original character that emerges...Don't own the songs listed with the chapters, either...

Warnings: My OFCs from my Color Series makes their appearances here in their own alternate universe thingie...so that means alotta violence, a lot of cussing, a lot of alien involvement, and a lot of weird things!! Oh! And LEMONS for everyone! Hetero, Homo, and...um...does alien sexual activity count as bestiality? Or...something?...(X__x )x (oOo) ? Oh, racism, OOC, er, characters, and did I mention OOC charas?

Pairings: For now, 3+4, 1+2, 5+M & various others. I'll think of lemons later, but I assure, you THERE WILL BE SOME FOR OUR PERVERTED PLEASURE!!!! ^_~

A/N: I wanted to write a sports oriented fic because I hadn't see any in all my hours of surfin' GW yaoi sites! Why NOT?! I may not be the best in sports (soccer, basketball, softball) but I really enjoy being active. Also, my inspiration came from this really good book I read-'Counting Coup' by Larry Neville. VERY good stuff, and sadly, very truthful....(sniffles!) And that lovely piece of fiction that's similarly played out in high schools throughout the world, 'Love & Basketball'...(sniffles, sniffles) Good movie, that. Great soundtrack...Oh, and by the way, in no way am I a jock...I still play softball (very ickles cuz I hate the sport but play due to obligations and for SOME form of exercise...)and I try to jog a couple of miles in the morning...but that doesn't make me a jock! Ha! Ha! I'm rather clumsy and un-graceful...er...anyway, onward HO!

Another A/N: I don't have favorite teams, but my mom really LOVES the SA Spurs...all the info I get I get from watching with horrified reaction as my mom screams and curses at the players within the television set. She's funny, that lady.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<= means scene change

Chapt. 1:

"Anything But Ordinary"-Avril Lavigne

Quatre Reberba Winner sighed heavily as he stared down at the small standard issue twin bed that faced him, his school issued uniform lying there on top of standard issued sheets, awaiting his presence within. Reaching up to scratch his head, he set down his traveling bag and struggled to dismount the large Nike duffle bag that he'd slung over one shoulder. When that fell to the soft carpet with a small thud, he sighed again, head hanging.

It was bad enough to be transferred here to New Park City, to the single private academy that hosted the rich and famous' offspring, as well as alien transfer students, but it was another to be forced to wear the same thing each and every day. Well...what he usually wore in Wyoming could be considered the same thing he wore each and every day, but at least he'd liked them! Here, he was going to be forced to wear a light blue blazer with a varying light blue or yellow tie with a short or long sleeve button up, along with a pair of slacks or standard khaki shorts. It appeared that he could choose his own shoes, for there were none set out with the four sets of clothing. The brochure and the rules he'd been issued added that he could add his own variants to his appearance, but he must wear what was given him. If he desired more sets, all he had to do was see the front office.

He immediately felt stifled as he stared at the clothes, looking down at his favorite basketball jersey and oversized cargo shorts. The jersey was a birthday present from his father earlier in the year. It was an old team, from an older era, yet he'd admired the NBA player and had plastered his room full of memorabilia commemorating his favorite team.

The San Antonio Spurs were his favorite team, and Manu Ginobli from the twentieth-first century was his idol. Manu was always a hustler, quick to grab a rebound or assist the major players with ease. It was with that same enthusiasm that Quatre himself played with, that same urge and drive to get the ball to the net. As a result, he'd risen high in the ranks of his hometown basketball team, being the one the others depended on to get the ball and to get the ball to someone quickly. He didn't mind not being the one who scored the most points-he found himself happiest assisting. It also had to do with his height-he wasn't very tall, standing only at five foot seven, and height was a big thing in basketball. He didn't feel confident enough facing six-to-seven foot giants surrounding the net, which stood ten feet up. But there were some moments in which he was lucky enough to pick off threes from the outside, or out-hustle the tallest player to the net.

For as long as he could remember, basketball had always been a part of him. Sometimes his father commented on him being born with basketball in hand. In Laramie, everyone had put him on a pedestal, had looked forward to watching him play in the high school leagues...then....everything fell apart his sophomore year, when-

Shaking his head, unwilling to think about that aspect in his life, he fell into a crouch and began unpacking. The standard issued dorm room (private at that, thanks to his father's money), supplied him with a single in-wall dresser, a simple three by four closet, a bed, and a small desk and chair. It even supplied him with internet access, complimentary toiletries and extra sets of simple clothing such as two pairs of jeans in his size and Hanes t-shirts, socks and complimentary maps and guides of New Park City. Sophia Darken did cater to the rich, so after he got through his initial surprise at the hotel-like setting of his room, he noted that it was pretty comfortable. It wasn't bland-the walls were painted a light, airy blue, the curtains were a dark blue material that fairly kept out the afternoon sun, and the desk was laid out with obligatory school supplies should he be without them.

He saw a large package and a small box with the labels of electronics set onto top of the standard issued desk, and though he found it curious that they would send him a television set or something of similar sort, he wanted to make sure he was unpacked and settled before completely exploring.

Sophia Darken Academy was located in the suburbs of New Park City, in Marysville, a ten minute drive from the east side boundary of New Park. It was pleasant enough, from what he'd seen from the outside-the academy was a specially funded high school for New Park City's richest teenagers, displaced others from various places in the States, and, of course, the transfers from outer space. That was one aspect he had to get used to, as Sophia Darken was infamous for the transfers that wanted an education from Earth-he'd been assured that many of the alien students weren't exactly what he'd seen in movies...more rather, they all looked human and had human characteristics. Of course, Quatre had already witnessed the snobbish signs the principal had, which meant that every student was practically chosen based on appearance and money to attend the academy. Wouldn't want to ruin the image of their specially funded school with unsightly alien features that would scare of prospective donors and 'charitable' sponsors...

Sophia Darken Academy was infamous for champion sports teams and academic achievers...from what Quatre had learned, the Warriors were all competitive, all wanted that special championship title at the end of every sports season, and all the players were especially recruited and handpicked, with college drafting guaranteed at the end of high school. From what he'd learned, every athlete from Sophia Darken had gotten into their college of choice through athletics, and all were very successful in acquiring scholarships. It was practically guaranteed that he would enter the college of his choice through athletics...

Which he didn't mind, because he loved playing basketball and couldn't think of a time when he would do without the familiar ball in hand...The visiting officials set out to recruit him once his father expressed his son's interest to attend Sophia Darken were impressed with his athletic skill on the court. They expressed their opinions that he would do well with the private academy once the season's basketball coach saw him in action.

After he'd finished putting his things away within the private room, he stood from the floor, where he'd shoved a couple of extra balls, still in their cardboard encasing, under his bed, and walked to the window. Staring outside, he looked out at the broad flat of the campus, in which he faced the athletic fields and track fields that edged the campus boundary. There were students milling everywhere-from the fields to the track to the rolling lawn that was as broad and wide as far as he could see...and everyone of them seemed especially chipper. Smiling slightly at the feel of nervous butterflies in his stomach, he wondered what he was going to do. Laramie hadn't been very big-the city, once he and his father had arrived, had simply overwhelmed him the moment he'd stepped out into the airport.

The city was stretched and taxed to obscene limits, and the only thing that seemed to keep it running were the mixture of alien technology and modern thinking. He loved adventure and wasn't shy, but the thought of being so overwhelmed within a city that threatened to drown you the moment you laid eyes on it made him wary. He was a small town kid moving into the big city, and he knew he was going to be annoyingly naive and obscenely innocent to the goings-on, but he hoped that he would meet with nice people that would assist him. Ever optimistic, Quatre was positive that he would succeed here in this setting without the comfort of his family nearby.

He moved away from the window and toward the desk, which was just next to the bed. The electronics happened to be school standard 'notebook', which was very flat and very thin, and issued with the school's textbook programs that he would have to upload himself. The disks were rubber banded together, so he set the notebook down, and examined the sides, noting the Calculus, Anatomy & Physiology, College Entry Literature, Music and Comprehensive Learning, World History, English Honors, Economics 101 for College Entry Learning. Automobile Mechanics, and Music Honors programs. He recalled his father asking him what classes he'd prefer to have once he got here, as he was caught up in his credits, and yet Sophia Darken offered college prep classes for those qualified. It appeared he qualified in a few, and that his father had paid special attention to music and domestic programs. It made him ill and scrunched his nose at the thought of his father determined to drive home a musical class in an athletic son, but he supposed he'd humor the old man and take them anyway.

After much examining, he realized that the notebook was all he'd need to take to his classes, and all he needed to do was upload the programs and he'd be set. No paper, no pencils, nothing. He was quite astonished at the technology, having read about it but never witnessing it. It was quite common in large city settings for students to utilitize such technology, but he'd grown up with pens and papers, not electronics that simplified the entire books and notebook thing.

Feeling rather giddy that he would have to adapt to this, he set the programs and notebook aside and picked up the card key that was issued to him. He had to memorize the number in back, and return it to the office once he did so, because the doors to the dorms were opened and locked within the keypads outside. Pushing that card into his pocket, he decided to go out and explore his surroundings, feeling very nervous as he did so.

The building in which he resided in was the only dormitory on campus-apparently, no one had qualms about separating high school boys and girls from each other and decided to just up and toss them together, rooming them on opposite sides. The only visiting hours between the sexes were during the school days, and it was absolutely forbidden for either sex to venture into the others' section. He doubted that the rule would apply, this being a big city school and all, but he would take the benefit of the doubt.

The floor on which he resided on was a section reserved only for those fortunate enough to have their own private rooms-he'd seen a few students milling here and there, but he wanted to explore out more. The students he'd seen had turned their noses up once they caught sight of his attire and had wanted nothing more to do with him, other than whisper. Sure he'd come from a small town, but his father roamed in the same circles as their parents.

He walked toward the stairway nearby, taking the soft carpeted steps one at a time, hearing the activities of other rooms below him. His floor was the fifth, and the others were divided by classes-the frosh was on the second, the sophomores the second, the juniors on the third, the seniors on the fourth, and the private rooms on the fifth. The main level was a level consisting only of security, entertainment rooms and study areas-he'd been given the tour, so he had a pretty definite idea of where he was going, but it would help him if he wandered and got his own idea of the place by exploring on his own.

The stairway led down on the senior level, where there was laughter, music and voices, but due to his class level and to the fact that he was new, he didn't feel like socializing there. Once he reached the junior floor, through, he became aware of a stampede from above, and barely had enough time to move against the wall to avoid a collision when he heard the unmistakable sounds of someone losing their step and falling down the last set of stairs.

With a horrified gasp, Quatre watched a girl pick herself up, dust herself off, then laugh maniacally. She stopped abruptly once she caught sight of him staring at her.

"Woo!! What would you rate that?" she then asked, striking a victorious pose despite the tumble. She stood about five foot three, with shoulder length light brown hair, and a thin frame. Her arms were skinny, yet muscular, her face round but defined with high cheekbones, her face an expression of girlish enthusiasm. Her face was bright red with embarrassment, but it faded with mirth as she addressed her clumsiness with full bodied laughter. He recognized the noticeable American Indian features in her, taking in the lightly tanned skin, the high cheekbones, the almond shaped eyes. He relaxed slightly, feeling a somewhat bonded kin with the girl because American Indians were common in Wyoming, despite the racial tension. He had no problems with race-it was the bigots that really bothered him.

"Er...a...five?" he then answered skeptically, eyebrows raising.

"Aw, you're no fun. I would've rated that a seven or eight...Hey...you're new?" she asked, dropping her hands to her sides. She took in his attire and sputtered. "Spurs fan, eh? You won't be liked here. Everyone I know's an NPC Sunfire fan. You'll be slaughtered instantaneously...anyway, what's yer name, blondie?"

He noted her peculiar accent-it was truly English, American, but there was an underlying tone of street-wise vulgarity and lack of grammar that resided there. It was an easy accent, designed to lengthen the 'e' sounds and bordering on a shorted drawl...if that were possible. She stared at him, blinking her eyelashes repeatedly as she waited. He noticed that she was wearing a pair of men's baggy jeans that were belted in place by a grommet stud belt, and a shrunken NPC Firefighters Recruit shirt. Her shoes were also untied, the DC label clear from his position. She was an all-out tomboy, complete with the cocky stance and the lack of embarrassment in addressing strangers, but he sensed an underlying sense of meanness in her. Maybe it was the way she looked at him, or the way she snorted at his clothes, but there was also a definite friendliness that seemed double-edged. He didn't get it.

"Er, Quatre Winner."

Her eyebrows rose, and she blinked, taking his appearance again. "Ramid Al-Ahmed Winner...That Winner?"

He gave a lanky shrug.

"Shit..."After a few more blinks, she shrugged. Then watched him for a few unsettling moments. From what he felt, it was as if she were waiting for him to do something, but when she felt that he wasn't, he watched her visibly relax, leaning forward to hold her hand out. He captured it within his, feeling calluses and a very firm, very strong grip that nearly crushed his fingers. She let go after a solid shake. "Ey, Felicia Ann Passage. I live on the fifth...Uncle's loaded and he's my only livin' relative. I ain't a spoiled brat, though. Friendly enough...I guess. So, what'cha class?"

"Sophomore..."

"Really?! Maybe ya'll be in one of my classes, then. Where you from, man?"

"Wyoming. Laramie, Wyoming."

"Bumfuck, USA, eh? Ah well, we've all been there, haven't we?" She chuckled, raising one cuffed hand. She was wearing multiple rubber black bangles, a cuff watch and what looked to be a couple of hair ties. On the other wrist was a half glove, her fingernails painted black. He raised an eyebrow at her appearance, which bordered on punk and jock. "What?"

"You're making fun of my outfit?"

"What's wrong with it?" She looked down at herself, lifting a leg.

"Well..."

"C'mon!! I'm...just bein' myself. But I ain't lesbian," she added quickly.

"A rebel, huh?"

"...somewhat. Hey, gotta smoke?"

He shook his head.

"Goody-two shoes, eh?"

"I play basketball...I don't like that sort of thing in my system..."

Her eyes, which were lined with black kohl, widened. "Really? What position? You playin' on the team this year?"

"I'd like to try out...Point Guard..."

"You any good?"

"I helped my teams win championship...I've won numerous MPV awards, and-"

"I'm not asking for your medals of bravery, blondie," she snorted. "Are you good?"

He blinked at her. "Well...yes, yes I am."

She grinned at him. "Excellent. Well, see ya! Gotta go cause some chaos and pain before curfew. Gotta quota, ya know."

"Wait...do you think I can tag along for awhile? I really don't know where I'm going, or..."

"Hey, I can tell you ain't part of my crowd...color an' all...but I think I can introduce you to someone. C'mon!" she said, waving at him as she began running down the stairs. He sighed, then hurried after her. Once they reached the first level, she began looking around, tying her hair into a loose bun behind her neck. "What kinda crowd ya hang out with, blondie?"

Quatre blinked, then reached up to touch his hair. He knew what his hair looked like, but he didn't want to be addressed as such. That wasn't his name. But he didn't know Felicia well enough to correct her, afraid to make the wrong impression on the girl. "Um...I...I don't know. My friends in Wyoming...they weren't a group, I just...hung out with anybody....um...except for jocks."

"You are a jock, kid," she said, raising an eyebrow, then grabbed his arm. "I can touch you, can I?"

"Er, well-"

"That's all right, I don't have cooties. I see I still have time to spend my influence on ya... C'mon...Let's see...Ah, here we go." She turned, and began dragging him behind her, stalking toward a small group of boys that were sitting outside the building, huddled on a stone bench. She slammed through the doors, causing them all to look up. They all looked at her, looked at each other, then ran off in opposite directions. Stunned, Quatre looked after those that were still visible, then at Felicia, who was grinding her teeth. She dropped his arm, looked back at him with a shit-eating grin, then latched back onto his arm and stalked off into the other direction.

"Well, forget them," she said over her shoulder. "How about these guys?!"

They were coming up to a couple of boys that were laughing with each other, one holding a notebook and the other holding what looked to be a portable game console. One of them, with a particularly long braid, blinked a few times, looked like he was going to escape, then thought better of it. His companion wasn't so brave-he looked up to see who was coming, and promptly ran in the other direction.

"COWARD!!" the braided one shouted indignantly, then gave them both a frozen smile. Quatre noted the strain on his face, wondered what this Felicia character had to do with the startled reactions. She seemed somewhat nice enough, but then again, he was new. What did he know? But then, he noticed the way the braided one eyed her with contempt, the way that he watched her warily. Sensing a strong contempt toward her, Quatre wondered if he really wanted to make friends with the young man.

"Here," Felicia said, nearly shoving Quatre at him. "He's your group. Newbie. Corrupt him with your silly views and turn him against me like the rest of ya do!"

"Felicia-!" Quatre tried to say but she let go of him and waved.

"Bye! Been nice knowin' ya!" she called, and ran off toward the main building. With hesitation, Quatre looked back at the braided one, who was eyeing him undecidedly. Then he grinned, revealing pert white teeth. "Um...hi..."

"What's up? Is that team for real? They haven't won a title in a while," the braided one said, lifting one light eyebrow and brushing his bangs from his face. "You might want to wash your hand, man."

"Why?" Quatre asked, looking at it.

"Look around you. What do you notice about this campus?"

Quatre turned away from him and scanned the campus, blinking. Everywhere he saw, he saw happy students that were conversing with each other or striding through the grounds with careless steps. He noted the fancy outfits, the careful display of character...he blinked, wondering what he was looking for, anyway. He looked back at the braided one and shrugged a shoulder.

The guy sighed, shaking his head. "You'll get it in a while. The name's Duo Maxwell. I'd shake your hand, but...no offence with you, of course."

Quatre was bewildered, sensing that Duo was contemptible toward someone, but it wasn't him. He didn't feel like making friends with him, wondering what the young man felt that he had to be so... meanspirited toward someone. But then again, he was new. He had to find out sooner or later, he supposed. Rather sooner than later. "Er...Quatre. What...what's wrong with the campus? I think it's lovely."

Duo took in his appearance, then looked him in the eye. "You a displaced student?"

"A what?"

"Displaced. Orphan."

"No. My father...my father sent me here."

"You're money, then."

"Er...yes, but..."

"Where are you from, again?"

Quatre wondered if he should even bother saying, what with Duo's attitude. "Wyoming..."

Duo's eyebrows rose slowly, taking him in again, then he looked over his shoulder. "Excuse me. I see a friend of mine...see ya around."

With that, Quatre watched as Duo made gave a wide berth around him and walked off toward the doors of the dorm building, meeting with no one. A little stunned at the obvious snub, Quatre looked around himself, nervously nibbling on his thumbnail. Was everyone this way? He wondered as he slowly wandered off toward the athletic fields. Feeling suddenly intimidated and overwhelmed, he hoped that this adventure wasn't a disastrous one.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

The athletic fields were awesome-the football field was kept in excellent shape, the track was beautifully maintained, the soccer fields were expansive and clearly marked, and the nearby gym, which he suspected housed the basketball courts and the swimming pools, was constantly in use by the indication of students moving in and out the massive entrance doors. Beyond that looked to be the tennis courts, from the indication of the familiar green fence that was visible to his position. After taking in the sight of the track, Quatre began the slow saunter to the gym, hearing the voices of several students rising in arguments.

Pausing so he could listen, curious as to what was being debated, he heard:

"You're being dense! Of course it should matter! The infrastructure of New Park City is quite sound!"

"I'm not saying that it isn't-it's just that one day it's all going to fail when they all leave."

"They ain't gonna leave! Earth is one of their main focal points in business! Shit, if they could, everyone would up and leave Earth!"

Pulling away from the debate, Quatre continued on. He tried to notice what Duo Maxwell tried to subtly point out earlier, but he hadn't caught on quite yet. Not until he almost bumped into a jogging couple that were coming up from the track did he finally get it.

"Oh! I'm sorry," he said, grimacing with embarrassment as the girl stumbled and picked herself up, facing him with a glare.

"Asshole! You did that on purpose!" she spat, rearing on him with her fists clenched. Immediately wary, Quatre took a few steps back, stammering apologies. She spat in his direction, then continued jogging, leaving her partner behind.

Blinking in incredulous astonishment at her behavior, he looked away from her running figure and looked at her partner. Standing only five foot seven, his hair pulled back in a severe ponytail that looked painful, the Chinese youth took his appearance in with a studious stare behind round, glass lenses. He was dressed in a plain shirt and Adidas running shorts, sweating from what looked to be an obvious marathon.

"I'm really, really sorry," Quatre apologized. "I didn't see you two...I was just heading toward the gym-"

"You're new," the youth stated in a firm, accented tone.

"Well...yes...."

He watched with apprehension as the youth took in the jersey that he wore. The Chinese youth took a deep breath, then shook his head. "You've a lot a nerve to be wearing that....around here," he said, giving him a solemn expression.

Quatre wasn't sure whether he was rearing up for an argument, or if he were joking, so he took a chance. "At least they're five out of seven," he said in defense. "The only reason why they keep losing to the Lakers is because of the rigged refs..."

"I agree. The Lakers are a bunch of crybabies...but the Sunfire can overtake the Spurs anytime, rigged or not."

"The Spurs don't need that sort of thing to help them win...." Then, decided that the youth was just making conversation, Quatre introduced himself, holding his hand out. The youth stared at him in studious examination, and just when Quatre was going to retreat his hand, he took a firm hold and shake once, then bowed in apparent cultural manner.

"Chang Wufei," he said, adjusting his glasses. "I'm sorry for Meiran's attitude...we aren't...we aren't held in the warmest of regards here..."

Quatre blinked a few times, then looked around himself before registering his understanding. "I'm so sorry! I just now realized-! No, no I'm not like that. I judge a person based on their character not-! Not on race, or-or status....I'm not...I'm not racist or anything, I-! I'm sorry. I was wondering what everyone meant-! I'm sorry, I'm not like that...."

"What are you apologizing for?" Wufei asked, raising an eyebrow. He removed his glasses, revealing a strong roman nose, heavy set eyes, and strong black eyebrows. His skin was a golden color, stretched over strong bones and lightly freckled on hollowed cheeks. His hair was steadfastly pulled from his face, gelled into place to keep strays from bothering him. Despite the cool, arrogant stance that his shoulders revealed and in the body actions that he took as he studied Quatre from the corner of his eye, Wufei seemed like a serious, strong character. "You've done nothing offensive...so far."

Quatre frowned at that, but took it in stride. "I never knew things were this...bad here. I mean, they were in Wyoming, but...I've never been one to...base judgement on someone regarding their race or status, or social standing...I just...I just thought that since it's a big city, it wouldn't be that way."

Wufei wiped his glasses with the hem of his shirt. "Surely you are familiar with the Race Wars?"

"Of course I am! I do come from a small town, but that doesn't mean that I'm uneducated," Quatre said as Wufei began walking. He walked with him, eager to make a new friend, to talk with someone that would continue a conversation with him.

"The Race Wars decimated native and foreigners because of color...you'll notice that about ninety percent of Sophia Darken students are Caucasian. Of course Meiran acted impulsively toward you, but it's normal, considering the shit we've gone through since we've arrived. We can match anyone here in money and social status, but when it comes to race, we've been reduced to nothing..."

"Hmm...that's why Felicia acted the way she had toward the others," Quatre mumured to himself.

Wufei snorted, looking at him with both eyebrows raised. "You've met Passage already? What granted you that honor? Are you traumatized?"

"She may be a little rough around the edges, but she seemed pretty nice."

"If you value your sanity, stay away from her and that Bellows character. They are the only Native Americans attending, and they aren't shy, nor are they honorable. If they could, they'd rob you blind of any valuables."

Quatre frowned, picking at his nails. He recalled her mentioning a rich uncle, so why would she steal from anybody? "Is she some sort of...of evil character, or something?"

"Or something. When it comes to race, we usually mingle with each other, and while I find her interesting, I do not like her attitude nor the way she conducts herself. But there is your own opinion, and naturally, you are a friendly sort. Perhaps if you keep yourself at a distance, you'll learn that what I say is pretty much the way that it is. Now, if you'll excuse me, my wife awaits me..."

"Your 'wife'?" Quatre repeated as Wufei hurried off, jogging toward the dorms. Quatre blinked a few times, wondering if that were possible. Then he shrugged and continued off toward the gym. While he mulled over Wufei's words and the apparent lines that had been drawn toward the minorities of the school, he caught many interested looks that turned into disgust the moment they read his jersey.

Sheesh, he thought as he walked through the main doors of the gym. But that's what I get when I venture onto another team's territory...

The Gym smelled of linen, chlorine and sweat, and he admired the grand entrance. There to his sides were the display cases that showed him pictures, trophies, medals and plagues that the school teams contributed in honor of Sophia Darken. He admired this for a few minutes, taking a longer moment to study the basketball section. He noted last year's champions, and felt his eyebrows rise high on his forehead as he realized something. Viewing over the other sections, he saw that he wasn't mistaken-apparently, there wasn't separate gender teams-the Warriors boasted of coed teams that had taken numerous state and division titles. Though they were few, the girls looked just as appreciated as the boys did, but he did note that there weren't any female coaches. Some had even captured MVP and All-Time player status, but during the years, they had lagged behind the boys as they overtook the proud stances with their medals and trophies.

Quatre paused at the last year's winning team and tried to picture himself within the group of eleven boys and four girls, and found himself quite comfortable next to one of the students. He smiled happily, then turned to begin his investigation. The entrance gave way to a wide area that was obviously the food court, with the kitchen area at his left and the stairway to the upper levels to his right. Here, he saw that the walls were coated with pretty banners of blue and yellow, encouraging the teams to Go! Fight! Win!, and then there were numerous informative bulletin boards that he decided he would investigate later. Straight ahead of him was the entrance way into what smelled to be the swimming pools, and since he wasn't interested in aquatics, took the wide stairway up to the second level. He walked through a short corridor that was filled with decorative murals and pictures of the sport, and into the wide entrance way to the basketball court. It was beautiful-he walked in, his eyes alighting at the high ceiling, the tall bleachers, the long, colorful court with its rulebook lines.

With an awestruck expression, he stepped into the surrounding edges of the court, smelling sweat, metal and wood. There were the familiar screeches of rubber against wood, the lovely sound of rubber against wood, the sounds of warriors combating each other for the ball. The bleachers were colored in the familiar light blue the school boasted of, and the floors were a combination of wood and concrete that were familiar to all courts. The display/scoreboard was centered above the court, outlining the time, the team names, the quarter display, the section for the five players on court, the advertisements from both sponsors and charities alike...it was almost like walking into an NBA arena, except smaller.

The hoops were standard, rising ten feet above the floor, every line perfect. There were rubber mats at both ends of the court to save an out of control player, and there were even rubber mats that surrounded the courts edge. At home in Wyoming, he was familiar with a gym that barely held the town's population and tighter spaces yet this court was like the desert-wide, free, spacious. He could barely keep himself from fainting on the spot from sensory overload.

As it were, the sounds of the people playing caught his attention, and he walked near the right section of bleachers, sitting on the third one up. There were various people sitting around, including a couple that were getting busy near the top, but they didn't matter to him. With interest, he watched the small rag tag team on the floor that was playing full court with four players to each team.

One guy, easily seven foot two, had control of the ball and was looking for someone to pass two as three players from the opposite team crowded his teammates. When he finally spotted the one closest to the net, he hurled it at him in fast-pitch style, just barely avoiding his opponents' flailing arms. The one closest to the net, easily six foot ten, leapt into the air and slammed the ball through the bright white nets.

"Ten, baby!" he roared as he dropped from the rim, giving his teammates a high five.

Quatre propped his chin into his pam, his elbow supported by an upraised knee. From what he could see, the players on the court were very familiar to each other, all in a state of undress. The skins versus the tanktops, he supposed. They had their own little fan clubs that were clustered on the very bottom bleacher, squealing and yelling encouragement as the skins took the ball out underneath their opponent's net. The tanktops were already in position at the opposite end, their point guard set past the half court line, lifting his basketball shorts with a sharp tug as he dropped into a defensive crouch. Quatre studied their defense formation, then watched the skins as they passed the ball in, giving the ball to a youth that was easily five foot nine, his moppy brown hair in a state of stickiness as he handled the ball easily, his sweat coated body flushed with exertion. From his position, Quatre caught the foreign features of the teen, and wondered how he was received to those on the court. From what he saw outside, to touch a foreigner or minority was something of an insult, but there on the court, it didn't seem to be a problem at all. His teammates quickly moved into formation at the other end, calling to each other, and joking with their opponents.

The teen began to pick up his pace, coming into contact with the point guard. The point guard laughed at something as he began swatting the ball, the other teen keeping control of it as he swept past the point guard and began moving forward, into their territory. One of the guards leapt at him with a cheerful yell, the teen passing it away from him to another beneath the basket. Once the forwards caught him, through, the youth quickly passed the ball out from the hot zone, to another teen that was centered outside the three-point line. The youth quickly faked his opponent and threw in a perfect shot that made the net whistle as the ball fell through.

"Thirteen!" the point guard, the foreigner called out, his accent heavy as his team began moving back to their end.

"Fuck that shit! It's only twelve!" one of the tanktops yelled as he paused in handling the ball.

"Thirteen, asshole! Remember? Jason made the last three!" one of the skins yelled in reply, wiping his hair from his face.

"Not-uh!"

"Fucking Travis! Yeah he did!" one of the girls shrieked nearby, where she was apparently keeping score. Her muted blond hair was tossed into the air as she haughtily stomped her foot. She waved a piece of paper in the air above her head, her friends laughing behind her. "Look!"

"Whatever, we'll just let them have it," the one named Travis snorted, passing the ball before he traveled.

After the short exchange, the game began anew. Only after the tanktops gained the winning point did everyone begin grabbing their things, a couple of teachers calling out that the gym was being closed for the night. Quatre stood from his position and stretched, enormously comforted in the fact that he'd have to try his best to gain a position on the team. Because from what it looked like, he had competition. Still, he enjoyed that fact because he loved competition. He walked out before the teams, smiling. He couldn't wait to try his own hand out on that beautiful court.

Just as he began descending the stairs, he smelled the strong scent of sweat and one's body odor and looked up to see one of the tank tops keeping pace with him, wiping his face with a towel, the game ball under one arm. He was of average height, standing five foot eleven, with broad shoulders, muscular arms, and a friendly face. His chin was square, his cheekbones high, and his laughing green eyes were hiding behind a mess of light brown bangs. He was of light complexion, with freckles splattered over his nose and cheeks.

It looked as if he'd bleached his hair awhile back, as the ends were tipped with the garish white color that looked as if he'd grown it out rather than cut it. He was actually attractive, and Quatre sensed friendliness and cheer in the teen, even as he made a face at his favored jersey.

"'Spurs', huh?" he asked with a smirk, his voice heavily accented with what he guessed what Quatre guessed was an Australian accent. "Newbie?"

"Yes," Quatre replied cautiously.

"You know the Spurs suck, right?"

"No they don't. The Sunfire may be good, but the Spurs have better sportsmanship."

"Like that fuckin' counts," the teen snorted, rolling his eyes. "You play ball?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. I transferred here in hopes of trying out for the team."

"Really? What position?"

"Point Guard..."

"Aw, no way. Hey, Yuy! Guess what? This guy's after your spot!" the teen said, looking up the stairway. "Hey, man, what's your name?"

"Quatre."

"Name's William. I'm Australian. Isn't that funny?" William laughed at himself, then fell forward when the point guard, Yuy, caught up to them, pushing his head forward with the palm of his hand. "Ow! Hello, I'm a normal human!"

Quatre took in the other teen's features, most notably the slanted cobalt eyes that were sizing him up as they moved down the stairway. They were almost hidden behind brown, messy bangs, but they were sweaty, pushed up and over his forehead in a careless gesture. He had a thin nose over grim, thin lips that were set over a pointy chin. He was attractive, even more so with those odd eyes in a Japanese featured face.

"You're looking to take over my position?" he asked in a heavily accented growl.

Quatre felt somewhat intimidated by the menacing stare the teen was giving him, but he wasn't going to let competition run him off. People had used much worse tactics before, and this certainly wasn't enough to scare him. "Of course. Are you scared?"

William scoffed, then hurried off to join the others. The foreigner raised his eyebrows, which were slightly forked, and he regarded Quatre with a silent, studious stare. Quatre saw that same calculating stare that Wufei had when his character was being judged and how he would react with a minority, and tried to look as friendly as he could. The teen then snorted, slipping his shirt on.

"We'll see, whitey," he muttered, striding off.

Quatre blinked, wondering if the teen actually thought him a threat, or if he'd made some social boo-boo. Then, figuring that it was only because he was new, he sighed and continued following the others out from the gym. Despite what he'd learned today regarding racial standing, Sophia Darken looked very promising. He couldn't wait until tomorrow, when he'd get the bigger picture when he attended classes.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

Eight a.m. found him sitting at one of the computer stations that every classroom seemed to have. The station stretched out four computers wide, with enough room for each student to have leg and arm room, room for the adjustable keyboard and mouse, and enough room to set bags in the small spaces between monitors. The classroom was small, as the population of Sophia Darken was small because of particular selection of students, and therefore, Quatre counted five stations with only ten students present. He'd taken an empty station near the back, in the middle of the only aisle, and after introducing himself to the male teacher had he taken a seat and watched the others come in. The two students sitting to his left and the one to his right at the very last seat were talking to their friends as the late bell rang, and the male teacher, who spoke rigidly with an even stricter pose, began his lecture.

He'd been informed before he arrived at Darken that due to the academy's student background, all teachers and security were part of the military facilities nearby and hailed from highly trained backgrounds capable enough to protect the students from terrorist actions and ransom attempts. The school was very well known for high security tactics, and though Quatre felt somewhat safe with all the effort, he felt smothered at the same time, unused to the drama surrounding the measures.

Following along with the easy instructions he gave, they were just getting into the lecture of the controversial Iraq issues in the early twenty-first century when the door plowed open, admitting two late students. Quatre peeked over his console to see Felicia storm in with a determined expression, a teen of similar expression right behind her.

"Well, well, well," the teacher drawled, annoyed at the interruption. "Passage and Bellows has granted us the satisfaction of their attendance. Politely, students, acknowledge their presence."

Quatre was horrified at the random curses and yells that bombarded the students as they took their seats.

"Aw, fuck off! Get over it!" the boy yelled at them, flipping them off. Felicia took the seat next to Quatre, grinning at him as her partner took the other.

"Mornin', blondie," she said, dropping her bag between their monitors and switching on the console, ignoring the chaos. "Sleep well?"

"Um..."

"Can we get back to our lesson?" the teacher asked in a snide tone.

Felicia waved a hand in his direction, and inputted her password into the program. "I see the heathens still have their chance of influencing you," she said, giving him an up and down. Quatre was amused to see that she'd dressed instead in the boy's uniform, sans blazer, tie hanging loosely beneath an unbuttoned collar. Despite the fact that she tried to dress out of character for her gender, she was still a very beautiful girl, with her black/brown eyes that were lined black with kohl, and the way her exotic features played out the natural heritage of her Native American background.

"I make my own opinion of character," Quatre whispered, careful not to be caught talking while the teacher lectured.

"What's this?" her partner asked, leaning over her. Quatre took in the sight of a teen with the thinnest features he'd ever seen-so far. The boy was very slender, very thin-it was in the way his cheekbones stood out, the hollow in his cheeks, the way he seemed to drown in the school issued uniform that he wore, sans blazer. His hair was dyed a very bright blue and was fashioned so that it stuck completely out in all directions of his head, his ears pierced with several plain silver hoops, his cat slanted eyes overshadowed with highly arched eyebrows. His nose was long and thin, hovering over lips curved with a scornful mouth that had seen too much cigarettes, and from his chin, which was most likely to be weak and thin, hung a thick tuft of hair that resembled a goatee. His sideburns touched the curves of his jaw, and revealed the natural color of his hair, which was pitch black. His eyes were very transfixing, revealing a very florescent neon blue that made Quatre wonder if he were wearing contacts. What helped them stand out were the long, thick eyelashes that surrounded his eyes. They were utterly long, making Quatre wonder if he were wearing some sort of eye makeup.

He was very comfortable with Felicia, leaning over her lap with his elbows on her knees. He took in Quatre's appearance with a quick perusal, then shifted back to his seat.

"This, Mr. Drake Bellows, is Quatre Winner," Felicia said, running her fingers through the keyboard. "He's new. From Wyoming."

"Dude, you're from Wyoming?!" Drake exclaimed.

"Mr. Bellows!" the teacher growled from the front of the room.

"YO! Present!" Drake yelled, leaping from his seat and jumping in place.

"Yes, we know, we know. You and Miss Passage only have one warning-please use it suitably."

"Sir, yes, SIR!" Drake sat down in his seat, rolling his eyes. "Prick. So, where was I?"

Quatre wasn't sure to answer as the teacher fixed them with a death glare and resumed lecturing. He looked at Felicia and Drake, who'd lost interest in him and were playing some sort of simulator game on their consoles. Amid their giggles and hissed threats, the students around them turned in their seats to stare at them in annoyance. Felicia caught their glares, flipped them off, and finished the game.

Quatre tried paying attention to the lecture, seeing that all he had to do in his time was to make certain notes to the already saved information on his program, and receive an impromptu lesson on how to use the damn thing, but while the teacher gave the class free time to ask him questions or peruse the program they were in, Quatre looked over at Felicia and Drake with some hesitation. They were looking at a Playboy magazine, and when they noticed him looking in their direction, Felicia stuffed the magazine into Drake's face and turned in her seat to face him.

"So, you haven't been scared off yet," she said, lifting her eyebrows. "That's cool, man. So far. This is only your first day, y'know. Plenty of time to make a mistake or two."

"I'm not like the others," Quatre said.

"Sure, sure, that's what they all say," Felicia scoffed. She leaned into her seat, elbow along the back and one foot lifting to rest over his knee. He stared at the appendage in surprise, then at her as she watched him, waiting for him to make a reaction. Seeing as she wasn't doing anything but testing him to some degree, he shrugged again.

"Unlike the others, I have no qualms about races," he said. "I only care about what the person's like."

"Wow, we got us a real-like John Smith," Drake snorted. "Hey man, you even look like him. Y'know that movie, by fuckin' Disney? That John Smith..."

"He don't look like that, you fuckin' idiot," Felicia snapped. She gestured at Quatre's face. "He looks a lot like that fuckin'...what's his name?"

"Oh yeah, now I know who you're talking about. That one guy in that one movie from that one place about that one thingie and then they had sex." Drake rolled his eyes, slugging her arm.

"No, serious..." Felicia turned to Quatre, adjusting her foot on his knee. To show that he found her un-intimidating and eager to prove that he wasn't like the others, he even adjusted her foot to a better position across both knees. She blinked, studied his face, his hands, then his face again. She dropped her foot and began jiggling her knee instead. "You look like that guy from that comic book...Drake. What's that comic book?"

"I don't fuckin' read those things..."

"MARS! That Matsuo. Except your hair's more like...shorter." She shrugged. "Anyway, this act of yours don't last, man. You'll find a group, you'll get all shitty. Ain't gum off my shoe."

"It's not 'Matsuo'...it's fuckin' MASAO."

"Same thing!"

"God, you stupid American..."

"Who you callin' an American?! Half breed..."

"Prairie nigger..."

"Apple!"

"Squaw!"

Quatre wasn't sure how to reply, seeing that the two had already made up their minds. The bell rang at that moment, so he began gathering his things.

Drake immediately took off, leaving his friend behind as she tied her shoes, seeing that one had been untied and re-tied around the leg of her chair while she'd talked to him. Quatre adjusted his bag over his back, watching her. "Um, is it all right if I walk with you for awhile?" he asked. "Yesterday didn't really...I really don't know my way around here..."

Felicia straightened, blood rushing away from her face. She eyed him warily, frowning. "What class you have?" she asked slowly, raising an eyebrow.

"Auto mechanics."

She shrugged. "We'll walk there after brekky. I have the same class."

Quatre felt some relief at that, and followed her out the doors and into the halls. They weren't crowded at all, as the classes were spaced far and apart, allowing students comfortable time to mingle and to prevent their expensive outfits from being smushed due to overcrowding. Seeing as his companion had completely fallen silent as she led them down a spiral stairway, Quatre cleared his throat.

"Um, I went to the gym yesterday," he said.

"People playin'?"

"Yes. I met a Yuy and William. From Australia."

"He's hot, huh?"

"Who? Yuy or William?"

"Both. Always had a weakness for Asians, and William's cute only because he has green eyes. Most of the time he's a fuckin' turd that makes me want to sock him. Oh, and it's Hiiro, by the way. Hiiro Yuy. He's cool. He got accepted by the members of the basketball team because he's really good. He don't have half the trouble everyone else has," she said with a snort, reaching back to tug on his arm.

She led him into the cafeteria, which was only half crowded with students that were buying breakfast things from various food carts set around the area. The cafeteria boasted of a wide open section that was formed in a half moon with various tables set out in aligning formation. The north end consisted of a long counter with a buffet-like setting with a few kitchen ladies behind them. Set up through the west end were various food carts with things that weren't served on the kitchen menu. Through a pair of swinging double doors, Quatre saw another area similar to this one, and assumed that it was the food court that he'd heard people talk about.

She bought herself a bottle of water and an apple, and bought him an apple danish and a Coke, saying he needed to bulk up a bit. After finishing their respective breakfasts and chatting idly about various school things, the bell signaled the end of the twenty-minute period and she led him toward the back doors of the cafeteria, which were a set of glass doors that led out onto the campus.

Quatre kept close attention to where he was going, not wanting to get lost. So far, from what he'd seen, the main building of the school compromised mainly of the administrative offices, classes for all four levels, the cafeteria with the separate food court that allowed additional seating room for the students, and a decorative hall that boasted of Sophia Darken's awards and honors for every subject available. The halls were roomy, colored with the antique finish of wood and barque, the carpets a soft moss color. Even though the private academy boasted a number of two thousand students in attendance, it was very comfortable in that no one felt smothered or smushed making their way through various halls.

Felicia jerked him back to the present as she held onto his arm with a firm grip, pulling him into the outside sunlight once they left the cool shadows of the building. Shielding his eyes, Quatre allowed himself to be tugged toward the parking area, which was left of the cafeteria doors and over a small patch of lawn. He guessed that beyond the parking area, in front of a single story gray building where a small junk car was parked upon cement blocks, was his next class. There were already students milling about, conversing in a small area near the car.

"What do you think?" he heard Felicia ask.

"Er...what...about what?"

"C'mon," she said with a sigh, dropping his arm. "You sure as hell ain't straight."

Quatre looked up in surprise, staring at her as she leveled him with a bored glare. What was she talking about and why wasn't he listening?! "No. I mean, I am, I just..."

"Okay then, bi."

"No. Neither. I had girlfriends before..."

"Don't mean shit. C'mon, I ain't a homo hater. I'm surrounded by them...outside of school, that is. If you want, I can set you up," she added with a grin. "I know some really hot homos!"

He shook his head furiously. "Seriously, I'm not!"

"Dude, I hate to break it to you, but Laramie's infamous for their gay population..."

"I'm not!"

"Whatever. You're in the closet, then. Don't worry, I won't tell, but let me make this straight- New Park's different from Bumfuck, Wyoming. New Park accepts everyone except minorities. Gays, aliens, bisexuals, rapists, serial killers, everyone! BUT minorities. And with your combination, you'll fit in just fine. Unless you wear that stupid jersey," she said as they made their way through a small teacher's parking lot and up to the small group of students milling around the car.

"Well, I just-"

"'ey! How's it going, peoples?" Felicia interrupted him, grinning as she dropped her bag near the others and punched a guy companionably in the arm. "So?! Did I set you up, or what?"

The student Quatre recognized as William stumbled painfully. He recovered with a smile and grabbed Felicia into a headlock, the two wrestling away from the car. He watched the proceedings with a nervous smile as William tried to pick the girl up. He turned to the vehicle, nervously rubbing his arm as he noticed how warm it was underneath the city sun. Looking around, he realized that he was the only one wearing a blazer, so he shrugged out of it and laid it over his bag, self consciously rolling the sleeves up his arms.

The teacher strolled over, smoking a cigar and eyeing his students with a carefree eye. Once he reached them, though, he carefully stubbed the cigar on the pavement and wrapped it up in a handkerchief, slipping it into his back jeans pocket. He boomed a greeting to his students, then demanded that William leave the girls alone.

After giving roll call, introducing Quatre to the group with nothing more than a wave of his hand in his general direction, the teacher then began a lecture that Quatre zoned out on immediately. The students stood around him in various forms of occupied faces, but Quatre wasn't as completely interested as they were. As much as he enjoyed the hands-on activities provided for him by this class, he wasn't really tempted in the activity involved.

Just as he was about to pay more attention to his stubby fingernails, he received a tug on his slacks, causing him to look down. Felicia was sitting there in a crouch, grinning cheesily up at him. Frowning, but smiling back with some uncertainty, Quatre looked away. Felicia snickered, rose from her position and sidled to his right side, catching someone's attention with an enthusiastic hug and a quiet, "'ey, you! I saw that!" Seeing that he'd lost her interest once more in the subject of becoming her friend, Quatre lost his mind to other things and prayed that today would pass by quickly.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

At lunch time, in which the food court was filled with laughter, voices and various cafeteria noises alike, Quatre wasn't sure where to go. He had his tray and his meager choices from the food counters, but he wasn't sure where to sit. Everyone had their groups and chairs were filled. Nervously tapping his fingers on the tray, he scanned for a place to sit and make new friends, but the only chair he saw available was currently being taken by that Maxwell character. Turning, he tentatively began making his way toward the outside food court, where there were more spaces to take over on when he spotted someone familiar. Seeing that he was sitting alone, Quatre carefully made his way out there, balancing his tray and his blazer and Poweraide.

"Hello," he greeted, watching the studious head lift from a real book, blue eyes blinking.

The student was easily one of the biggest Quatre had ever seen-he stood about six foot five, and the boy was built. From the broad shoulders, the hugely defined arm muscles, the massive chest that just barely kept itself contained within the standard button up shirt, to the thick thigh muscles that filled his obviously tailor made clothing, Castok James was someone Quatre would rather was on his side than opposed to. What also made Castok stand out was the long blond hair that dangled in a ponytail from the back of his muscular neck to the back of his knees, the ends curled very slightly. It made a contrasting picture to the boy's intimidating build, and made his appearance more exotic in a way Quatre couldn't quite explain. And despite the powerful build, the giant wore a pair of thin, oval shaped glasses that gave him a Clark Kent air. From what he'd learned about Castok James was that the student was efficient in both academics and sports, through he preferred sports than being cooped up in a classroom.

Despite his muscular build and the intimidating way he carried himself, Castok was actually very friendly, similar to his own nature. Quatre had him in his Economics 101 class, and found Castok a very kind person to talk to. He was very helpful in taking time out of his schedule to show him his other classes and to let him know a few essential things that every Darken kid needed to know. Quatre had noticed that many kids, despite seeing Castok as someone friendly to get along with, tended to avoid the junior. That was another thing, in which some of the college prep classes didn't discriminate with class status or age. Quatre wanted to know why most kids tended to avoid him when Castok was obviously nice.

"Couldn't find a seat in there, huh?" Castok chuckled humorously, pushing his books aside and indicating the empty seat nearby. He was sitting on the lawn with his blazer laid out underneath him, inside out, his long, muscular legs stretched out before him. Around him were various plastic outdoor chairs that were in need of company, and Castok gestured at one near his left. Quatre supposed that the reason why Castok wasn't seated in any was because of his size."You're welcome to sit here and keep me company. My brother's lagging behind in something...probably sucking face with his girlfriend, or something."

"Oh? I didn't know you had one," Quatre said as he carefully balanced his tray as he sat.

"He's my half brother. But he's still my family, and despite our differences, I love and care for him unconditionally." Behind the thin, oval lenses that he wore, Castok rolled his eyes skyward. "I love him to death, but he can be one of the biggest pricks in the world."

"Well, I'd love to meet him," Quatre said.

"No offence, but I'd doubt he'd want the same."

Before Quatre could reply, though, another giant entered the area and sat down nearby, cheerfully greeting them both. Quatre looked up at this stranger, taking in the tall boy's appearance. He was easily Castok's size in height, but the complete opposite. Where Castok had a powerful body that bulged with muscle, this one was very slender, very graceful. He had naturally light blue hair that was styled in choppy waves that streamed away from his skull, with very white bangs that naturally fell over his childlike face. Quatre blinked at the guileless eyes, the peacefully calm and gentle demeanor that the student had. He exuded childlike charm and bashful manner with every movement he made. He had a heart shaped face, with bow-shaped lips that were constantly curled with a slight smile, a pug nose that made his face entirely unworldly, and large, light blue eyes that were rounded with wide-eyed innocence. His thin hands, veiny and sinewy as he gracefully kept his tray from tilting as he quickly moved into a comfortable position for his size in the standard chair, were as pale and unmarred as the rest of his visible flesh.

The student caught him staring and smiled in his direction. "Hello...My name's Go."

"Quatre."

"Pleased to meet you."

"Go, did you finish your Algebra homework from Tuesday?"

"Huh? Oh, yes. I'm going to turn it in today."

"What about your ESL III report?"

"Oh, that's almost completed. I'm having trouble with the grammar aspect, though, so if you don't mind..." Go's voice was soft, but masculine, and from the way that Castok addressed him, Quatre wondered if the student was possibly lacking in mental capabilities that matched everyone else's. It would explain the serene expression on his face, the guileless way he looked at everything.

"Oh, no, I'll help," Castok said, setting his book aside, revealing a similar cafeteria tray that was piled high with multiple servings of the cafeteria's sub sandwiches and green salad. Quatre felt his eyes bug out of his head at the massive serving, then looked down at his own meager amount. Castok was set to eat the lunch of five other students-well, if one looked at the size, he supposed that it was all right. He shifted his attention to Go's tray, seeing that the delicate giant was in the process of taking extra lettuce out from his sandwich and smother everything else with both mustard and mayo. Despite his size, he was only set to eat that only sandwich. No wonder he was so thin, Quatre thought.

"Oh, great, here he comes," he heard Castok mutter at the sound of the doors slamming open. At the sound of stomping footsteps, Quatre looked up from his meal to see another Japanese student storming over, tray held out in one hand and the other pulling hard on Felicia, who was yelling something at someone beyond them.

"This is absolute trash!" the student growled, his voice a menacing tenor that was heavily accented, his face reddening with fury. Quatre took in the new student' appearance, sensing frenzied fury. The teen was clearly Japanese in appearance, his features similar to Yuy's except that he had very black eyes, and he was much different from the other. His pitch black hair was mastered into an odd style that had it pushed back from his face and styled upward up and away from the back of his skull. His skin was tan, suggesting that he spent many hours outdoors or was just naturally so. His eyebrows were highly arched, thick, arching over slanted eyes that were widened with fury. His nose was straight and pointy over a thin upper lip and a bottom lip that plumped in a desirable curve, resembling a sinister pout. He looked more like a male model than an actual high school student. He was dressed only in the tie and short sleeved shirt, his lower body fitted into the dress slacks.

He stopped dragging Felicia behind him, tearing his grip from her arm with a snarl similar to that of an enraged animal. Felicia straightened her tie and greeted them with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"I thought it was pretty good," Castok said, examining his sandwich.

The student hurled his half-eaten lunch across the yard, causing other people to look up. Go and Quatre found themselves practically assaulted with the dangerousness that radiated from the student, his black, slanted eyes practically reddening with fury. Unconsciously, both Go and Quatre found themselves inching toward Castok for protection from the boy that stood only five foot seven, and looked to weigh considerably less than desirable for his size.

Felicia shrugged behind his back.

"I am not talking about the food! I care less about the food!" the student roared, while Felicia silently stuck her finger in her mouth and mimicking gagging, then pointed at the teen. "These people! Do they not let up?! Do they not care that I do not give a damn what I look like?! Why does my appearance anger them?!"

Castok sighed, patiently lowering his sandwich. "I told you, brother-"

"STOP CALLING ME THAT!!"

Go and Quatre winced and edged closer to Castok. Felicia watched them with an amused smile, arms tucked behind her as her boyfriend ranted, causing many others to abandon their trays and run for their life. Quatre noted this and hoped that he was on this guy's good side.

"Hautta, listen to me. I explained why people treat you the way that they do. They treat all the minorities and foreigners the same here in the United States. It's called racial discrimination-"

"I KNOW what that is, STOP talking TO ME as if I were CHILD!" the teen spit, Felicia shrugging helplessly behind them. "I SIMPLY DESPISE being treated as if I were an animal!!"

"Babe-"

"Shut UP, you STUPID bitch!" he roared, whirling on her. She held her hands up in surrender and scurried away from him. He whirled back on Castok. "This is stupid. I don't know why I listened to you. I didn't want to come down here, I didn't want to live here, I didn't want to LIVE THIS WAY! This is worse than living up there!"

He pointed one strong finger upward at the sky, indicating space. "I hate it here! I hate these people, I hate this place, I hate this system, I HATE THESE INFERNAL CLOTHES!!!"

For one horrified moment, Quatre thought he was going to start tearing off his clothes in his rage. Felicia thought the same, because she immediately began to fret about him.

"Then why are you still here?" Castok asked calmly. "You could have left a while ago."

Hautta paused, blinked, then thought about it. Quatre felt that if he were able to, he would have sweatdropped like those anime characters. "That's right. I could go-wait a minute, I CAN'T! I'm still in rehab!!"

"For...what?" Quatre dared to mention, his voice unsure.

"Anger management."

The courtyard went entirely silent for several seconds before Felicia burst out laughing, the sound drowning out the heavy silence. Hautta frowned, then glared at her. Unable to control herself, she stumbled away, returning into the cafeteria. Quatre could see through the glass doors that she'd had trouble standing, laughing heartily. Hautta coughed into one hand, then stormed after her. Castok hurriedly shifted his tray aside and ran after them, calling for his brother to calm down.

Quatre and Go, who'd unconsciously leaned into Castok for protection staggered under the loss of the built student and looked at each other. Go set his tray aside, muttered an "Excuse me", then hurried off after them. Blinking as he realized he was left alone, he finished his lunch in silence, wondering what the next half of the day was going to reveal to him.

A/N: Note to self: Never again write while lids are begging to close. I totally fucked up my first chapter, and so I re-did it! Yay-zers! So, anyway, next chappy's up. Eh, I'd ask for reviews, but that takes too much optimism, and I'm using that on my brother, who's in fuckin' Iraq fighting for some old dude's oil money. Blah!! >:o