Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ I Got Game! ❯ Perversion of a Truth ( Chapter 2 )

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! >Hands them out with a chocolate covered grin< 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? And you definitely won't find a Manly Romantic Trowa x Sensitive Weepy Quatre here...no, no, no, you'll find instead Obsessed Stalker Goth Trowa x Obsessed Jock Indifferent Quatre ^_^ Ah...I love variety...in...SOME things... ^_^!

Pairings: For now, 3+4, 1+2, 5xM & various others...

~A/N: I'm sorry if I offend anyone about Laramie, Wyoming! It just popped into my head as I was writing, and I really make no offense on purpose!! Please forgive me!!

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

Chapt. 2

"Perversion of a Truth" = Mudvayne

Later that afternoon, after lunch, Quatre found himself in the same class as the maniacal half brother who hated to be referred as a half brother to one of the most kindest guys Quatre had ever met. He sat in a row entirely on his own, muttering about racist bastards and homicidal rages, so Quatre thought that he'd better avoid him now. It wasn't that he was scared-okay, okay, he was absolutely terrified of the teen, but he didn't want him to think that he was avoiding him because of his race either. He wanted to sit somewhere else, but upon inspection of the room, he saw that everyone else was avoiding the teen as well and had taken available seats away from him. Quatre sighed with quiet resignation and dropped into a seat next to the student. He paused in his muttering to look at Quatre dead on, his black eyes taking in his appearance. Quatre strongly resisted the urge to hold his backpack in front of him for some sort of protection, swallowing hard.

"What?" he then snapped, his voice loud within the silence that had thickened the room's tension.

Quatre blinked as he paused in dropping his bag to the floor. He wasn't sure whether to continue sitting or make a mad dash for the door. Either way, he felt his legs shaking in anticipation of the flight or fight mode. The dangerously murderous glower on the teen's face was enough to reduce Quatre's knees into horrified jelly. "Um....nothing. I didn't say anything."

"Why you sitting down there?"

"Because I need somewhere to sit. ...Is there a problem?"

"You're trying to copy off me!"

"No...um, no, I am not. I don't think I have to copy off anybody-"

"Whatever. Shut up, or you make me mad."

Quatre hurriedly shut up and started up his monitor, inputting his password when prompted. The teen sighed heavily and turned his attention to his own monitor, and despite the sounds, Quatre heard a collective sigh and realized that everyone had watched their interaction with pensive breath, including the stocky teacher up front. Blinking, Quatre watched as everyone began focusing on their lesson rather than pay anymore attention to the two.

During a section in which they had to pair up together in order to solve a problem, he discovered that the former homicidal maniac ("I really am not joking," Castok said after he'd revealed this fact to Quatre, who was now remembering this horrid conversation while the teen displayed a frightening habit in which he cracked his knuckles with a strong aura of dangerousness, as if he were going to punch something at any moment. "Hautta's a reformed murderer from outer space. Actually, he was a mercenary, but that's the same thing. To keep his Earth Visa, he has to go through an extensive anger management program that rehabilitates former mercenaries and stay doped up on drugs to keep his urges to himself. Just don't tell anybody, okay?") was actually very intelligent. He solved the Calculus problems with surprising ease and even helped Quatre with his problem.

When his mind was focused on something other than what his half brother said or what the others thought of him as a minority, Hautta was pretty calm and very conversational. He was both curious about Quatre in a friendly way, and curious in a way that a foreigner would be when in the middle of a land he didn't really know well. Quatre was more than happy to help him out, ignoring the stares he was receiving for his effort. A few snatches of conversation from those around him let him know that he wasn't exactly applauded for his mingling. Seeing this and accepting it as inevitable anyway, Quatre tuned out those conversations and focused entirely on Hautta's presence.

During a break in class, when everyone was permitted to have a bathroom or water break, Quatre prepared to make a trip to the water fountain when the two students walking by shoved him out of their way with mean laughter, causing him to lose his step and crash against the computer station. Hautta saw this, narrowed his eyes, and helped Quatre to his feet. Embarrassed by the tumble he'd taken, Quatre let Hautta help him up, one of the students remarking, "Better wash your hands...you've just been Chinked."

Utterly disgusted with the way their attitudes were toward minorities, Quatre glared at them. He turned to Hautta to apologize (for what, he didn't do anything), and found the teen thoughtfully clinking his teeth together as he stared after the retreating boys. When Hautta found him looking at him, he frowned, snapped his teeth together, and brushed by him, muttering under his breath about 'fucking girls and their stupid influences'. Quatre continued his earlier actions of getting to a water fountain and walked out from the classroom. The teacher didn't even bother to inquire of their well being-he didn't even acknowledge them.

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

After class, as Quatre was heading toward Study Hall, his last session of the day, a fight broke out between four guys and a girl, all of whom were pounding on the hapless teen. While everyone surrounded them and shouted both encouragement and pleas to stop, Quatre was pressed against the lockers by several young men that were getting excited by the fight. Just when it seemed hopeless for the poor girl down on the floor, Castok bellowed loudly, causing everyone to stop what they were doing. Teens were haplessly thrown aside by Castok's massive bulk and by the swings of his arm. He crouched, picked the teen up and asked if she were all right. Despite covered in blood and scared, the girl nodded and was assisted to the nurse's office by her friends, who had stood by and watched the entire thing go on.

Quatre was stunned that the four boys, easily bigger and outweighing her by at least fifty pounds, would so callously beat on her. He glanced around to see that everyone was resuming their earlier activities, and it was dismissed as easily. Didn't anyone have any ounce of chivalry around here?! He wondered with outrageousness, seeing that no one even bothered to inquire of the girl and why the fight had started in the first place.

Meanwhile, Castok roughly pushed the four teens toward the security guards that had decided to reappear, reluctantly taking the students into custody. Quatre watched as the hall cleared to reasonable standards, and caught up to Castok.

"You all right?" Castok asked as he flipped his long blond hair over his shoulder, sighing in exasperation.

"I'm fine. You're....you're really strong!"

"I know. It's a handicap of mine. The school officials warned me that I couldn't use seventy-five percent of it against my opponents, so it's toned down. I just use it in times like these to keep the peace."

'Seventy-five' percent? Quatre repeated dully in his mind, eyes wide.

"What class do you have next?"

"Study hall."

"Can you make sure that Go does his homework?" Castok asked, looking down at him with a pinched expression. "I can't make it today, I have wrestling practice and I wanted to go over my uniform this year with the coach before hand."

Quatre nodded.

"Thanks. I owe you. Just make sure he doesn't drift off to dreamland, and make sure that no one bothers him. And just as an explanation, Go isn't retarded or anything-he's been tested already. He just...tends to drift off and forgets things. Don't worry, he won't cause much trouble. Just keep him away from everyone else, because they try to trick and manipulate him..."

Quatre nodded again, fingering the straps of his backpack, then blinked. "Is he...your relative?...Or ...something else?"

"Nah, just a friend. Sometimes us aliens have to stick together on things. Come on, I'll show you the way. It's toward the gym, anyways, so I'll walk you."

"You're from out of space?"

"Yeah...." Castok let it drop after that, and Quatre sensed that there was many he wasn't really to go with, but let it drop as well. The study hall was located in the east wing of the school building, next to the library that was filled with both manual books and disks. There was a small group of students sitting at a table near the library, with another table full behind them. Quatre ventured toward that section after saying goodbye to Castok, and spotted Go immediately, with someone standing behind his right shoulder.

Concerned, Quatre took a chair next to the gentle giant, seeing that he didn't recognize the person that was standing there, his hand on Go's shoulder. The teen was showing him some sketches he'd done with charcoal, and Go was delightfully exclaiming over them. Quatre lifted his backpack off his shoulders and set it aside, seeing that some of the sketches were of his classmates, all in various forms of school activity.

Those are really good, Quatre thought, then found his attention shifted to the fingernails that were displayed, realizing that the person had painted them black. Quatre blinked, wondering why a guy would paint his fingernails black. He shifted his attention from the fingernails and looked up at the person. He was attractive, with a oval shaped face that was half hidden beneath a fall of reddish-brown hair that was combed forward from the top of his head. While that fall was manipulated to cover the left side of his face, the rest of the reddish-brown strands were cropped close all around his head. It was a rebellious hair cut one had to go against all perfect cuts that everyone seemed to have here at Sophia Darken.

His eyebrows were thin and arched with an aristocratic air that suggested a snobbish upbringing. He had light green eyes that were hooded with an air of boredom, his lashes long and brown. His nose was straight, nearly pointy, resting above a pair of lips that seemed continually drawn into a smirk. The upper lip was very thin, very distinctively shaped into the top half of a heart, the lower plumping outward slightly. His skin was caramel tinted, contrasting slightly with the whiteness of his clothing. From what Quatre could judge, he stood nearly five ten, and was slender, wearing the issued uniform with an air of carelessness that showed in the lazily fastened tie and the way he hadn't bothered tucking in the ends of his shirt into his pants. He could also see the paint splattered Converses that were just barely visible beneath the cuffs of his slacks, of which were frayed to disagreeable fashion.

Quatre guessed that the teen was of attractive desire, and figured that if he were going to be gay, he would openly admit that the teen was, as they said, "Hot". He leaned into his palm to watch as Go exclaimed over fine details in the sketches, and noticed that he lingered on one that made the other laugh lightly, a sound that told Quatre he spoke with a light baritone that was thick with careless sarcasm. The teen tugged the sheet out from his book and gave it to Go without the teen asking, and presented it as a gift. Go was delighted at this and thanked him numerously, praising the gods about the picture and the teen's talent.

The teen didn't take it with the usual flair that most artists had when praised of their work-he merely admitted that it was good, that he'd drawn it with Go in mind. Then, after addressing Go, the teen lifted his eyes from the blue haired youth to Quatre, startling the blonde when he realized that he'd been caught staring without thought at them both. The teen smirked in his direction and put his book back together, black painted nails working with a grace that suggested years of talent with pencil. Then he walked off to the other table, where he was greeted harmoniously by the others. Quatre blinked away his thoughts and greeted Go companionably. Go looked up from his sketch and smiled luminously at him.

"Did you see this?" he asked, passing Quatre the heavy bound paper, showing him the gift. Quatre took it, handling it gently. He felt his eyes widen considerably at the sight of Felicia sitting beneath one of the trees on the campus, captured with a tired innocence that he couldn't see ever residing on her face. She looked almost...human! It was as if she didn't know she was being sketched, and so the teen had captured the way her skin crinkled at the corner of her jaw and neck, the way her lids were hooded with exhaustion, the way her proud shoulders slumped, the way she held her knees to her chest. Her hair had been captured in stilted lines that suggested it was waving in the breeze, her fingers caught in mid tap against her hip.

"Wow, this is good!" Quatre exclaimed, blinking. "It's almost like a photograph!"

"It is, isn't it? That's how I see her...everyone thinks she's so mean and so heartless, but I can tell that she hides her real self all the time," Go said, his soft voice changing, making Quatre realize that the blue-haired teen had more than just friendly feelings toward her. He looked up from the picture to see the dreamy expression on his face as he studied the sketch. Quatre cautiously handed the sketch back, nodding.

"Castok wanted me to make sure that you got your work done," he said.

"Oh! Oh, yes, of course. Thank you for reminding me!" Go said, throwing the sketch aside and gathering up his notebook and a side disk. After fumbling with it for a few moments, he went to work, leaving Quatre to his own devices. Quatre took out his things, fiddling with the notebook and the programs he'd uploaded earlier. He started to work on his homework when he realized that he was being watched, so he looked up, frowning. He couldn't find the person that was watching him, so he set his things aside and rested his elbows on the table, thinking about basketball.

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

That night, before dinner, he changed in a pair of basketball shorts and a light, Nike Dri-fit sleeveless top, and took out his old basketball from his gym bag under his bed. Even if he couldn't play with the others, he could shoot a few while they were down on the other end of the court. Excitedly shoving his feet into shower slippers, slinging his brand-new basketball shoes over his shoulder, of which he used only when he was on the court, he hurried out the door, then raced toward the gym. Once he reached it, seeing that it was nearly empty except for a few guys that were shooting idly at the opposite end, he changed from his slippers to his basketball shoes, and emerged onto the court, dribbling lightly.

He'd missed this-it had only been a few days since he'd touched a basketball and had handled one, but it had felt like eons since he had. The feel of the basketball made his hands tingle as he walked toward the other basket and began shooting on his own. After making five three points from the left side line, he shifted position to the right and made five more. Seeing the opportunity to work on his jump shots, he went through the familiar motions of dribbling between his legs, switching abruptly from hand to hand as he shot, alternating both hands to keep them in shape. After he made ten shots, he switched to the other side and continued with his drill.

After awhile, the others approached him, amid Hiiro's annoyed glare.

"Three on three," he said roughly, frowning at Quatre with enough power to make Quatre wary. "You, Travis and William against me, Hautta and Duo."

Quatre blinked, wondering when those two had come in, figuring that they had while he was running through his drills. Both said teens were standing with unamused stares behind Hiiro, and Quatre looked at Duo in confusion, wondering why he wouldn't bother with Felicia while he was playing willingly two other minorities. Duo glared at him, bangs kept from his face by the use of black Nike headband, the other youth looking bored as he spat on the floor and drew his shoes through the moisture to test the keeping strength of the tread on his shoes.

"Fine," Quatre said, eager to play despite his confusion.

Travis and William guffawed over their choice of who to take first, Hiiro making it clear that his team was taking over the far end of the court while Quatre's team had the one nearest.

"Heads or tails, Hiiro?" a girl shouted, drawing Quatre's attention. It was the same girls from last night, clustered on the bottom step of the bleachers, ready to cheer.

"Tails."

William snorted. "Hey? We skins? Or tops?"

"Leave your shirts on," Hautta growled. "Must stare at other guys to turn you on?"

"Bite me, you-"

"Dude, he'll seriously bite you if you say that," Duo chuckled as Hiiro and Quatre waited for the girls to determine who took the ball out first.

"Sorry, Hiiro. Heads it is!" the girl sang out, her light blue eyes lighting up merrily as she resumed her seat. Hiiro grunted and dropped the game ball in Quatre's general direction.

"We play to ten," he growled.

Quatre took the ball, seeing that the teams were setting up in full court mode, rather than half. He shrugged and stepped outside the boundary, then watched as William managed to get free of Duo. He tossed the ball in his direction, and then sprinted past Hiiro, seeing that William handled the ball confidently enough to take on Hautta's quick defensive movements. William then found himself trapped near the sidelines as Duo quickly abandoned his cover on Travis to help Hautta trap the teen. Quatre signaled that he was free, and ran toward the ball as Hiiro jumped onto his defense. Quatre caught the ball with one hand, pivoted around Hiiro, then dribbled behind William, using him as a shield against Duo and shot an easy three from the bottom corner of the three-point line.

"Three!" one of the girls cheered. "C'mon, Hiiro! Score some points for mama!"

Hiiro took the ball, passing it into Hautta, who returned the ball as they moved toward the other end of the court. Quatre kept an eye on his other two opponents as he kept a defensive crouch before Hiiro, instinct telling him that the Japanese teen was moving to his left even as the ball moved toward his right. With a calculated swing of his arm, Quatre prevented the bounce pass that was meant to slip between his legs, and took off in a sprint toward the basket, Hiiro right on his heel. He faked an upward shot, Hiiro sailing past, and made an easy two.

"Five!"

Hiiro was scowling at him now as he took confident position in front of Hiiro, waving his arms about to distract Hiiro's line of vision. Hiiro moved to fake a pass at Duo, but Quatre saw the quick flick of his cobalt blue eyes that told him Hautta was in position and ready. With the palm of his hand, Quatre slapped the ball towards Travis, who snatched it up with a yell, and began to move away from the advancing Duo. Quatre and Hiiro engaged in a struggle to take up position beneath the basket, elbows jabbing and hips pushing. Travis managed an overhand pass to William, who pivoted right to fake Hautta, then gave a dangerous pass in Quatre's direction. Quatre caught the ball within both hands, Hiiro right on his back with a restraining hand on his shoulder and body poised to block his shot, and quickly passed it to Travis, who was now wide-open. Duo realized his mistake and tried to back up to prevent the shot, leaping upward to try and stop the ball that swished its way through the net despite his efforts.

"Seven!!"

"Quit fucking around!" Hiiro barked at his teammates as he directed Hautta into taking the ball out. "Man up!"

Quatre noted Hiiro's obvious discomfort at the score, and took up position at the half court line to allow him some space. Travis and William set up position behind him, snickering as the two Asians and American began making their way down the court. Hiiro muttered something that the other three couldn't hear. Quatre took quick note that Hautta was moving wide out to the right side, with Duo moving to slice through William and Travis at the free throw line.

"Travis, William, switch men," Quatre directed. "Take Hiiro, Travis."

"Like you're gonna stop us," Duo snorted as he pushed at William. Quatre ignored him and took a quick step toward Hautta, who pivoted around him and moved through an open space between the two doubles that were struggling against their opponents. Hautta was quick, Quatre noted with grief as Hiiro passed the ball with trouble, the ball catching Hautta's shoe and bouncing with a wild shot in the opposite direction. Both teens lunged after the ball, both throwing their bodies at the runaway sphere with relative grunts. Both slammed hard onto the wooden floor, Quatre using Hautta's body as a sort of pushing point that he used to push himself further to the ball, outstretched fingers catching the spin and relieved palms pulling the ball to him. He rose to his feet, dribbling at the same time and catching William open. He hurtled the ball in his direction, William just barely catching it with a surprised oomf!

Quatre used himself as a shield against Duo as William pivoted and ran to the net, Duo whirling with a start and slamming off of Quatre's set shield. "Fuck!" Duo roared as he fell to the floor, William scoring another two points.

"NINE! Hiiro, if you lose, you owe me a kiss!!" One of the girls screamed.

"What the hell's wrong with you two?!" Hiiro barked at them.

"Eh, shut the fuck up," Duo muttered.

Quatre fiddled with the tie on his shorts, watching with a smirk as Hiiro ran his hands through his already messy hair, pining the blonde with hideous deathglare. Quatre tugged at the hem of his shorts, then set up position at half-court. Travis and William were commenting on how easy it was to win the game, Hautta taking over Hiiro's abandoned post and taking the ball down the court. Quatre glanced to see that Hiiro and Duo were taking up positions against William and Travis, and he noted the quick glances being made to guide Hautta against Quatre. Quatre set his attention on the scowling teen, holding one arm out to the side, the other at a seven o-clock angle to his body. Hautta glared at him, Quatre watching closely for the move the other was going to make. Hautta suddenly stopped dribbling, waiting for Quatre to attack. Fortunately the blond knew the setup and kept his position, listening to the others battle it out behind him. He kept his eyes on Hautta, waiting for the other to make his move. Hautta's eyes flickered briefly to his left, and Quatre moved the same time he did, pressing in close to keep Hautta from advancing to his left, forcing him shield the ball with his body and lose his sight of the others. Hautta growled as Quatre plastered his body against Hautta's, using his height to stay in Hautta's face. Because Hautta hadn't any where to go, Quatre lunged almost desperately to slap his hand against the ball, allowing Hautta to dribble once more, searching for a way out.

Quatre gave a couple of reaches toward the ball's direction, one hand set firmly on Hautta's back. When Hautta straightened, keeping the ball out of Quatre's reach, the blond kept his position, arms out and ears focused on the activity behind him. It seemed that Duo and Hiiro had managed to lose their opponents, Hiiro giving a sharp whistle to indicate his freedom. Hautta nodded and whirled around, Quatre moving with him, hand on his opponent's hip as the ball switched with manipulation to the hand furthest from Quatre.

Quatre kept up his attack, noting that Duo had made his way near the half court line and was momentarily free, while Hiiro gave another sharp whistle. Suddenly Quatre smelled sweat and body odor, Hautta pivoting suddenly to his right. Quatre knew that Hiiro was against him, and instead of pivoting around him, he dropped to his ass on the court, skirted under Hiiro between his legs, and shot to his feet, keeping pace with Hautta the entire time. The teen was surprised, about to shoot a three when Quatre got into his face once more. Hautta let out an enraged yell as he was forced to protect the ball once more, Hiiro and Duo covered once again.

"C'MON!!!" Hiiro screamed.

Hautta used his elbow to push Quatre aside, but the move didn't hinder Quatre a bit-it only made him more determined, side-stepping with Hautta and keeping his arms up and waving about, making it impossible for the teen to shoot. Seeing as he'd already stopped dribbling, Hautta was forced to stand in one spot, shouting for help.

Quatre then reached out, one leg set ahead of Hautta's, the other bracing him as he pressed close to Hautta, crowding him with his presence. One hand he set on Hautta's back, the other waving wildly as Hautta looked for a place to pass. A sharp whistle to his left caused Hautta to pass quickly, Hiiro reaching for the ball. Quatre turned, and leapt at the flying ball, managing to use the tips of his fingers to nudge it out of its current flight path, knocking it from Hiiro's range and into Travis's. Travis picked the ball up and lightly tossed it down the court, making it a free ball and a dangerously forced move. Quatre steadied himself from the leap, then moved into a sprint that caught Hiiro by surprise. The two raced for the rolling ball, Quatre determined to catch it. He threw himself ahead of Hiiro, his fingernails scraping against the rubber, pulling it toward him as Hiiro caught his footing, forcing himself to stop in mid-sprint. Quatre picked up the ball, shot to his feet and shot a wild three. The ball bounced straight off the rim, the two taller teens racing to rebound while their opponents crowded them. William caught the ball and bounce-passed it to Quatre, who had slipped past Hiiro, using Hautta as a shield. Quatre found Travis open near the three point line, and hurled it at him instead of taking the wide open two-pointer.

Travis caught the ball with ease and sunk the ball with even less trouble.

"WOOO!!! Twelve points!! Guess who lost?!"

"All right! Man, that was fuckin' awesome!" William exclaimed, slapping Travis across the back and high fiving Quatre. "You're fuckin' awesome, man! Where'd you come from?!"

"Bumfuck, USA," Quatre chuckled, wiping the sweat from his face, enormously pleased with himself.

"I like that place. Let's play again!"

"Fuck that shit. I have homework," Hiiro muttered, angrily picking up the ball and stomping off court, a couple of girls following. It was obvious he didn't take to Quatre's talent too well.

"Same here," Duo muttered as he followed, jerking the sweatband from his head and angrily shoving his hair from his face. As he stomped away from the court, a girl with dark hair followed after him, laughing maniacally about his lack of skill.

"Man...we knew they were sore losers, huh, Travis?"

"Good game," Hautta said, surprising Quatre with his obvious acceptance of the way of the game. He turned to Quatre, reaching out to shake Quatre's hand. For once, he didn't look like the homicidal maniac that Castok said he was, looking like a normal teen who accepted the loss. After shaking his hand with a grip that threatened to break every single bone in Quatre's hand, Hautta walked off the court with his basketball shoes tossed over his shoulders, scaring several people that were walking in. After they'd scattered and re-organized near the bleachers, William and Travis returned to the court to play a round of "H-O-R-S-E."

Quatre didn't want to participate, taking comfort in the empty rim on the other end, and began shooting through his drills once more. He felt that same relief that he'd always felt whenever he had the ball in his hands, the way it tickled his palms and fingers as he released the shot. He felt that same pang he'd always had when the net made that familiar "sshlpt!" sound it always made when the ball fell through. And dribbling with his left, he felt that familiar love that he'd always felt whenever the ball returned to him after a brief affair with the wooden court. Basketball was pure and simple, strong and merciless at the same time. It tended to cause one to forgive and forget, to take revenge and hold a grudge at the same time. Basketball was simple in terms and rules, but the way it was played-that was something entirely different. When it was played, when players that knew their teammates' as well as they knew themselves and played as if they were all from the same limb, basketball became a beautiful drama that unfolded before the spectator's eyes. Sometimes it didn't matter whether one won or lost-it was how one played that determined the game.

At least, that's how it was with Quatre. He played every game as if it were his last, simply because he'd learned early on that one mustn't take their days for granted, for one never knew when it would be taken from them, and therefore, he played every game with every bit of passion, love, hate and determination that he had for the sport. Some people told him he was crazy, that he was possessed-he didn't care. Let them have their thoughts. He was sure they had their own love and obsessions, and he was content with his. With basketball, he could lose himself to each and every game, enjoy the feel and rush that it gave him whenever the score was tied and there were only a few seconds left with no more overtime. Basketball, while it could make or break a person, was always there to hold him even if there was no other in his life. Basketball, while finicky and manic, was trustworthy and never strayed. Basketball would always be there for him despite the times when it made him break down and when it refused to offer him comfort in the way of a winning game...basketball, no matter where he was and whom he was with, would always be there...Basketball was more forgiving than the human race was, that was for sure.

Frowning as his thoughts began taking a turn he didn't want to venture on, he focused on the way he shot the ball-his right hand braced against the ball, fingers curling over the orange rubber, his left hand holding it only to release it at a point that would allow the ball to sail through the air, returning to the net as if returning to a long lost lover...Sighing with content that he had returned to an old friend that would never fail him, no matter what his orientation, gender, race, political standing or status may be, he continued to practice his shots until the manager announced that he was closing the gym for the night, and it was then Quatre realized that he'd missed dinner once again.

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

The next morning class he had the next day, Anatomy & Physiology, was crammed full of students that were looking forward to a field trip later that week. The teacher was busy signing off completed notebooks from a previous project, and took time before class to introduce him to the subject matter that was currently being discussed this quarter. After Quatre was familiar with the set and had taken notes on what he'd need for his class project, he took a seat near the back, for there wasn't any computer stations here-rather, holograms were projected in the middle of each table, and the current hologram today was that of a dissected cat. It appeared that the project had been worked for some time, for the holographic picture displayed the careful separation of skin and fur from body, and various areas were exhibited in a colorful presentation. Quatre introduced himself to the students that were seated at the table, and found that he was going to be snubbed in this class as well when they didn't bother responding.

Sighing, figuring for a very long day, Quatre rested an elbow on the tabletop, chin in palm, and thought about basketball.

After that class was the breakfast period, and Quatre was grateful for that. After standing in line at a food cart and buying a can of Coke and a cardboard box holding a few rolls of bread and cheese sauce, Quatre found a seat near the courtyard entrance doors, the table empty. He found the food and Coke to be of pleasant combination and finished with the licking of his fingers. He'd just finished his Coke and was preparing to leave to find his next classroom when someone pulled up the chair to his side.

Quatre set the Coke can aside, blinking in surprise at the teen that he'd seen yesterday with Go in study hall. His hair hung loosely on his left side, effectively obscuring the left half of his face, but revealing the intense expression on the aristocratic features. Up close, Quatre could see the faint ring of gold around the teen's irises, an intriguing combination that made one more curious to explore those green circles. He was dressed in the same way as yesterday, except for the long sleeve shirt that was rolled up his forearms, and while the tie was blue, it displayed a painting of a woman in a state of undress, her breasts nearly covered by her hair and strategically placed around her privates.

The teen stared at him for several long moments, never taking his eyes off Quatre's face. And when nothing emerged from either's mouth, Quatre found himself fidgeting nervously, unsure of what to say or do as the teen stared at him with an intense concentration. Quatre felt his cheeks begin to warm, a blush rising in place as silence continued and neither spoke.

Well aware that someone could be seeing this, suspecting what he wanted to hide, Quatre fiddled with his tie and then sputtered, "What are you doing?!"

The teen held up a finger to quiet him, Quatre staring at that single index finger, noting that the pads were grey from pencil and that the fingernail was protruding further than a man should be granted with. His fingernails were still black, chipped at the ends, but contrasting sharply with the color of his skin and the uniform that he wore.

Finally, when the breakfast period bell rang, signaling class was to start, the teen smiled, revealing straight, white teeth, the top lip curling slightly inwards to reveal a small lining of pink gums. It wasn't the most perfect smile in the world, but one that made you think of a bully or tormentor and put you on edge. It certainly put Quatre on edge when the teen shifted his expression from his face to his eyes, pining him place with one of the most intent gazes he'd ever seen.

"Fourteen," the teen said in a rich drawl, taking Quatre to places such as France, or Spain, or Germany. It was accented in a way that he couldn't place, familiar one second and foreign the next.

Before Quatre could ask what he meant by that, the teen rose from his chair and strode off, hair bouncing in place. Quatre reached up and touched his face, wondering out loud, "Was he counting my pimples?"

His next class he spent fifty minutes of explaining to the teacher that he hadn't touched the violin in years and that he wasn't fit to sing, so he ended up sitting in one of the empty chairs nearby while the instructor sent away for an extra violin and bow and had the others warming up for session. Of course, free of charge due to Quatre's father having the right influence one needed to attend the school. Quatre wasn't at all impressed-it had been so long that he doubted he would even know how to play anymore. He supposed that it would be all right-he was a fast learner, he would just relearn quickly.

As he sat there, admiring the tune that was currently being rehearsed in time for an upcoming drama production slated for appearance within the next four weeks, he realized that Changs were within the musical ensemble, with Wufei playing on one of the three cellos and Meiran on the harp. Both of them had intense expressions on their face as they created the essence of the music. Lost in the flowing sounds of both voices and strings, Quatre began thinking about the basketball try-outs. For as long as he could remember, he'd always been on the all-star team. His skills were quite impressive, and many recruited him for those skills. He wasn't the champion MVP that racked up the points with every two- and three-pointer in every game-he was the one responsible for getting the ball to those players and for leading the team into battle. He loved his position and he loved the sport in general.

But even as he'd been assured a position on the team, it didn't mean that he was automatically on the varsity team- but playing for junior varsity was an insult to both his ego and his skills. There were good players, and even if he were one of them, it didn't automatically mean he'd make the top ten. He wanted to shoot for that by proving it on the court in front of the coach and his minions, and to his future teammates. He wanted to prove that he was one of the best by physically demonstrating his skill. Just because the coach and his assistant saw the vid-diary and conferred with his old coaches didn't mean shit. Quatre Winner had to prove his worth by demonstrating, and that's what he planned to do. He didn't have problems with showing off-he didn't consider it showing off, of course, but that's what many thought when they watched him play. One old timer had even stopped by his house after a particularly grueling game his freshmen year in Laramie and lectured him on ball-hogging and 'showing off'. Though embarrassed that he was receiving such a lecture, he was annoyed that the man, who hadn't played basketball in his life, would stoop that low when he himself had been playing since he was five years old.

But he wondered how the students here would take to his age and his skill when there were obviously more skilled players before him. The seniors and juniors, of course, would be insulted that a sophomore was moving onto their turf. Never mind a person that conferred with minorities and wore Spurs jerseys on Sunfire territory. He just hoped that none would take it too badly...

After class, seeing that he still couldn't approach the Changs due to Meiran's mean scowls and Wufei's indifference, Quatre began walking the hall to his next class. Along the way, he saw the signs for the try-outs slated for three weeks from now and felt that familiar race of excitement that he'd felt whenever his passion and joy came into sight. He couldn't wait.

His next class, English Honors, was another dull event that he could have lived without. But he was lucky enough to have Castok James, Hiiro, and that Bellows character that was currently providing entertainment for the others. While he did an impromptu stand-up comedic performance involving cops and security rentals, everyone booed and threw paper at him, Castok shaking his head while Hiiro ignored him. Quatre took a seat with Castok and got to know the friendly giant even more. He was surprised to learn that while Bellows had failing grades and was thisclose to failing another year, he excelled in Honors programs. Quatre didn't mind the loudmouth Native American, though, finding his conspiracy theories and run-of-the-mouth impromptu rather entertaining. Castok advised in not encouraging him, and Bellows finally was silenced when Hiiro threatened him with an ominous threat in a language that Quatre didn't understand.

After that class period ended, he walked off to lunch, wondering what he was going to eat today. He thought about Hiiro, who pointedly ignored him and refused to look in his direction. Quatre figured that it was only shattered pride that kept the Japanese from acknowledging him. He shrugged as he ventured into the cafeteria. That's was just one of the things about basketball-it either loved you or made you suffer. After picking up a tray and picking out a can of Coke, a bottle of water and a small side of fries, Quatre went into a search for the others. He found them sitting outside in the same spot, so he ventured over that way. Before he could reach the doors through, someone grabbed his arm and almost caused him to drop his tray.

Felicia grinned maniacally at him as she gestured in another direction, leading him even as he protested. "C'mon, I found you a friend," she said, leading him through an empty hallway and through an emergency exit.

"Where are you taking me?" Quatre protested as he looked at the Do Not Enter signs of a double doorway they were entering just outside the emergency exit. She pulled him up five stories of stairway, and when they got to the top, she shoved him through the single door that banged outward onto what looked to be the roof of the school, the sun blinding him for several moments.

"Hey, you," he heard Felicia greet someone cheerfully as she continued to tug at Quatre's arm, pulling him across the roof. For a second he thought she was going to push him off the roof, but she forced him to a stop. He uncovered his eyes, blinking away his momentary blindness and looked down to see that banged teen sitting there against the railing, looking up at Felicia in surprise. "I brought you him for exchange of your favors..."

Quatre and the teen stared at each other, each blinking in surprise, then while Quatre's face began to flame in realization of what was happening, the teen looked at Felicia with a bored expression, prompting a release to his surprise.

"What do you want?"

"A complete project done on shadowing...Art II," Felicia said, and Quatre felt mortified that they were negotiating such terms, but as it were, he couldn't move to stomp off in fury. She withdrew a piece of paper from her back pocket and held it out.

"Fine. Where are you going?" the teen asked, taking the paper and attempting to read the scrawl.

"Off-planet for a couple of weeks. Do you know anyone who's good in Algebra?"

"Try Jamie, second period. Third desk from the back. She's easily intimidated."

Felicia dropped Quatre's arm and patted him with a cheesy smile. "Sorry, bud," she said, skipping off toward the doorway and slamming it shut. Quatre was mortified beyond belief, and closed his eyes briefly to regain his sense of balance. Then, when he opened them, the banged one was patting a space at his side. Quatre wasn't sure if he wanted to play this game, remembering what happened in Laramie, but after a quick reassuring glance around to see that no one could see them, he cautiously took a seat opposite the banged one. As he settled down, he saw that the teen had returned to his lunch, which consisted of chow mein bread and a helping of coleslaw.

"Um...."

"My name's Trowa Barton," the teen said, not even bothering to reach out and shake his hand.

"Uh...Quatre-"

"I know yours."

"Listen, I just want to make it clear," Quatre said with a sigh, making a log-house out of his fries. "That I am not interested in anything with you-or with anybody. I just...I just came here to play basketball and attend classes. I'm not interested in dating or anything. It's not to be mean with you-"

"Who said anything about dating? Can't someone get to know you on friendly terms?" Trowa interrupted him.

Quatre frowned at him, feeling his cheeks heat. Trowa was right-but Quatre knew that Trowa felt more than 'friendship' toward him, as brief as their acquaintance was. He paid attention to his log-cabin, and felt it important to pour some of his Coke contents onto it.

"Really, it's nothing more than that..." Trowa trailed off as he picked up a scoopful of coleslaw with his spork, then rising to lean against the railing. Quatre watched him with a detached curiosity, sensing that there was more to the sentence than Trowa let on. He wondered why the teen would be interested in him in the first place-first off, they were from completely different cliques, what with Trowa's obviously being the 'tortured goth' artist and with Quatre's interest in basketball, and it seemed as if they would have nothing in common. He didn't know the teen, and he felt uncomfortable around him because he knew what his intentions were, but...but there was some odd sort of comfort in knowing that Trowa wasn't like everyone else in the school.

Trowa resumed his seat, a slight smirk on his face as a piercing shriek rent the air, followed by unladylike curses. Quatre realized that the spork was empty and wondered if he would somehow be blamed. But then he calmed slightly when he heard the girl shriek about 'Goddamn birds!' and figured that he was okay. Trowa looked at him, waiting and assessing, his visible eye studying him with that same intent stare that he'd used earlier. Quatre shifted uncomfortably, wondering whether he should run away from here.

"So what exactly is your father rich for?" Trowa finally asked, shifting his unnerving stare to the remains of his chow mein bread.

Quatre wondered if he'd want to divulge that sort of information, shifted so that his legs were lightly crossed in front of him, and picked at his Coke drenched fry cabin. After doing so, he realized he hadn't eaten any of it, and tried to rescue some dry fries. "Oil. He owns about ninety percent of it in Saudia Arabia, and he has...some property in outer space. We may not use a lot of oil here on Earth, but there are many planets that do, so...he sells to them, mostly."

"Just you?"

"Huh?"

"You have any siblings?"

"Uh...yeah. Um, but I was on my own. I don't keep in contact with my father that much...I lived in Laramie all my life with my uncle Rashid and his family because I didn't want to deal with what my father has...um...but I have twenty-nine sisters...test tube. We all were."

"Where's your mom?"

"She died when I was very young."

"What's your favorite kind of music?"

Quatre blinked at the sudden shift of subject, looking away from his creation to the other, who was finishing off the bread. "I don't...have any favorites. I just...I really don't listen to music."

"What's your favorite color?"

"Uh...I'd have to say....blue? Any and all shades, I suppose...."

"Your favorite movie?"

"Erm...I don't....Well, I really enjoyed the Lord of the Rings trilogy...and the Harry Potter series... but I'd guess that my favorite movie was 'Reservoir Dogs'...I really like Quentin Tarantino..."

"Your favorite book?"

"Er..None. I don't really read books."

"All right...favorite foods?"

"I really like Turkey Stew, and rabbit stew, and-my uncle was married to an American Indian-"

"They don't like that. Don't call them that. Drake would throw a fit if he heard you mention that about them," Trowa interrupted him. Quatre blinked, then nodded.

"Anyway, she made a lot of stews, and I really liked it. I think I'm going to miss her cooking..."

"Favorite team?"

"Spurs."

"Shampoo?"

"Uh...I use...that's an odd question..."

"Getting too personal?"

"Yes."

"Fair enough."

Quatre blinked a few times, then scowled at him. Before he could say anything more, the bell rang, startling him. Trowa gathered his things, Quatre doing the same.

"Um, just to make it clear, I really am not interested in dating or anything," Quatre stammered once more, much to the amusement of Trowa.

"Really, Quatre, it isn't what you think," he said as he led the way to the doors. "Now, c'mon, we've got a couple of minutes to make it to the bottom before the sensors come back on."

"The-what?" Quatre asked as they began to run down the stairs, a sense of panic flooding h is senses. "The what?!"

Trowa didn't answer, just continued to make his way post-haste down to the door, where they emerged just as the doors swung shut, and a tiny red light above them flickered back to life. Quatre stared up at the light, wondering how he'd missed it before. When he turned around, Trowa was setting his tray against the wall and abandoning it, so Quatre did the same and hurried to catch up with him.

"What was that about?" he asked, faintly out of breath.

Trowa looked at him curiously, not speaking as he brushed that fall of hair from his face, revealing the other half. Quatre was quite stunned to see that despite his reluctance in his orientation, he felt that Trowa was absolutely handsome. After they'd re-entered the building, Trowa answered.

"This entire school's filled with sensors and security measures. Every room's equipped with sensors that depict both the weight of those inside, the body heat, and the registered tags that each student has on them, which is this," Trowa said, tapping a finger against Quatre's blazer. "Your clothing has a bunch of sensors that allows the security guys to find you and track you throughout campus. It's a security-thing-this is a private academy filled with rich kids and kids from outer space, and terrorists plot all the time to kidnap a couple. But this place is so finely guarded that no one can actually do it. That's why so many people feel really safe here.

"But anyway, the roof is equipped with a bunch of weight sensors that can track how many people are up there because there aren't any cameras or heat sensors. Our clothing would tell them otherwise, but then we'd be in trouble because you aren't supposed to be up there. But I know someone that can bypass all that to allow me up there."

"Someone can...hack those security measures? But that's-that's defeating the point!"

"Sometimes you feel entirely smothered here, Quatre. Anyway, see ya."

Quatre watched as Trowa walked off, leaving him to his own musings. When the late bell rang, Quatre snapped back to life and hurried off to find his next classroom.

When he arrived, he saw that Duo Maxwell was there, as well as one of the kids that had pushed him yesterday . They stared at him as he found a seat near the back, and then began talking loudly about being a sympathetic supporter of coloreds and what he had to do to get into favor with them. His face flushing with both embarrassment at the harassment of his character and with the anger he felt towards his new friends' well being, Quatre ducked his head and tried to tune them out. He picked at the loose rubber for the keyboard support and vaguely listened to teacher lecture.

He'd thought that the racial tension in Wyoming was bad, but this was even worse! He'd thought that the big city with all its open minds and wide-open issues concerning both alien and human rights made this a more tolerant society. But he was wrong. Now that he actually thought about it, Wufei's words of the student body being ninety percent Caucasian was very true-the minorities were the only ones he'd communicated with so far, and they were guarded, cautious and unwilling to open up to him. He thought it was an unfortunate thing as many of them were pretty interesting and just as human as the others...

He'd just resumed paying attention to the lecture when someone tapped his shoulder. He looked over to see a girl leaning in his direction, her face square-shaped and framed with slight blond curls, her wide brown eyes heavily mascared and lined with bright blue color. She had troubles with her skin, as indicated by the red pimples over her forehead, but she was pretty. She held onto his arm as she asked him for a piece of gum. When he replied that he didn't have any, she smiled and resumed her seat, whispering to her friend. Quatre watched as they shifted seats, revealing a very beautiful girl who looked to be at least thirty pounds overweight, her alabaster skin nearly matching the white of her shirt. She had very long white blond hair that was delicately curled at the ends, the sides pinned away from her face with expensive Chanel clips that glittered underneath the lights of the room.

Her face reminded him of a cherub, with large blue eyes that were heavily fringed with colored lashes, her white eyebrows delicately curved over her eyes, her dainty nose puggish in a way that made her seem cutesy, her pink, plump lips shining with a slick of gloss. She was beautiful in a way that made one stare in absolute rapture, her actions and movements demure and lady-like. She smelled of musk and blossoms, the scent enveloping him as she tossed her thick hair over her shoulder.

"Hi," she whispered in a throaty purr that made his stomach clench. It instantly brought him to dark places faintly bathed with moonlight, of comfortable beds and sweaty skin, and he couldn't believe that he was thinking such things when he knew what he was, and turned away with a blush. "What's your name?"

Quatre found himself unable to speak, his throat thick with embarrassed emotion. He cleared it, then introduced himself. He found his hand clasped in soft, cool velvet, her hands briefly caressing his knuckles and palm. It gave him a jolt to realize what that made him feel and he pulled his hand away. The girl turned to face him, her charm thick and oozing like her perfume-it seemed to evade his senses, dampen his self-control, to puddle like jelly at her feet. Resisting the urge to smile goofily and allow himself to feel her hands on his knee as she pressed against him, Quatre found himself leaning away from her, trying to distance himself from her.

"My name's Perfect Rose Cindy," she continued in that throaty purr, her lips forming each word with enunciated precision, evoking erotic images of what she would do with that mouth. Face flushing even more, he leaned further away from her as she continued leaning in, smiling. "You may call me either or. It doesn't matter...I haven't seen you before...where do you come from?"

"Uh...W-Wyoming..."

"'Wyoming'?!" she exclaimed in a normal screech, straightening away from him with a disgusted start, and at this, he fell off his chair, causing everyone to look back at them with curious interest.

Mortified once again today, Quatre quickly rose from the floor and sat back down with a sheepish expression as the teacher glared at him and people began to giggle. His face turned even redder with the unwanted attention and with the action, and he ducked behind his computer monitor, feeling as if he were going to explode from the rush of color on his fair skin. After everyone stopped giggling, the teacher began again, and Quatre sighed, wishing the floor would swallow him up, or for terrorists to attack, or for the class to end abruptly-whichever in order to get him out of here and away from that girl.

After class, having learned the direction to his Music and Comprehension Learning from the teacher, Quatre shuffled his way through a small corridor, bypassing a group of students that were milling about. A quick glance told him that they were a group of boys clustered around a couple of girls, both of whom were tittering loudly and flirting with no restraint. As he hitched the backpack up further against his shoulder blades, lightly scuffing the bottom of his shoes against the worn carpet, he wondered what his future held in store here at Sophia Darken. When he'd left Laramie, he left with a revelation that wasn't very welcome nor well received. True to his word, he had girlfriends back home, but they had been nothing but elementary school crushes that barely lasted a day. He wasn't so sure if he wanted to enter that confusing dating spree that many high schoolers lived for. He wasn't sure if he wanted to fall into a relationship that would take up most of his time and compromise his passion for basketball. Basketball came first-it would always be his one and only love, and thinking about it now, he curved his fingers and palm, just imagining the feel of the ball under his hand.

With a dreamy expression on his face, he imagined the touch of the basketball in his hand, the way the weight felt when he held the ball. Moving his fingers slightly, he imagined that he could feel the small spots of condensed rubber that dotted the basketball's skin. He could feel the telltale black lines that made the sphere universally recognized. He could hear the sound it would make against the carpet as he shuffled his way through the halls. Hands itching just for the touch and feel of the familiar object, Quatre hurried his steps toward the music wing of the school building, hoping that the day would fly by faster.

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

The next two weeks passed by with little trouble. He grew comfortable with the campus and with his classes, and made more friends. Try-outs were in two weeks, and as such, Quatre had fallen into a comfortable routine that involved a couple of miles at the track and some drills at the basketball court. It was obvious that tensions were arising due to the try-outs and the fact that many were looking at him with nervousness upon seeing him play with the others at night, and he'd received a fair share of threats from seniors and juniors alike that felt threatened from him. It wasn't anything new, he'd had his own share of threats from both parents and kids alike in Laramie, and he felt comforted by the amount of security that Sophia Darken was protected with.

He didn't care on what the others thought of him, focused on making the team and focused on his love for the sport. The days seemed to drag until then, and while he passed time by making up assignments that he'd missed because of his transfer and by falling into that familiar conditioning routine, each day just seemed to drag.

One night, a week before try-outs was slated to begin, Quatre was at the track during dinnertime, and he was jogging comfortably, sorting out things in his mind. New Park, while on the West Coast and incapable of weather below seventy degrees, had seemed to enter a rare cold phase that had stores stocking up on winter coats familiar to the East coast and the weather men were going crazy about announcing possible snow showers and colder temperatures. So tonight he was dressed in one of his old tournament won sweaters and a pair of track pants, his breath visible as he took to the track. He had on a pair of borrowed headphones, but he wasn't listening to the music; it was just there as background noise to drown out the sound of his feet hitting the spongy surface of the track. After completing a mile under seven minutes, he started on the next, thinking about the season ahead of him. The coach had met him personally last week, and Randy Ramos had promised him a spot on his varsity team, impressed with what he'd found out from his previous coaches.

Quatre wasn't a stranger to compliments and words of amazement, but had found himself flushing at what he was receiving from the coach. The coach was experienced with Darken's teams, and had captured at least three state titles in his six years here. He was amazed that a sophomore could do so much and had assured him that he would have equal playing time with his elder players.

Quatre wasn't worried that he wouldn't make the team, as he resolved to do his very best to show that during try-outs, but he wished that people wouldn't praise him when they hadn't seen for themselves what he could do.

As he finished his last lap, he removed his headphones, aware of the chill in the air. He blew into his hands, rubbing them together as he peered up at the sky, the stars invisible due to the light pollution that New Park was infamous for. He wished he was able to see a few here and there, but figured he was going to living in the city for a short time anyway, and the stars would still be there when he returned to Laramie for summer.

He walked away from the track, his breath visible as he made his way to the gym. He felt pretty good of himself, for he'd kept himself in considerable shape, and as he'd conditioned himself for the season, his muscular form had re-emerged, leaving him toned and fit. He didn't care too much about his appearance, but he'd noticed that both girls and boys were looking at him differently, and he was only self-conscious when they began flirting with him. Attitudes had changed only slightly while he was here, but the ones he really wanted to befriend weren't having any of it. Hiiro ignored him off the court, but interacted just fine with him on the court. Duo Maxwell still had problems with him, the Changs had opened up to him very slightly, but the others in his class kept their indifference toward him because of his continued interaction with the minorities. He'd learned to let those go, through, because it wasn't worth the time and effort to befriend everybody.

When he reached the doors, though, they swung outward to reveal Duo Maxwell and two others, all of whom paused when they caught sight of Quatre coming up the sidewalk. When he lifted his head to see who was coming out, he saw the three forms standing in front of the door, and recognized the stance they were using. He felt a faint flicker of fear as he recalled similar circumstances in Laramie, but he pushed them away as he came to a stop before them. Duo was at the center, with his friends at either side of him. Quatre looked at Jason Bleding and Solo Childs, judging their moods as Duo smirked at him. It looked as if they had just finished a game and were heading toward the cafeteria.

His hands on his hips,. Duo put a finger on one nostril and blew a snot rocket near Quatre's shoes, and repeated the action with his other nostril. Quatre felt grossed out, stepping back as he watched the three warily. He didn't like the looks on their faces, nor what he felt radiating from them. From the feel of it, they had lost an intense game and were looking for someone to take it out on. Quatre wondered if they would resort to violence and began to think of a way out of it. It wasn't that he was scared of them-it was just that he didn't want anything keeping him from playing basketball, and fighting on school grounds was enough to disqualify one for a team.

"So you think you're good enough to join varsity, huh?" Solo asked, the junior of the group. Quatre show him around vaguely, but other than that, he didn't bother with the sophomores. He played with the group only a few times, and that was enough to tell Quatre that he wasn't a very nice person. He stepped toward Quatre with a threatening air, blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. "You're just a sophomore hick from faggot-ass Laramie...you think you could do better than any of us?"

"Duo's a sophomore," Quatre pointed out quietly, his hands clenching nervously at his sides.

"He's proved himself time and time again that's he's worthy enough to join the team," Jason growled.

"You're nothing but a skinny, runt-bastard that came here on daddy's money," Duo spat. Quatre frowned, giving Duo a once over at the comment 'skinny, runt-bastard'. Duo was probably skinnier than he was, and an inch taller. "Your dad probably paid Ramos to get ya on the team."

"I-"

"Didn't he?! He paid Ramos, didn't he?!"

"No, he didn't. He's just paying for me to go to school here. I make my own impressions."

"Ramos is a fag, too," Solo chuckled. "This guy probably did a few favors to get this far."

"Faggot," Duo growled.

Quatre felt himself swallow hard as they started toward him, and he found himself backing up. Suddenly someone barged through the doors, shoving both Solo and Jason away from him as Duo looked back to see why his two friends were eating grass. He was shoved out of the way as well, and Quatre recognized Hautta's angered muttering as he stomped down the sidewalk and headed up to the school. Then, he paused, looked back, and shouted, "EXCUSE ME!", then continued stomping away. There were shouts of racial discontent following after him from inside the gym, and Quatre briefly thanked them for Hautta's untimely interruption of a conflict that shouldn't be happening.

Quatre chuckled nervously as the others picked themselves up, and before any more trouble could start, he turned and hurried off after Hautta. But he didn't follow the teen all the way toward the dormitory-he went as far as the cafeteria and bought himself a small dinner, seating himself near the kitchen counter. But he didn't eat, merely stared at the food in front of him and wondered why the three thought it pertinent to threaten him in such ways.

He picked at his food, not feeling hungry but it was necessary for him to eat in order to keep energized. But he'd bought a plate full of roasted chicken and mashed potatoes and he didn't want to waste it. Sighing heavily, he hung his head, feeling his shoulders slump as he went over that incident. The cafeteria wasn't even half full, with a group of students sitting at a table further away and conversing quietly amongst themselves. Quatre was nearest the entrance into the main hall of the school building, and there wasn't anyone around him, save for the lone kitchen worker behind the counter on his left.

He played with the bottle of water that he'd bought, swirling the water thoughtfully as he continued to stare at his food. Then there was the sound of a chair scraping against concrete, and he looked up with surprise to see Trowa sitting down opposite him, holding what looked to be a Snickers bar and a bottle of Pepsi.

"I thought you were playing with the others," he said in a way of greeting.

Quatre picked at his food, tonguing his cheek. "No."

Trowa unwrapped his Snickers bar halfway, and took a large bite, chewing slowly as he eyed Quatre with a bored stare. Quatre looked up from his plate, about ready to sigh again when he'd noticed that Trowa was dressed in baggy jeans and a hooded sweater, his face flushed with cold, as if he'd been sitting outside for awhile. He carried with him the scents of a recent cigarette and his cologne, Eternity for Men. It actually wasn't bad at all, considering how heavy it was.

"Are you prepared for tryouts?" Trowa asked in a slow drawl.

Quatre shrugged, idly slicing canyons through his mashed potatoes. "As much as I can be, I suppose."

"I heard most of the juniors and seniors are getting pissed because of you wanting to try out. But maybe it's because you're the new kid. Duo, Hiiro and Hautta are second years, but they don't get shit because they've already been established here. Hell, everyone's afraid of Hautta anyway, and Hiiro looks like he's going to pull a gun on you at any second. Duo is class social King-everyone knows him and has no trouble with him. But you...you come in all the way from Wyoming, from a no-where town, and every adult on the basketball force is praising you and including you in already mapped game plans...so of course people will have trouble with you."

"Thanks for that general summary," Quatre sighed, leaning on his palm as he idly stirred the potatoes, mixing it with the spices that were thickly coating the chicken breast.

"If you aren't going to eat that, let me."

Quatre pushed the plate toward him, and Trowa set aside his Snickers bar, digging in heartily. Quatre watched for a few moments, then leaned forward so that both arms were lying across the table, dropping his head so that it touched the surface. Listening to Trowa eat, he closed his eyes and shook his head from side to side. "You act like you haven't eaten in weeks," he complained, his voice muffled by the table.

"I'm saving my allowance," Trowa replied through a mouthful of food. "Measures had to be taken in order for my plans to be carried out."

Only slightly interested, Quatre looked up from the table, resting his chin on the surface.

"What sort of plans?"

"I plan on wooing somebody. Wooing nowadays concern a lot of money..."

Quatre snorted. "Man or woman?"

"Does it matter? I'm an artist-I find beauty in both genders..."

"What are you, anyway? Money or displaced?"

"Displaced. Orphan. I was transferred here from France. My sister's going to NPU. The orphanage decided that our education overseas was going to be the best for the both of us. As much as I am unprivileged, I wouldn't wish for money. Money makes people weird."

Quatre snorted again, watching the contents on the plate disappear with ease. "And here at first glance, I thought you were a heir of something or other. You have a really snobbish expression on your face most of the time."

"Good. I want people to think that. They already think I am one of them."

Quatre stared at the hands that were scooping unsalted food into a steadily chewing mouth. "Why do you paint your fingernails?"

Trowa shrugged. "Makes me different."

"You look like a...um...I don't know."

"Fag, huh?"

"...I wasn't going to say that."

"Yes, you were. It's all right. Any other person I'd have to hurt." Trowa lifted his visible brow. "Besides, you look like a fruit, too."

"NO I DON'T."

Trowa shrugged, pushing aside the plate, which had only a third of the contents left. "Thanks for dinner. I knew you would see it my way, one day."

Suspicious, Quatre straightened away from the table. "What...do you mean?"

Trowa merely smiled, and moved away from his chair. He grabbed his Snickers bar and Pepsi, bidding him a good night as he walked away. Quatre scowled, fists clenched as he went over Trowa's words. He had a very strong feeling that Trowa felt differently about him, and he wasn't sure what he was going to do. When a group of kids hurried into the cafeteria, groupies of the basketball scrimmages that happened nightly, he was reminded of the try-outs for next week, and promptly forgot about Trowa and his intentions and focused on his one true love.

Upon entering, he saw that the night security guard, Lowell, was busily rounding up everyone in the entertainment areas and shouting that curfew was coming up in ten. Quatre headed up the five flights of stairs to his room. Upon entering his room, he took off his sweater and worn jogging shoes, then picked up his toiletries, a change of clothes and a towel, heading out into the hall toward the bathroom. He figured that he may as well take a shower tonight and finish his homework tomorrow morning.

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

That morning in World History, where Quatre had been paired with Drake to complete a two page report on the effects of the South Korean War in 2030, the blue-haired Seminole remembered something and began digging into his pockets, cursing as he wiggled about on his chair. Quatre looked away from the screen where he had been doing the typing, and watched as Drake withdrew a smushed origami crane from the inside of his sock. He gave it to Quatre, who took it rather cautiously, holding it between two fingers as he stared at Drake in question.

"I was supposed to give that to you a week ago, and I kept forgetting," Drake said, grinning as he popped a Nicorette gum into his mouth. "Anyway, there ya go."

"What is it?" Quatre asked cautiously, staring at it. He rearranged its features as best as he could, and saw that writing covered it. Curious, he abandoned their project and carefully unfolded the intricately folded paper to see that it was a note.

"Dunno. Go gave it to me to pass to you. He couldn't remember who gave it to him in the first place, but I think he had it for a couple of days before giving it to me-eh. Anyways, it's there."

Quatre raised an eyebrow and finished unfolding it, revealing a badly written haiku: "White Blond Hair/ Eyes The Color of the Sky/ Pay no attention to them.."

Quatre was puzzled at the poem, never understanding haiku in the first place, but he wondered who gave this to him. As he wondered, he refolded it back into the crane with precise movements and slipped it into his pocket. Drake was talking about why the Koreans felt they needed to include Americans in their war and went on about the effects it had on the president then. Vaguely, Quatre tried to pay attention to his friend's theories, but lost his thoughts on who had sent him the slip of paper.

At lunch, after he'd gotten a meager share of bread and cheese and his favorite Coke, he headed out toward the food court, where he promised he would meet with Castok to help him with his economics report. He opened his coke and took a sip, relishing the taste as he put it down on his tray and carefully made his way towards the doors. As he entered, though, someone was just going through and they both bumped into each other. Quatre realized after a fleeting instant that it was Solo, and after Solo recognized him, upended his tray onto his chest. As Quatre felt the sauce soak into his blazer and shirt, the Coke coating his clothing as well, the tray clattered to the floor, bringing the attention of everyone in the food court. Solo chuckled and walked off as Quatre felt his entire body flush with embarrassment, his bread rolls smashed and falling to the floor after a brief stick to his shirt, the combined sauce and liquid soaking his clothes.

Ignoring the whispers and exclamations from those around him, he hurriedly crouched and picked up the trash, feeling the tips of his ears grow red with his mortification. After throwing the entire thing into the trashcan nearby, he turned and hurried out, walking briskly from the cafeteria and making his way toward the dormitory. Bright red with embarrassment, Quatre cursed Solo. He removed his blazer, waving it in the air, sauce flicking in all directions. Then he continued on his way to the dorm.

After changing, lunch period was over and so Quatre hurried straight to his next class, hearing his stomach rumbling with hunger as he did so. He was still embarrassed about that incident, but he didn't know what to do about it. He wasn't a fighter-he'd prefer to avoid conflict rather than jump right into it. Maybe that made him a sissy, but that was the way he was. He made it to his class on time, flustered and fixing his tie into place.

After classes were finished, Quatre slowly walked back to the dorms, dragging his bag behind him. He looked up at one point, sighing heavily, and blinked. He caught sight of that Trowa character talking to Hautta near the administrative section of the school, and as he watched, Trowa passed Hautta what looked to be a couple of money cards. Frowning, he wondered what was happening as Hautta took the cards, gave some sort of gruff answer, and walked off. Trowa went in the opposite direction, smoking a cigarette. Quatre wasn't sure what just happened, and felt that it wasn't important, so he continued his way to the dorms and slowly trudged his way up to his room.

When he got there, he input his code and then started to walk into his room. He immediately knew something was amiss when he looked up, the first clue being that it was a mess. He never left it a mess. Gasping, he saw that the entire room had been ransacked with his clothes thrown all over, his school programs broken, extra basketballs deflated, shoes missing, and other personal items either broken or missing. Leaning against the doorframe, he took this in wearily, then walked in all the way, dropping his things on the floor and flopping on the bed.

After a few minutes of moping, he propped his head up and surveyed the damage. "It's all a ploy to keep you from playing," he muttered to himself. He then buried his head into his pillow and repeated this over and over, and after an hour, felt better. The damage did bother him in that someone was able to get into his room and cause such trouble, but the fact that they felt so strongly against him playing amused him in a way that strengthened his spirits.

With a resolved smile, he rose from the bed and changed into his workout clothes, figuring he may as well as make it to dinner tonight, and so work out earlier. All of his basketball shoes were missing, so he made do with the ratty sneakers he used to jog. Most of his jerseys were laying in shredded ruins, and his workout clothes were in the same condition, so he made do with one of his undershirts and a pair of shorts that were lying underneath his bed.

He wouldn't go to security or the admin-to do so would let them win, would let them know that he was 'scared' of them. He wasn't-he knew their reasons, and while they could destroy his material possessions, they couldn't do anything to him. They were the ones scared of him because of his abilities and that put him on top.

As he was walking down the stairs, he passed Duo and Jason, who smirked at him with knowing smiles. Quatre just smiled back, including a wave that made Duo's left eye twitch, and continued his way down the stairs. Just as he reached the lower level, he saw Hautta talking to Felicia, who was carrying what looked to be an overnight back and looked to be returning from her two week stint, so Quatre decided to walk over and greet her. Felicia then accepted what looked to be two money cards, nodded, then turned to walk up the stairway.

"Yo, whitey!" she greeted him, her eyes rimmed black with exhaustion, her usually tanned skin deathly white, and her movements unsteady. Her smile looked strained.

"Are you all right?" he asked in a panic. "You look horrible! Are you sick?"

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. As Quatre studied her with his horrified expression, she had what looked to be the remnants of a black eye and her lower lip was in the final stages of healing from a split down the middle. "Tired. I just got back. Hey, see ya tomorrow, 'k? I'm going to hit the sack. By the way, you haven't seen Duo Maxwell, Jason Bleding, Solo Childs and Marty Hinbecker, didja?"

Eyebrows furrowing, Quatre told her where he'd last seen Jason and Duo, and with a nod, Felicia ascended the stairs with a happy cackle that made his neck hairs rise. Quatre walked away from the staircase to see Hautta watching them with bored interest, then finding himself snubbed when the Asian left without a word or expression directed at him. Sighing, wondering what that was all about, Quatre made his way out the building and went down to the track. Sometimes this school had too many odd students that made it hard for him to understand.