Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Forever, we'll be ❯ Prologue

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

She knew he was dangerous the very first day their eyes had met. She knew he was different, too. Different from the others, definitley, but how he differed she wasn't certain.There was no denying however, the connection they'd shared that first day in History class. It was a cold day--colder than the rest, she recalled. She had been shivering in her seat, buried in the massive baby blue sweater she'd worn to school. She was going over her notes before the test, her green eyes frantically trying to suck up a weeks worth of knowledge in just minutes. Mr. Sangster had said that it would be a difficult one, and Amber Hartley was determined to pass. A Sophomore at Weatherfield Collegiate, the sixteen year olds grades needed a lot of improvement. As opposed to the shy, quiet students that inhabited about thirty perecent of the school, she was more the sociable type of girl-- the one you'd see flirting with the boys and laughing with her friends at lunch, or examining her new manicure in a free period rather than catching up on over due homework assignments.

It wasn't that hard to figure out she was screwed. Especially when Mr. Sangster walked in and asessed the class with his narrowed, hawk-like eyes and cleared his throat. He was a miserable old man. This conclusion she had drawn the first time he'd given her a failing grade on an assignment; she had worked particularly hard on it too. He had simply shaken his head as he dropped the sheet of paper onto her binder, and continued distributing out the graded assignments. He was miserable, old, and lonely. That had to be why he was failing her. Not because she rarely took notes, or because she was more interesed in talking to that cute boy, Matthew was his name she thought, behind her.

The only reason that she had bothered to look up from her notes was when Mr. Sangster began to write on the black board. This drew several other students attention as well, because he never wrote on the blackboard. He always dictated, and excepted students to write down notes at the speed of light and be able to read the illegible scrawl afterwards. So when his bold, heavy print spelled out the name V I C T O R C R A F T , the entire class fell silent. It was the middle of the first semester--who would transfer so late? Ambers attention was easily swayed , and her notes forgotten, she fixed her eyes towards the door. Once Mr.Sangster was finished writing out the name, he placed the chalk on his desk and turned to face the class.

"As I'm sure you've all deduced," he began in his airy, bored tone of voice, "we've recieved a new student. His name is Victor Craft, and he is from England. Now as you may or may not know, English customs are different than our own American. I expect you to treat him with respect," the last word was sharp, and he glared at the students, "and to help him out if there should be something he needs. Is that understood?"

The students nodded, Amber among them, as Mr. Sangster turned towards the door. With his motion, another student stepped in. The entire room fell silent, and Amber found herself fixated on the boy who'd just entered the room. He was tall-- although everyone was tall to Amber,--and lean. His body was covered by a pair of fitted denim jeans and a loose, long sleeved black t-shirt. It contrasted sharply with his pale skin, which seemed to glow under the flourescent lights. As her eyes wandered upwards, she felt her pulse speed up. His jaw was masculine, set firmly as if he were trying to surpress a grimace. His lips were full, sensual even, but curled downwards in something of a cynical frown. His cheek bones were sharp and defined, and his hair fell around his face in a black, disheveled mop. But the most extrodinary thing she found about this boy was his eyes. He scanned the classroom, a look of disinterest written along his angular features, until his gaze fell onto her.

They were a pale, icey blue that rose goosebumps along her arms. Even under her sweater, she could feel her skin prickle as his eyes narrowed. She felt paralyzed as he contineud to stare at her, and unable to look away, she felt herself being drawn in... in to something. The connection was broken however when he tore his gaze away from hers, and addressed the class entirely.

"My name is Victor," he greeted, his voice flat. Amber found herself drawn in as he spoke, her eyes fixed on his lips. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip as he glanced around, and continued, his voice heavy with some sort of English accent. "I've just transfered here from Wiltshire, England. I don't know a lot about Americans, so if I get something wrong, let me know."

He shifted his weight, and Mr. Sangster motioned him to a seat at the back of the class. No, not just at the back of the class. The seat directly behind Amber. He seemed to realize this too, and although she thought he looked repulsed by the idea, he started down the aisle and towards his seat. She couldn't help but notice the easy way he walked; his pace was almost lazy, and as he passed her, her entire body tensed. It didn't relax until he had slid into the seat behind her, and even then, her skin thrummed with some unexplainable energy. She could feel his eyes on her; feel him watching her, and the urge to turn around and stare right back was a hard one to ignore. She managed though, and stumbled through the test (that Mr. Sangster had, unfortuantley remembered was scheduled) with small exasperated sighs and a few chewed fingernails. When the final bell rang, she was relieved and stood up quickly. Stepping between the rows of desks, she'd managed to forget that Victor had been there. She bumped into him--her slight frame thrown off balance, and she would have tumbled back had a pale hand not slipped out to wrap around her wrist.

His skin was cold. Ice cold, and his grip felt like iron. She gasped--but that wasn't why. Eyes widening, a sudden warmth swam up her nerves, and she felt light headed. Lids fluttering, she glanced up at Victor. His eyes were narrowed, but his lips were parted in surprise, and after a moment he yanked his hand back so fast she nearly fell again. Stalking past her without a word, he made his way to the door, and was out into the hall without so much as a glance backwards. Amber shakily sat back down at her desk and lifted up the sleeve of her sweater. There were no visible marks to be seen, but she could still feel it. And deep down, somewhere inside of her, she realized that he had felt whatever it was, too.