Bethalie sat in the front office of Wyckhaven High, waiting for the people darting around the space to stop darting around and tell her what she was supposed to do next. She was actually hoping and praying they would tell her there'd been a mistake, that she could go back to the Cuthbert's house and perhaps come back in another two weeks and try again. But, she knew that wasn't the way her luck ran.

As she huddled there in the corner of the glassed in office, she could see the throng of kids hurrying along the hallway, carrying their backpacks and books and laughing and goofing around with one another. They all looked like fairly normal kids. They were dressed like regular teenagers, though a bit on the preppy side. But, she usually looked like a reject from a hippie commune, so who was she to judge? And as she had expected, she couldn't pick out a Werewolf or Vampire among them, assuming the students roaming the halls were allowed to participate in those activities.

However, the students who noticed her were regarding her as if she was the one sporting fangs and unkempt facial hair. Several of them were pointing at her on their way by and a couple of very young looking girls with golden blonde hair came to a stop outside the glass wall and stared at her until an older man, obviously a teacher, came by and chased them away.

Bethalie was forced to let out a deep sigh as she tried to shrink even farther back into her corner. She really hated being the new girl. It was totally humiliating.

"Zandy, please come to the front office," a small, round woman with gray hair and thick glasses said into the microphone sitting on the countertop.

Hmmph. She would assume in a town filled with Witches and all manner of mystical creatures, they wouldn't have to use things like microphones and P.A. systems. She'd imagine there would be some nifty, magical way of projecting a person's voice. Maybe a bespelled pencil that a person would use to write out what they wanted to say and once the words were on the paper, they would simply waft up and away and become sound amplified, spreading through the entire building.

But, on second thought, the microphone accomplished the exact same thing with probably a lot less trouble. Geez. She'd spent too much time forcibly sequestered in her room, watching tween fantasy movies!

A few moments after the announcement, a tall, thin girl with long honey colored hair came through the office door. She was wearing faded jeans and an oversized, black button down shirt, belted at the waist with a wide, black leather belt, black suede ankle boots, and she was carrying a black leather purse that was large enough to comfortably conceal a toddler.

The girl looked at Bethalie for a frozen second before smiling stiffly and hurrying to the counter. She was a very pretty girl, with a heart shaped face, a perfect bow mouth, large brown eyes fringed by thick lashes, and two perfectly sculpted honey tinted brows. Altogether, the girl had the chic, stylish look of a character on one of those slick teen soap operas the kids at her prep school had been so obsessed with.

Looking at the girl made Bethalie feel rather...ghastly.

Bethalie Owens had never been known for her looks, that was for sure. She was skinny and pale and flat. Very flat. She truly had no curves at all, unless the curves in her hair counted. Her hair, which had a mind and thoughts of its own, was on certain days, the bane of her existence. It was also red. Not auburn or strawberry blonde or some lovely sounding color like that. It was just plain old red. And not only was it red, but it could be completely unruly. On most days, it looked like a big tangled bird's nest had been dropped right on top of her head and she simply hadn't bothered to swat it off. Really, it was tragic.

Aside from her tragic hair and plank-like figure, her skin was the color of the glue that kindergartners used to make craft projects and her face was covered in unsightly blemishes that some lucky, unmarred souls called freckles. She even had one on her lower lip, which absolutely no amount of lipstick could cover up. Her only saving grace, in her opinion, were her eyes. They were really quite stunning. They were large, probably too large for her face, and the color of the green foil Shamrocks that were plastered everywhere on St. Patrick's Day.

She certainly could never be accused of being a character on a slick teen soap opera, unless she was cast in a role as a pre-pubescent boy who was literally the red headed step-child of the bunch.

With a sudden burst of realization, it fell in on her that if all the kids at Wyckhaven High looked like the girl standing at the counter or the ones she'd seen staring at her from out in the hallway, she was doomed. She would never fit in. She was a red headed outcast covered in demonic blemishes who just happened to dress like a thrift store reject. Case in point, at the moment she was garbed in an ankle length, tie-dyed skirt in shades of blue and green, a black tank top, oversized forest green cardigan, and her favorite black boots that she'd had for years, all of which had actually been bought at a thrift store.

Preppy and cute she was not.

She could already see how it was going to go for her. She would never have a chance with the teen soap opera set. She'd have things thrown at her in the lunchroom and she'd be subjected to swirlies in the bathroom. She'd be taunted and teased and degraded. Her new life in Wyckhaven would become a living hell and she'd have to flee town under the cover of darkness just to save herself. So, she'd be living pretty much the same way she'd lived in Tad Somersby's house. Perfect.

"Zandy, this young lady is Bethalie Owens," the gray haired woman said, her raspy voice jarring Bethalie out of her dire thoughts. "She's on your schedule and we need you to show her the ropes. Make sure she's welcomed and treated kindly."

"Yes, ma'am," the girl answered, turning to give a weak half-smile to Bethalie. "I'll take care of her.

"Elder Wyck is running late, so he'll be here to speak with her in a while," the woman continued, fiddling with a stack of papers. "You'll stay with her, of course, to keep her company and make sure she's comfortable."

"I...I get to be with Elder Wyck?" Zandy breathed, her brown eyes going as wide as saucers. "Really? Like...really?"

The girl seemed to be either utterly overjoyed or completely terrified. Or maybe it was a combination of both. But, either way, her reaction worried Bethalie just a tad. And so did the name the two people were discussing. Elder Wyck. Could there be a more formidable sounding name?

"Indeed you do, you lucky dear!" the woman beamed. "Feast your eyes on him and enjoy yourself! Now, run off to class. Its almost first bell."

Zandy blinked her large brown eyes a few times and gave herself a bit of a shake before turning and walking stiffly over to Bethalie. "Hi. I'm Zandy Babbitt. Its nice to meet you, Bethalie."

Bethalie, still stuck on Elder Wyck, struggled to find her voice. "Hey. I-I...its nice to meet you, too," she croaked out hoarsely, awkwardly getting to her feet while trying to juggle all the text books she'd been given.

"What's your locker number?" Zandy Babbitt questioned. "We'll go there first so you can put some of your things away."

Bethalie shifted her armload of books around so she could glance at the sheet of paper in her hand. "Uh...locker 139," she answered, sounding breathless and dumb.

"Cool! That's right beside mine!" Zandy beamed, deftly taking the paper and giving it a quick glance before wadding it up and tossing it into the waste basket by the end of the front counter. "You don't need that. We have the same classes," she explained, whipping around and leading the way out of the office.

Bethalie couldn't help but notice that Zandy Babbitt seemed much more enthusiastic about having to babysit the new girl now that she knew there was something in it for her.

The hallways had become more crowded as the first bell approached and Bethalie became keenly aware that all eyes were on her as she followed behind Zandy. She tried to shrink into herself as they made their way through the throng of students scurrying to their classes, moving down a hallway that veered off to the left of the main hall. She hated having people stare at her. It made her feel uncomfortable beneath her skin and that could only lead to trouble.

"This is the Senior Corridor. All our classes are on this hall, so its hard to get lost," Zandy explained to her as they walked. "Well, its actually impossible to get lost. There are only about three hundred students here, so the school is small. There are four hallways down here, one hallway on the second floor, and The Caf is out the door at the end there."

Bethalie nodded, feeling some of the unease in her stomach loosen a bit. One of her main fears was getting lost in a maze of school hallways and not being able to find her way out. She'd actually had terrifyingly horrific nightmares about it. But, if all her classes were on the same hall, she could at least lay that dread to rest.

Finding herself slightly less nauseous, she tried to force herself to relax as she and Zandy wended their way toward the end of the long, bustling corridor, passing the small clusters of people who pinned her with their curious, aloof gazes, finally stopping at the appropriate locker.

"This is your locker," Zandy needlessly pointed out. "Put your stuff away and take out your Calculus book. I'm gonna run right over there and try to bum last night's homework. I didn't even try to finish it. It was way too confusing."

Oh boy. She was probably already in deep shit and she hadn't even stepped through the classroom door. Friggin' Calculus.  Who would need to learn something like that unless they were planning on being a rocket scientist?  Which she was not planning on, by the way!

As Zandy hurried up the hall toward a small huddle of girls, Bethalie shifted her armload of books and grabbed hold of the metal handle of locker 139, giving it a lift. To her surprise, it did not move. She tried again, harder. Still nothing. Irritated, she leaned her weight into it and gave it a couple of hard jerks, rattling the metal door. It refused to budge.

Frustrated and worried she was going to be late for her first class, she gritted her teeth, gripped the handle, and heaved it upward as hard as she could. The force she used did not faze the stubborn handle, so she gave one last go, really putting some backside into it, which accomplished nothing but causing her to lose her precarious grip on the stack of books she was holding. For a few seconds, the large stack wobbled and she fought to right it, but the entire thing went toppling to the floor anyway, landing with a loud thud and scattering out over the floor at her feet.

Perfect. If there'd been anyone along the Senior Corridor who hadn't noticed her, they would certainly take notice now.

Letting out an annoyed huff, Bethalie whipped around away from the locker...and slammed face first into something that felt as hard as a brick wall, the impact pushing the air out of her lungs with a loud oof! Her body went lurching backward, but almost instantaneously a pair of heavy hands dropped onto her shoulders, steadying her before she could crash into the wall of lockers behind her.

"Woops! I've got you!" a deep voice spoke out.

A rush of dismay and embarrassment rolled over Bethalie and she felt herself going stiff as she blinked a few times, trying to focus on the face of the poor, unfortunate soul she'd plowed into. "I'm so sorry! I didn't me..e-ean...t-t..ooo," her words died away as she focused on the person who was suddenly looming over her.

Good grief.

For a split second, she thought she actually had crashed into the lockers and perhaps hit her head, causing her to hallucinate the towering figure before her. But, no. No, he seemed to be real...and Holy Moses he was completely gorgeous! Just looking at him seemed to suck the wind from her lungs and send little electric shock waves shooting through her, making her stomach clench and her legs go weak.

Allowing her gaze to sweep him up and down, she was greeted by the sight of his wide shoulders, his narrow waist and long and lean legs. He was dressed in faded jeans, scuffed up black boots that were mostly unlaced, and an olive colored work shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up, revealing muscular forearms that were snaked with thick, hearty veins. The work shirt was left unbuttoned and the black T-shirt beneath clung to his flat stomach and broad chest.

His clothing gave him a very casual, unkempt, careless kind of air, but as she looked up...and up...toward his face, she realized that no one with eyes like the ones staring down at her could possibly be careless.

Those eyes were the most penetratingly, intensely purposeful pair of eyes she'd ever seen. They were large and wide and fringed by incredibly long lashes...and they were a color she had never imagined could exist, resembling a shade that she could only compare to the jars of clover honey that Heather always kept for her tea, yet those golden depths were sprinkled through with glimmering flecks of Spring green. They were deep and rich and they sparkled the way a precious jewel might sparkle when it was held up to the sunlight, allowing those bright rays to shine through and illuminate it from within. Those eyes were fathomless and dizzying and she felt as though she could fall right into them and drown. And she might not have minded.

The rest of his face was just as stunning as his golden-green eyes. His skin was smooth and sun-kissed and the bones beneath were made in such a way as to give him a chiseled and rugged, yet refined appearance. His mouth was full and hard and slightly down turned, his jaw and chin were square and strong, his nose straight and proud, his cheekbones high and his forehead broad, with thick unruly brows slicing through. Those lowering brows were a dark, sandy shade, which perfectly matched his close cropped hair, which perfectly matched the slight bit of stubble just shadowing his face.

Altogether, the whole picture created about as mouth wateringly gorgeous a man as she'd ever laid eyes on. Looking up...and up...at him seemed to freeze her in time, locking her in place so that her sole focus was that sun-kissed, chiseled face and those penetrating, purposeful, golden-green eyes.

It took her several dumbfounded moments to realize, with something of shock, that the young man—he was most definitely a man and not a boy—was looking down at her in a way that no one had ever looked at her before. She recognized the curiosity flashing in those honey hued depths, the surprise, and what was possibly disbelief, which she completely understood. She was red headed and planked shaped, after all. But, there was something else there, something swirling through those glimmering golden-green pools that she had no experience with, but she knew it for what it was all the same.

It was interest. The kind of blatant male interest she'd often seen directed at other girls, but never at her. Never.

At least not until now...