Forbidden

Chapter 2

Two

"Psst."

Roseline swats at the voice that has beencalling incessantly for nearly five minutes. Can't this girl take ahint?

"Hey, new girl. Wake up."

After a swift kick slams into her chair leg, Roseline bolts upright. Her bag clatters to the floor, pens rolling in all directions. "Where am I?" she slurs in her native tongue.

"Huh?" A bright pink mohawk fills her vision; the scent of watermelon gum overwhelms her senses.

"Forgive me," Roseline amends, slipping into an American accent. Even after her years studying the English language, her thick accent still comes through. "Where am I?"

"You're in Mr. Robert's class, and just so you know, he doesn't take kindly to students drooling on his periodic table."

Glancing down, Roseline spies the open textbook, slightly damp around the edge. She winces, rubbing her lip with the back of her arm. Her thoughts are fuzzy and the fluorescent lights overhead make her eyes water. She groans and buries her head in her hands. Jet lag is a killer.

The flights were mind-numbingly boring. Not even the bed in first class had eased the aches in her healing body as they flew over the Atlantic from London's Heathrow airport.

An epidemic of night terrors have followed her to America. Dreams soiled by pain and blood. She wipes her eyes, wishing she could bleach away the images.

"I am sorry." Roseline smiles weakly, struggling to focus on the girl across the aisle from her. "I am normally more polite when I wake."

"No biggie," the girl shrugs, pursing her lips to blow a small bubble the same shade as her hair. Roseline cannot help but wonder if the girl took a pack of gum with her to the salon as an example of what hair dye she wanted.

Amazingly enough, her obnoxious look does not stop at her hairline. Deep black circles the shade of artist charcoal ring her eyes, giving her a rabid raccoon look. Black lipstick-with nails to match-contrasts against her snow-white skin.Throw in the spiked neck collar and leather bracelet and this girl knows how to make a statement.

"Welcome to Rosewood Prep. Home of valleygirl knockoffs. Don't let the fancy name fool you though-free wedgies and swirlies are handed out by the football team each morning," the girl says, leaning back on her stool.

"Are these friends of yours?" Roseline asks, amused by Mohawk Girl's running commentary.

"Hardly." The girl rolls her eyes; the ringin her upper lip rises as her lips curl to reveal two rows of perfect white teeth. Rich, but still an outcast, most likely bychoice.

Kind of like me, she muses silently.

No, she shakes her head. She is nothing like her classmate. Eccentric as the girl might be, she has nothing on Roseline's dark past.

Mohawk Girl stares openly at her. "The name is Sadie Hughes. Lover of all eighties rock gods, purveyor of the right to freedom of dress, and one badass mini-golfer." She grins."What's yours?"

Sadie's voracious chewing reminds Roseline that she failed to eat, skipping out on lunch to avoid the crowds. In hindsight, that was probably a foolish idea as she has begun to feel a tad light-headed.

Roseline rubs her temples. "I appreciate your desire for small talk, but I am only here for the class."

She turns her attention back to the tweed-loving science teacher at the front of the room. By the sound of it, he is adamantly preaching at his bleary-eyed class about why science is relevant to their lives today.