Dreaming Reality

Chapter 1

Author's Note: I would like to first start off by saying a HUGE 'thank you' to my editor @BrallaegrimmQueen. You are amazing!

Hope you guys enjoy the chapter! =D                                                           

Chapter 1

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Reagan sat in the last row of seats that were situated in the dank, stark white cinder block room. Her head bowed, wisps of her long, black hair, creating a curtain and blocking her off from the rest of the world. She bent over a piece of white paper that was marked with darken lines that outlined a figure, his back was turned, shielding his face, and his identity. This figure had haunted her dreams every night for the past month, and within the past week, it haunted her days as well. The way his dark, shaggy hair seemed to fall into place; and the definition of his shoulders and back that showed through his tight black shirt. The shape of the intriguing tattoo design that was just below the sleeve of his shirt.

Every time she imagined the boy she felt at home, and like she belonged; a feeling that she had gone so long without.

Reagan's attention was pulled away from the sketch as the middle aged man with graying hair strolled into the classroom, his hands buried in the pockets of his unflattering slacks. He removed his hand from his pocket and moved his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he addressed the class, "Today we will be starting a new section of literature: tragedy. Could someone please tell me what a tragedy is?" No hands rose.

Reagan averted her eyes in the possibly of being volunteered, something she did quite often; and even though she knew the answer to the question, she didn’t raise her hand. She didn’t like the attention that would focus on her if she did.

She waited for the teacher, Mr. Collins, to choose another student, and released a sigh of relief when he did. “Ashley, what do you have?” Mr. Collins asked the snub faced blond that was seated in the middle of the second row of desks.

“What’s the question?” She asked in a disinterested voice; as if she had something better to do.

Mr. Collins let out a sigh of annoyance and restated his question.

“A tragedy? Well that would be… Reagan.” Ashley turned with a pointed look at Reagan seated in the back, “A sad, sad tragedy.”

Just what Reagan was trying to avoid happened; everyone was looking at her and she had all the attention. She started to remark but the smirk on Ashley’s perfect lips silenced her. Instead she just looked back down at her drawing as the class erupted into laughter, her face turning red from embarrassment.

The laughs were cut off and the attention was instantly taken from Reagan as a sound came from the wooden door; three even knocks, and then the door swung open.  A petite girl with auburn hair that had brightly colored streaks that were a shade between purple and pink, walked into the classroom.

“May I help you?” Mr. Collins asked the unfamiliar face. It was a face that Reagan had never seen before, and it was seamlessly perfect with its heart shape, dark eyes, and full lips that were turned up into a smile.

“Yes, I’m supposed to be in this class,” she said. Reagan watched as the girl handed a piece of printed paper to the teacher, documentation that she was, in fact, in the right place. “British Lit. with Mr. Kelly Collins.” The class snickered at their teacher’s name.

He looked up and gave them what he considered “The look,” and the class tried to compose themselves.

He then turned his attention back to the girl, “You can take a seat…” Mr. Collins looked down at the paper he held in his hand, “Ms. Pinnox. There is an empty seat next to Reagan.” He gestured to the only empty in the class, the one to the right of Reagan.