Color My World (Ouran High School Host Club)

Chapter 1- Welcome to the Host Club!

I doodled an eye, an intricate iris, delicate eyelashes, in my history binder, not paying an inkling of attention to Yamazaki-sensei's monotonous lecture.

"And that is why King Henry VIII is regarded as one of England's most unsatisfactory monarchs," he concluded, tapping the blackboard with a useless stub of white chalk. Many students, including myself, barely managed to stifle a yawn and a sigh of relief.

Tamaki Suoh, the quintessential dumb blonde, was examining his nails (perfectly filed and manicured, no less) and throwing the occasional "charming" wink to a group of giggling girls, whose cheeks were tinted a cherry blossom pink at the slight affectionate gesture.

I rolled my eyes in disgust. Pretty boy.

And at long last, the moment we had all been waiting for arrived. Humming along to the final bell's glorious music, I leapt to my feet and tipped my stack of binders into my paint-splattered backpack, grabbing my violin case from its usual spot next to my desk. Without so much as a courteous nod of farewell, I practically sprinted out of the classroom, tugging out a crumpled sheet of music from my bag.

Gazing at the notes and imagining what they would sound like filling an echoey concert hall, I meandered around the shockingly pink corridors in search of a peaceful room where I could play undisturbed to my heart's content. Easier said than done, as I had learned the hard way on my first day, during which I looked in vain only to find the entire goddamn place sprawling with spoiled brats.

God, did anyone actually do work at this school? Entitled bastards.

I ambled left, turned right, and walked until I collided into a door. Music #3, a plaque hanging just above my head read. My curiosity piqued, I pressed my ear against the wood, listening for any hint that someone was inside. The room was completely silent.

Perfect.

Oh, where are my manners? I'm Ayame Nakamura, a complete and utter nobody.

I guess you could say that I had an ordinary sob story that always earned me undeserved, unwanted pity. My mother died when I was too young to even remember what she looked like, leaving me with a microscopic savings account to get by. That hardly made a difference, though, since my father frittered it away to drink away his grief. Having lived in near poverty my entire life, I was no stranger to hard work.

But in the last few months, I'd had to bust my ass even more than usual. After all, my arts scholarship for Ouran only covered about half of the tuition, leaving me to somehow cough up the other portion. At that point, things were looking pretty grim. As the administration had made very clear, if I wasn't able to pay my first installment within the next month, I could kiss their rich asses good-bye.

I flung the door open, but before I could take another step, I was blinded by a bright light and a curtain of rose petals. When I was finished wailing in agony, I managed to peek through my fingers, glimpsing a posse of attractive teenage boys lounging in the center of the room.

I immediately whipped around and gripped the door handle, embarrassed to have intruded on...well, whatever the hell this was. "Sorry, um, wrong room," I mumbled. Oh God, this was awkward. What, was I deaf or something? How could I have missed this?

Before I could make my great escape, however, their ringleader (Tamaki, I realized with a start) appeared in a flash before me and and placed a hand on my shoulder.

"Gentleman!" he trilled. "It appears that we have a new guest!"

I kneed him in the chest; if you can't already tell, I wasn't exactly the touchy feely type. "Get your filthy hands off of me! Just what the hell do you think you're doing, Suoh?"