a/n: another one for the night because I can't sleep.

warning: a lot of swearing.

_

I spent every free hour studying the journals that were once owned by my ancestors. I even started bringing them to school, to which some of my classmates would gossip about behind my back when there’s nothing productive to do.

The issue about the boy who died eventually faded away when sightings of the wolves in the forest where he was found surfaced. The town got a rounding shift of rangers who patrols the place every three hours and everyone was at peace again.

Except me, who was still stuck in the loser shoes and trying my best to save the world without getting a medal for it, least some kind of recognition.

I never cared a lot about my school image since I’m pretty much invisible to everyone else, but suddenly fate decided to play a trick, and there was someone I never thought in a million years would approach me during lunch.

I was sitting in the corner, in between chewing and reading the oldest journal from the trunk (it was written back in 1752 by someone named Catalina whom I assumed was my ancestor. She was currently rambling about the recent good harvest and her parents discussing about migrating to America which seems like a popular trend to a lot of European people those days).

Looking past the journal, I noticed a pair of bare legs directly in front of my table. My eyes traveled up and the legs ended in a pleated cheerleader skirt.

Cheerleaders were not exactly one of my favorite people in the school. They’re the it girls, the center of the social circle, the hot ones, the important ones, the top consumer in the food chain whilst I am the complete opposite.

I don’t hate them; I just don’t like them.

Imagine my shock when a cheerleader happened to be lost and somehow got strayed in my corner.

“Hi.”

The greeting was hesitant, as if it was spoken in a foreign language and the speaker wasn’t sure if the pronunciation was correct.

I finally acknowledged her presence (I was very smug for all obvious reasons, since getting approached by someone generally admired by the school only happens once every blue moon) my sight landed on the pretty face framed by long black hair.

Good grief, she’s not just one of the cheerleaders; she’s the vice-captain of the squad.

What is she doing in day class? All members of the squad had taken most of the night class’ population percentage.

Was she kicked out of the vanity club? Did she sleep with the cheerleader captain’s boyfriend and got humiliated in some party for that?

All my thoughts were all along that line, and they’re maybe in the wrong line but I can’t help it.

“Yeah?” I croaked, also unsure of what she wants.

“Can I have a seat?” she gestured to the empty plastic chair beside me.

I was beyond shocked this time, not only does she talked to me, she’s also being polite as hell and wanted to have a seat on my table.

Wonders never cease.

“I guess so,” I shrugged. “Yeah, sure.”

She looked around the cafeteria first, then shrugged and took the seat, edging it on the opposite side to face me.

“I have to talk to you,” she said in probably her most serious voice.

Now, this is just unbelievable. I was pretty sure they’re playing a prank on me. Because first, there’s no way that these busy-with-aerial-stunts people would want to talk to me, and second, there’s no topic in the world that both of us would agree on.

I tilted my head and met her gaze. “Talk?”

I guess I sounded suspicious enough because she sighed and stood up, then grabbed my hand and dragged me out of the cafeteria. She didn’t stop until we were inside the yet-to-complete botanical garden in the greenhouse building located at the back of the school.

She released my hand and folded her arms; she was looking very irritated.

“Okay, I know this may come as a surprise for you.”

It took all my willpower not to roll my eyeballs on her. You don’t say.

“Trust me; I also wouldn’t do this if I have any choice,” the cheerleader continued impatiently.

I decided to be frank to shorten the amount of time being wasted in this useless conversation. I wasn’t even halfway in reading my first journal and I was itching to get back to them.

“What do you want to talk about?”

“The transfer girl,” she answered without batting those long fake lashes with leopard prints.

I didn’t know what to feel during that time. Confused? Scared? Curious?

Someone has seen us in the lake?

“Who?” I played the innocent card, while trying to think of a way in escaping this confrontation.

She raised a one perfectly lined brow. “You know who I’m talking about.”

Well, I guess she wasn’t that dumb.

“Why?”

She sighed and nervously looked around.

“What do you think she is?” she asked in a broken whisper.

That question was like a slap of reality to my face. I was wrong in thinking I was the only one who can see through all that beauty and perfection. I should really stop underestimating people.

I was stunned for a second, then finally gathered the bits of my splattered consciousness.

“How much do you know about her?”

Honestly, I was too excited to play detective but I kept my enthusiasm down to a neutral level, no sense in scaring away a potential asset.

The cheerleader rubbed her arms and shivered despite the high heat of the day.

“I don’t know… I’m not sure,” she replied, and for the first time, I can see that she’s frightened. “All I know is that she’s not a normal person.”

I wondered how she knew that the mysterious transfer wasn’t a normal person. Did she saw her flying or floating- and then it hit me, why was she talking to me about her?

“Why are you asking me about her?” I decided to voice my thoughts out loud which I should probably do a lot more often.

“Because you’re the only senior who doesn’t have a poster of her in your locker or kissing her feet or worshiping her,” she replied matter-of-factly.

Why would I be kissing her feet when I can settle with her lips? I thought smugly. But really, the fact that this girl can do deduction and pick clues apart says a lot. She’s maybe using her brain after all.

I might be a tad judgmental, I’m sorry.

But an almost deserted greenhouse building was never a suitable conference room. We will have to talk in a more secure place, namely my house because honestly I don’t trust anyone else’s.

“Can we just talk after school?” I asked her, rapidly scribbling my address