"Nicholas Peter Brookestone, get down from there!"

Nicky grabbed her husband's hand in her own and placed it back down on the mat. Lou, Cole, and herself had gone picnicking near their home, and after her son ran off, Lou finally spotted where he had gone.

Cole, six years old, was climbing up a rock wall without a harness.

"Honey," she replied in a soothing voice, "Look at him. He's having fun!"

Lou turned to look at her, anger clearly written on his face. "No, Nicole, you look at him! Nicholas is a child, with no experience, or safety equipment. He could get hurt!"

Nicky rolled her eyes. "Call him Cole, honey. That's the name we agreed on."

She continued. "And Lou, don't worry so much. Rock climbing is in my family's blood, you know that. He'll be fine."

Lou gave his wife another disapproving glare. But, after taking another look at the many concerned people below his son, he let it go.

. . .

Hands first... get a good grip, then feet... pull your body up...

Cole, now twelve, was rapidly flying up a mountain. Well, it wasn't really a mountain, maybe more of a steep-ish hill, but there weren't any mountains around his town, so he had to improvise. And anyways, if he was climbing a real mountain, his father would kill him.

But, that would never stop him from trying.

Finally, after about five minutes of undisturbed climbing, Cole was inches away from the top-

"Nicholas! Get down here!"

Cole's hand hovered just above the edge as he decided whether or not to obey his father, who was standing- probably with his arms crossed, his foot tapping in the way it did whenever Cole was in trouble- far down below. After almost a minute, he gave in, and began his trip down the "mountain".

Once he slid all the way down to ground level, he faced his father.

"Dad, what gives?" Cole complained.

Lou frowned. "I told you to wait outside during my rehearsal, and not get into trouble."

"I wasn't getting into trouble!" he argued. "I can't just sit still for hours at a time, I have to do something!"

Lou narrowed his eyes. "Nicholas."

Cole sighed, knowing he wouldn't be able to change his father's mind.

"Alright, Dad, fine. I'm sorry," he mumbled. "But, please just call me Cole."

. . .

"Mom, please, don't make me go!" Cole, fifteen, begs.

Nicky sighed, putting a hand in her son's combed ebony hair and brushing her fingers through it.

"Cole, you know this is the school your father went to when he was a kid. He's wanted you to go since you were little. You have to go."

Cole knew that. He knew there was no way out of it.

He tugged on his tie, trying desperately not to choke. Just what he needed- a uniform. Cole absolutely despised his white polo shirt, itchy navy blue vest, and red tie, which his dad had tied exaggeratingly tight around his neck.

Speaking of, Lou entered the room, with camera in hand and a grin on his face.

"Son, mind letting me take a photo of you in your uniform?" Lou asked.

Cole looked up at his mom, and Nicky gave him an encouraging nudge towards his father. He sighed and stepped up against the wall so his dad could take the picture. He put on the best smile he could.

Once he got in the back seat of the car, it took his family only half an hour to get to the dreadful, atrocious school his mother had told him about.

Marty Oppenheimer's School of Performing Arts.

Cole stepped out of the car, and one look at the school, that horrible, anxious feeling came back.

He heard his mom exit the vehicle, then turned on his heel and hugged her, burying his face into her shoulder. Nicky jumped a bit in surprise, but hugged him back with all the love only a mother could give.

He had to admit... he was scared.

The memory of him tripping and falling on his face while attempting the Triple-Tiger-Sashay came rushing back to him, reminding him how bad at dancing he really was.

How could he make a career for himself here, when he was terrible at anything and everything musical?

Nicky placed her hand under his chin, forcing him to look up at her.

"Cole," she began, "You're going to do amazing here. You might not be the best at your father's career, but you will find good friends, and at this point in your life, hopefully find what you really want to pursue."

Lou exited the car after that, giving his son a big hug.

"Visit us every weekend," he said, looking down into his son's dark brown eyes.

"But if you can't visit," Nicky cut in, "at least write a letter beforehand, so we know."

Cole smiled weakly. "Okay, Mom. Bye!"

Both of his parents waved goodbye, and Cole headed off to his boarding school, suitcase in hand, and book bag hanging over his shoulder.

He hesitated in front of the door.

Cole pushed his fears and doubts away. He had to. He closed his eyes, opened the door, and just went.

Right into someone.

His eyes opened just in time to see the red-headed girl stumble backwards. She managed to stay on her feet, but that didn't stop her backpack and folder from hitting the floor.

"Oh my gosh, I am so sorry!" she replied, reaching down to pick up her backpack. "I totally should have been looking out for people coming in."

The girl, who looked about fourteen, lifted her head back up and looked at Cole. She had bright, teal-blue eyes that looked as if they had recently been cut into a pixie. Light freckles dotted her cheeks, in a line that extended from ear to ear across her nose, and he felt like he could count each individual one.

Once his brain had processed what the girl said, he quickly picked her folder up from the floor before she could grab it. She looked back at him, surprised.

"No, it was my fault," Cole admitted, handing her the folder. "My, uh, eyes were closed, and that was pretty stupid of me."

He tried to dig up any information about girls out of his brain, about what they like, what they were attracted to, because heck, this one seemed amazing.

Haven't I just met this stranger? Jeez.

The girl gave him an odd sort of smile, as she took the folder out of his hand.

"Thanks," she replied. "Oh, and by the way, my name's Audrey."

. . .

I understand most people here feel strongly about OCs. If so, I'm sorry.