Disclaimer: I do not, nor have I ever, owned Big Time Rush, Mayday Parade, the title (which comes from Mayday Parade's song "Anywhere but Here"), or anything else that is recognizable. The lyrics in the beginning of the chapter are also property of Mayday Parade and their management and record label.

A/N: Okay. Wow. This story is finally getting posted. It's been over six months since I first began writing it, and with over 60 pages, I figured it was about time to post it. Plus, "Touch the Flame" is about to wrap up (I just need to get myself moving with the epilogue), so now seemed like as good a time as any to put up a new story.

As always, there's a huge author's note, so kudos to you guys who bear with it.

The title of this fic comes from Mayday Parade's song "Anywhere but Here", because it was the song I was listening to when I first came up with the idea, though it has almost nothing to do with the story itself. But it still managed to shape the fic, and the title seemed appropriate somehow. When I came up with the story idea, it was one of those weird moments where the idea just popped randomly into my head and demanded to be written. And six months later, here we are.

Huge, huge, HUUUUUGGGEEEE thanks to Dana2184 for reading the first chapter, even though it was unedited, and for loving it and being so enthusiastic about it. Thank you so much, Yogi! Love you! Also special thanks to Jatieluv for being an awesome writing buddy and for humoring my ideas and whims, even when they're pretty stupid. Also for the constant Channy references in our stories ;)

The pairings in this story are Jatie, Kendall/Jo, and Cargan (AKA Logan/Carlos), just to let you guys know. Writing the guys as a slash pairing is a huge change for me, but hopefully I'll do them justice. :)

The rating is T for the time being, but knowing me, it'll end up changed to M, but I'll make sure I let you guys know if/when I change it :)

This is also an AU high school fic, and it takes place at a boarding school. There is MAJOR OOC for Katie, which is done intentionally. It's the only way this story would have worked. If she seems a little extreme, it's because she is. There are reasons for her behavior that will eventually be explained. As for James, he's Mr. Bad Boy who doesn't take crap from anyone, and there are also reasons for that. If you guys have any questions, just review or PM me and I'll try to answer them as soon as possible :)

Warnings: Language, sexual innuendos, mentions of cigarettes and drugs.

Enjoy the chapter! :)

"Secret love, my escape
Take me far, far away
Secret love, are you there
Will you answer my prayer
Please take me anywhere but here
Anywhere but here" – Mayday Parade: "Anywhere but Here".

Chapter One – Bad Boy Meets Good Girl

James' POV

Detention.

That word pretty much sums up my life at Dalton Prep, a boarding school in southern Minnesota.

Detention.

I seem to get it a lot. I can't help it, I just get caught in the wrong place at the wrong times, doing the wrong things for, apparently, the wrong reasons.

Nothing bad of course. I'm not one of those vandals who spray paints people's dorm room doors. I mean, what kind of moron does that? Spray paint? How classy.

But I digress.

I was pretty sure that detention would be pretty normal that day. How could it not be? It was a Monday afternoon, I had taken the blame for an idiot friend, the girls were giving me smirks and pouts that pretty much told me what they'd like me to do to them, all was right in the world.

But I didn't know I was going to meet her. And I certainly didn't know that meeting her would set off an entire chain reaction. Bad boy meets good girl. Good girl meets bad boy. Good girl lands in detention with bad boy. Ah, the newspaper headlines. Bonjour, page six.

I sauntered down the hall towards the detention classroom, which is really just an old math classroom that no one uses anymore, which is probably a good thing. Math is bad enough without having to sit in a small room with tiny desks and headache-inducing bright fluorescent lights.

Carlos Garcia, a friend of mine (not the idiot friend who I had taken the fall for; my roommate), waved at me and shouted across the hall, "You in detention today?"

"Duh. You know I hate changing up my schedule."

"Nice, dude. See you later."

"Yep. Later."

I headed into the classroom, letting the door open with a bang as I walked in. The door's hinges were a little too flexible and never bothered to stop the door from crashing into the wall whenever someone walked into the room, unless that person caught it.

It's a detention classroom – almost no one ever does.

Except for one person.

I kicked the door closed behind me, heard another satisfyingly loud bang, and headed to the front of the room, where I usually sit. I like to be up front, because all the druggies and drunks that are too stupid to hide their addictions (that are too stupid to actually have those addictions) sit in the back. The middle row is taken up by all the random kids who get in trouble maybe once or twice a year, since they seem to think that sitting in the middle will protect them from the annual detention zombie apocalypse which has yet to happen.

And then there's the first few rows, where the detention regulars make a home for themselves. Occasionally you'll get a non-regular who decides to brave the front row, but that's rare. It's usually because they know one of the regulars, and decide to sit with that person.

I plopped down in my chair, dropping my book bag to the floor, and sprawled out in my chair. Ah, yes, this was the life.

No one was sitting beside me on either side, or behind me either, which constituted today as a good detention day. No complaints there.

I heard the door swing open, the hinges squeaky, but the door didn't have a face to face meeting with the wall. Instead, there was a soft click as the door closed behind whoever had come in.

Curiously, I swiveled around in my seat to see who the newcomer was.

My eyes widened as I saw the girl. Long, shiny brown hair, huge brown eyes that reminded me of melted chocolate, and a tiny figure. Not a supermodel, but still breathtaking. And my breath was definitely taken.

The funny thing was, I knew her, kind of. I mean, I knew her in passing. I saw her in the halls, and in the cafeteria, but that was about it. I knew she was a junior, a year younger than me; her name was Katie Knight, and she was Kendall Knight's, the hockey player, younger sister. I knew Kendall because we were in the same grade, and we had gotten partnered for a couple of projects, but I had never spoken to Katie before. However, I had been under the impression that she was the type of girl who always followed the rules, never broke the school's curfew, and stuck to straight lemonade.

So what the hell was she doing in the detention room?!

Katie fidgeted as she looked around for a place to sit. I couldn't blame her – the detention room wasn't exactly her usual domain. The crowd she hung out with didn't break school rules.

So, once again: What the hell was she doing here?!

After several seconds, she bit her lip, and looked over at me. My face probably erupted into flames when I realized that she had caught me staring at her. I quickly turned around, eyes facing the whiteboard.

I focused on the faded lines of crude jokes and pornographic images that had been drawn on the board, probably that weekend by a bunch of immature jerks, and quickly realized that I really didn't want to be looking at them.

My gaze dropped down to my book bag, which rested at my feet. Nothing interesting about it, but it would do. I could stare at it blankly until Katie found a place to sit down. No problem. No problem at all.

And then there was the sound of a body dropping into the chair beside mine, and I caught the scent of cherries and vanilla.

"It's okay if I sit here, right?" came a quiet voice from my left, and I looked away from my book bag, to Katie. She looked a little anxious, and she was entwining her fingers together nervously.

I nodded. "Yeah, it's fine. We don't have assigned seats here, so you won't get in trouble for sitting where you feel like."

"I didn't think so," she said. "I just – yeah. This is my first time in detention, and I'm not exactly proud of it."

I blinked at her. Yeah, I could definitely believe that. She still wore knee socks with her uniform half the time, and on the weekends, when our uniforms weren't mandatory, she looked like Abercrombie and Fitch threw up on her. No one I know wears Abercrombie and Fitch. They don't even wear Aeropostle.

"Oh. Well, you've made it this long without detention," I replied in an attempt to reassure her that she wasn't going to burn in hell for making a mistake. "You had to end up with it at least once, right?"

She looked at me like I was nuts.

Guess not…

"I didn't need to end up with it! I didn't want to end up with detention! I would have been happy if I had gotten through my entire high school experience without detention! My brother's a senior like you and he's never had detention!" Her voice rose in pitch until dogs were the only ones in danger of hearing it.

"Whoa, calm down," I said to her, taking her hand and squeezing it. "Seriously, detention's not a big deal."

"Yes it is! It goes on your permanent record! So, you know what the admissions people at Yale and Harvard and Dartmouth are going to see when they look over my transcript? That I got detention!"

"Well, what'd you get detention for?" I asked her patiently, squeezing her hand again.

"Talking in class…"

I blinked. Wow. Talking in class. That had to be the lamest way to get detention. "Um…I think they'll let it pass," I assured her, trying not to laugh.

"But what if they don't? I mean, it was all a huge misunderstanding! I was trying to help Deana Miller with her math problem because she was struggling, only I wasn't giving her the answer…Only Mr. Rochester heard me and thought we were cheating." She looked about ready to cry.

"Katie," I gave her hand another squeeze, "I'm sure all those colleges you're applying to will still let you in. Plus, you'll have interviews with the admissions advisors, right?"

She nodded.

"So, you can clear your story up there. I'm sure they'll be impressed that you gave up an hour of your time in order to help a fellow classmate."

She blinked, using her free hand to wipe at her watery eyes. "You – you really think so?"

I nodded. "I'm sure of it."

She began to smile weakly, and I smiled back encouragingly.

At that moment, Mrs. Vanderbilt called detention to order.

The thing about having Mrs. Vanderbilt as the detention overseer is that she hates it, and she slacks off most of the time. About ninety percent of the time, she's out of the room within five minutes, off to laze around in the teacher's lounge, where they got cable TV and had halfway decent coffee.

A teacher's dream.

I leaned back in my seat, crossing my arms, and mentally recalling all the French swearwords I knew. It was the only French I would really need anyway. After all, what good is asking for directions when you can't even cuss out the person who gave you the crappy map in the first place?

I was on the eighth swearword when Mrs. Vanderbilt leapt to her feet. "No talking," she informed us. "I'm locking you in."

Which she always did. Like we couldn't get out through the window if we really wanted to.

We all waved at her as she left, and immediately there was an instant flurry of movement. People got to their feet, moving around the room, while others began to chat or fold their notebook paper into paper airplanes.

"Won't she be back soon?" Katie asked, looking confused. "I mean, she just went to the bathroom or something, right?"

"Nope. She's going to the teacher's lounge. Her favorite soap opera is on, and she never misses an episode of it."

"But – but – she's the teacher who oversees detention!"

"And your point is?"

"She isn't allowed to do that!" she cried, looking outraged.

"Nope."

"And no one's reported her?"

"Why would we? This way, we get to do whatever we want until four-o-clock."

She bit her lip. "It still isn't right."

"What in high school is right?" I pointed out. "You got detention because your teacher didn't listen to you and didn't bother to pay attention to the girl who needed help. Is that right?"

"Well…no…" she wavered.

"Exactly. Do you really want to sit in here and be punished just for trying to be a good friend?"

Katie shook her head.

"Get my point?"

"I guess…But I still don't think she should be abandoning her post."

I shrugged. "Probably not."

She still looked slightly troubled, but finally turned back to me. "So, why are you in detention?"

I shrugged. "I was caught with a pack of cigarettes."

Her eyes widened. "You smoke?" The expression on her face was horrified, like I had just told her I had killed someone.

"Not very often. I was holding them for a friend who does smoke a lot, though."

"Well, that's not fair either," she protested. "Didn't you tell the teacher that? The one who caught you?"

"What, and be a snitch? No way in hell."

She chewed on her bottom lip. "But you're stuck here in detention. And your friend's probably somewhere chain smoking right now and risking lung cancer."

"I know, but…You just don't tell on a friend. You just don't do that. Besides, I'm in here at least twice a week, so it's not really a big deal."

"Which doesn't make a lot of sense," she replied, running a hand through her long hair, and I found my eyes tracing her fingers' movement. "I mean, you're so nice. You don't strike me as a troublemaker."

"Never judge a book by its cover, right?" I gave her a half smile.

"I suppose…I still think you're crazy. Why would you cause trouble?"

"It's fun."

"How? How is flooding the boys' bathroom fun?"

"Okay, I didn't flood the boys' bathroom. I accidentally dropped a sparkler in one of the toilets."

She raised her eyebrows. "Right…accidentally."

I gave her an innocent look.

"You were also caught with alcohol in your possession."

"It was cough medicine – I had a cold."

"The janitor walked in on you and some girl in the supply closet."

"We were having a friendly talk."

"You do know I don't believe that at all, right?"

I just smirked.

"Yeah, I take back what I said about you being nice. You're actually kind of a jerk."

"So I've heard before."

"The girls also call you the Diamond tongue."

"Aww, that's so sweet."

"And they say you have diamond fingers."

"And here I was, thinking that my fingers were made out of skin and bone."

"You know what they mean."

I shrugged. "Anything else they say about me?"

She looked away, blushing a little, which beyond gave me my answer.

I smirked again. "So they do."

"I – I can't really say – " she stuttered out.

"So, you listen to the gossip about me?"

"Well, how am I supposed to not listen, when all the girls in the locker room before and after PE and cheerleading practice are always talking about you. I mean, you're kind of a player and a heartbreaker. So they're either gushing about you or complaining about you."

"So, if I'm the big bad wolf, why are you sitting here?" I asked her, genuinely interested in her answer.

She twisted her fingers together, like she had when she had first arrived in the detention room. "I was curious…I mean, I've heard so much about you, but I've never actually had a conversation with you. You're kind of a legend, like a local celebrity. It's actually almost surreal sitting here with you, because, like I said, I've heard so many rumors about you. Also…you have nice eyes."

I blinked. "Thank you?"

"I mean, your eyes are warm and actually really kind, which surprised me. I mean, girls are always saying how pretty your eyes are, but I never thought they'd be like…well, like they are." She dropped her head, looking down at her desk, her hair curtaining her face. I had a feeling she was blushing bright red, embarrassed by what she had just said.

"Well, I'm not that bad," I told her. "I mean, maybe I don't treat girls the way some people think I should, but I always make sure that they know what they're getting into. I don't promise them the world and then snatch it away from them. That's not me. I just don't do relationships, and I always let them know that nothing will come out of our hookups."

"Some of them hope that you'll change your mind," she told me, her voice almost a whisper. "They want to be the ones to change you, to save you."

"Yeah, I know," I admitted. "I always feel bad about it, but I do warn them. Maybe I should just walk around with a sign that says Don't do relationships – don't try to change me."

She let out a small laugh, and she finally pushed her hair away from her face, over her shoulder. "Maybe…I guess I could pass the message on to the other girls, if you want me to."

"Eh, I don't know if they'll listen to anyone. I mean, one girl I hooked up with a couple of times left a bible outside my dorm room door. And then she quoted me that bible verse about not having sex before marriage."

Katie blinked. "But she had sex with you before marriage…"

"Apparently I corrupted her."

"That's stupid," she snorted. "She was a willing participant…right?"

"She was."

"Hmm…oh, I bet it was Kylie Kennedy, wasn't it?"

I nodded in surprise. "You know her?"

"Unfortunately…You don't come to a lot of the games, do you?"

"No."

"Ah. Well, she's a cheerleader too."

"Oh, gotcha."

She nodded. "Want me to pass a message onto her?"

"Nah. She's one of the ones who won't listen."

"Probably not," Katie agreed, and then shrugged. "Well, I guess you should consider that a lesson."

I blinked at her in confusion. "How?"

"Be careful who you sleep with – it might come back to haunt you."

"Same goes for you," I told her.

She blushed again. "Yeah, well…"

"Well, what?"

She shook her head. "Never mind. But I don't think my boyfriend would like it very much if he heard you telling me that. He's kind of the jealous type."

I felt this really weird feeling in my gut, like someone was twisting my intestines around and then squeezing the life out of them. Not a pleasant feeling in the least.

She had a boyfriend…

Not that I cared…

It was just that she was nice and pretty and I had been holding her hand. Granted, it had been to comfort her, but still. Same difference. It could still count in the eyes of a jealous boyfriend or a hopeful teenager. And yeah, okay, I'll admit it. There had been a small part of me that had been hoping that Katie might have a minor crush on me. Not because I wanted to take advantage of her, but, well, therewasasmallpartofmethatwasattractedtoher.

Please don't make me say it again…

Fine.

There was a small part of me that was attracted to her.

There.

Ya happy?

But not enough for it to be a crush. I barely even knew the girl. All I knew about her was that she was a goody-two-shoes, pretty, smart (obviously, if she was planning on going to an ivy league college), a cheerleader, and pretty. Oh, and she had a boyfriend. Even more reason not to get attached.

"Oh," I said. "Well, do me a favor and don't mention it to him."

"Why? You don't think you can take him?"

"No idea. Wait – is he that meaty football player?"

I had seen her talking to one of the senior football players on more than one occasion, but I had never really thought much about it. Not that I really gave much thought to her in general. That often…

Katie gave me a long look. "He's not meaty. He's muscle-y, like you. Bulked up. How would you like it if I called you meaty?"

"Point taken. Anyway, so he is?"

"Yeah. Zach Wilder."

Right…I kind of knew Zach. Not well, but kind of. Like Kendall, I had some classes with him. He didn't exactly strike me as the nicest type, though. Not the kind of guy you'd think a girl like Katie Knight would be dating.

"Oh, yeah…him."

She nodded, and smiled. "It's funny, he's so jealous, but he doesn't have any reason to be. We've been together since I was in eighth grade."

Wow. A romance that had lasted since junior high. That was actually pretty good. Color me impressed.

"That's awhile," I commented. "A really long time."

"Yep. So, I don't know why he thinks I'm going to throw away all our history. I guess he's just really insecure."

Or he was cheating on her. In my experience, people a lot of times got really jealous of their partner when they were seeing someone else. It was like, because they couldn't stay true, they thought their significant other wouldn't be able to.

But that was just me, jumping to conclusions. Chances were, her boyfriend wasn't cheating on her at all; he was just protective and jealous because he knew she was sweet and pretty and would probably end up attracting all the wrong guys. Like, say, me. And considering she apparently had a curious side, she could end up flirting back, and then where would that leave her?

I didn't even want to think about that.

So it was probably a good thing she had someone looking out for her.

"Yeah, probably," I finally said after a few long seconds.

"I just hope he's not too disappointed in me," she sighed.

"For what?"

"For getting detention. He's really proud of my good-girl status. I don't think he'll be too thrilled when he finds out I got in trouble." She looked upset again, and once more I found myself with the urge to comfort her.

"Well, if he can't accept that you were trying to be nice and that your teacher made a mistake, then I don't know what he's doing with you," I told her firmly. "But I'm sure he'll understand. Besides, everyone screws up once in awhile, right?"

She shook her head. "Not me."

I stared at her. "Then you're not human."

"I mean, I try not to. I try really hard not to. I don't like disappointing people, or disappointing myself. Landing detention is the worst thing I've ever done, ever."

"Ever? What? You've never even skipped class?"

She looked traumatized by the idea. "Oh my gosh, no! What if there was a pop quiz? Or I got caught? Or – or – it's just wrong anyway, to skip a class." She wrapped her arms around her tiny body.

I fought back a laugh, but apparently a chuckle still managed to escape, because she swiveled her head to look at me, lips forming in a pout. "Why are you laughing at me?"

"Because you're funny. You're so horrified by the idea of breaking the rules. It's adorable. I've never met anyone who's so afraid of acting out a little."

She shook her head. "I have too much to accomplish. I can't act out."

"Not even at sixteen?"

"No! I've had my whole life planned out since I was eight, and up until today, I've been able to follow that plan to a tee. And now…Who knows what this detention is going to cost me? Maybe my whole future!"

"You do know that there are good colleges besides the ivy leagues, right?" I asked her. "The University of Minnesota isn't so bad. And there's Reed College in Portland, Oregon. And Vassar in Poughkeepsie."

"How do you know about those colleges?" she asked curiously.

"I'm not a complete screw up." I looked at her in amusement. "Just because I get detention a lot doesn't mean anything."

"It actually means a lot. It says a lot about your personality, if you ask me."

"Well, I didn't. My grades, save for math, are actually pretty good. I usually manage to keep a 3.0 to 3.5 GPA, depending on the classes I'm taking."

"Oh. Well…I mean…Sorry, everyone I know considers a 3.5 grade point average to be low. I know it's not, it's just, well…it's not a 4.0," she said softly.

"Well, since you guys are the future cancer-research-scientists and presidents and diplomats and mathematicians, I won't argue with that. I'm sure to you guys, a 3.9 is low."

"Well, kind of…I mean, it's not really an A-plus."

"Naturally."

She ducked her head. "I'm really sorry. A 3.5 for most people is probably pretty good."

"Yeah, it's like an A, A-minus, maybe a B-plus, depending on the class."

"I can't imagine getting a grade below an A," she admitted reluctantly. "I never have."

I stared at her in shock. "Never?"

She shook her head. "Not even in first grade. I'm a major perfectionist," she explained. "If I can't get something perfect, I'll work on it until I can get it to that point. I remember getting a ninety-nine on a spelling test in second grade, and bursting into tears because I misspelled a word."

I chortled. "Poor thing."

"Yeah. My brother's not like that. He's more laidback. But he also doesn't need to try as hard. He's one of those people who can understand things like that." She snapped her fingers to emphasize the point. "And if he can't get it…well, then he sweet talks the teachers into giving him lots of extra credit assignments that he actually understands."

"I'm sure you could do that. You're small and cute and pretty and innocent looking, and you're a really good student, and you're nice. The teachers probably love you."

She shrugged. "I guess. But I'm nice to them. When I'm at Kendall's and my house on the weekends, I sometimes bake cookies and cupcakes and muffins and I'll give the leftovers to my teachers. I mean, they work so hard and they deserve a thank you, don't you think?"

I blinked at her blankly. "Um…honestly, I never really thought about it."

"Oh. Well, I think they do. And I always give them Christmas and Valentine's Day cards."

Who the hell are you?! The perky, petite reincarnation of Mother Theresa?! Or maybe even Gandhi…

I stared at her.

"And I always put Starbucks gift cards in them, because who doesn't like Starbucks?"

She actually spent money on her teachers.

Was I in an alternate universe?

Did she have some weird, rare mental disease? Wannabe-saint-itis?

She twirled her hair around her fingers, looking at me innocently.

"Well…um…I'm sure they all appreciate it very much."

"I hope so. I feel so bad about them, especially with some of the troublemakers they have to deal with – oh." She ducked her head again and blushed as she realized that I was one of those troublemakers the teachers had to deal with.

I smirked a little. "You mean the troublemakers who drop sparklers into toilets?"

"Sorry…"

"Don't apologize. I'm not offended – why would I be? I'm a loud and proud troublemaker. I should probably carry a flag."

That got a giggle out of her. "You're funny," she told me, raising her head and smiling at me again.

"Thanks. You're pretty cute too. But don't tell your boyfriend I say that. He might not like it."

"I'm, um, not sure. Probably not, though…"

I grinned, taking an oddly perverse pleasure in pissing Zach Wilder off by complimenting his girlfriend.

Before I could say something back to Katie, the lock clicked on the door, and Mrs. Vanderbilt came waltzing in, clutching a foam cup of coffee and looking much happier than she had when she had left.

Immediately, the talking died down, and anyone who was standing quickly scurried back to their seat.

Without a word about the sudden flurry of movement, Mrs. Vanderbilt walked over to her desk, sitting down at it, and pulling out a folder of papers that she probably had to grade or something.

I glanced at the clock, and saw that we still had ten minutes left before the detention bell rang. With a resigned sigh, I pulled out my math homework and began to work on it. Beside me, Katie pulled out her own homework, and got to work on it as well.

After ten long minutes, the bell rang, and there was a sudden rumble of noise as everyone leapt to their feet, stuffing their homework into the backpacks and book bags.

I swung my book bag over my shoulder, as Katie slung her messenger bag across her chest. Together, we walked out of the detention room, and headed down the hall.

"Katie!"

We both turned at the sound of a guy calling her name. A guy with white blonde hair came pushing through the crowd, hurrying towards her.

Oh, goody. Ladies and gentlemen, Zach Wilder. Anyone feel like booing him and throwing rotten carrots and apples at him?

"There you are!" he cried, reaching us. "God, Kat, is it true? Did you really get detention?"

She nodded, eyes widening, and her bottom lip began trembling; whether she was about to cry, or whether she was just nervous, I couldn't tell.

"What did you do?"

"I tried to help Deana in math, but Mr. Rochester misunderstood the situation and gave me detention."

"Why would you help Deana? She's nothing but trouble."

"But she's nice," Katie protested. "And she needed help and Mr. Rochester was too busy grading tests."

Zach shook his head. "You're too nice for your own good. You need to learn who to stay away from."

I frowned. That didn't sound right, especially since I knew Deana Miller. Katie was right – she was nice. She was in drama with me, and she was always willing to help me memorize scripts.

"But…but…" Katie's eyes were wide, and looked watery.

"I mean, she's an actress. You know how crazy those people get."

"Excuse me?" I broke into the conversation. "What the hell do you mean by those people?"

Zach sneered at me. "Nothing you need to concern yourself with, James Dean."

Katie frowned. "His name's James Diamond…"

"He's referring to Rebel Without a Cause, a movie James Dean was in," I explained to her.

"Oh…"

"Dude, leave. I can explain stuff to my girlfriend without your help."

"I'm sure you can," I said coolly. "After all, you were doing such a stellar job of explaining to her why actors and actresses are second class people."

He sneered. "I wouldn't expect you to agree. After all, you're an actor and a man whore."

I took a step towards him. "Original. Do you have your insults written for you, or do you practice them in front of the mirror?"

He stepped closer to me as well. "Do you practice your pickup lines in the mirror?"

A crowd was beginning to form around us this time, no doubt hoping for a good fight to gossip about over dinner.

"Actually," I replied, "I don't use pickup lines. Oh, and I also don't use overused insults. Get a new script writer, Wilder."

"Look, I don't know what that means, but what I do know is that you're way over the line. You were with my girl."

"Really? She's yours? That's funny. I don't recall seeing a sign on her that says Property of Zach Wilder. Do you let her off your leash during class hours? Or was today a special occasion?"

The crowd oohed. James: 1. Zach: 0.

"Okay, you know what – " before he could finish what I was sure would have been a threat, Katie grabbed his arm.

"Zach, come on. He was in detention with me, okay? I sat with him. It's not a big deal."

Zach's glare intensified. "It is to a big deal. I don't want you anywhere near the man whore or prick."

"Zach!" Katie gave him a furious and horrified look.

"I'm serious, Kat. I don't want him anywhere near you. Come on, let's go." And with that, he took her hand, and dragged her away, through the crowd.

Okay, so, that was the first chapter. What'd you guys think of it? Was it awful? Kinda good? Okay? Not too bad? If you guys could do me a huge favor and review so that I know if you like it or not, I'd really, really appreciate it!

As for my other stories, I'm working on them, but I managed to get blocked with all of them (it's a talent). Hopefully I'll get unblocked and updates for them will be coming soon :)

Also, JatieFantasy (Jatieluv's and my joint account) just posted a new Jatie story called "Family Bites", so if you guys could check it out, we would love you for it :)