by Kat Apf

Created on: November 11, 2008   Last Updated: March 22, 2011

Jaime Rubin wore beaming red pants on the first day of high school. She'd saved all her babysitting money to buy them. She thought they looked just right with her dark brown hair. Somehow, she felt, those tomato red pants would change the whole course of her high school career. She was determined this year would be different.

She walked toward the front doors of the school trying to be confident and in control, just like all the magazines said but she was feeling a little scared.

As Jaime passed the guidance office, a voice called out, "Nice pants!"

Jaime slowed and there was Angela Zhongetti. Angela had been picking on Jaime since the second grade. Angela was being nice? Jaime was amazed.

"If you're a fireman!" Angela said. Frost hung on every word.

Jaime slowly began walking toward the stairwell at the back of the hall. There were kids laughing and a few pointed.

Someone yelled out, "Zing!"

So, Jaime thought, high school wouldn't be different after all. It would be the same as junior high which was just a repeat of elementary school. Jaime was somehow always the target.

"Nice manners you have on there." Another voice said.

Jaime turned and a boy in a black leather jacket was standing in front of Angela.

"You're a pretty girl. It's a shame you don't have any manners."

"Get a load of him," Angela said to her posse.

The boy caught up with Jaime.

"Thanks," she said. "But please don't feel you have to keep walking with me. They'll pick on you, too."

"Impossible." He said and smiled. "I'm torture-proof."

Jaime smiled.

"I'm Mick Christopher."

"Jaime Rubin."

"What class do you have first?"

Jaime consulted her schedule card, "Looks like I've got Foundation Art first. You?"

"Biology."

He scribbled his phone number on her notebook and got sucked up in a crowd headed toward the second floor. He shouted, call me and was gone.

Jaime did call him. The month of September flew by and each night, Jaime and Mick spoke on the phone. They talked about everything and nothing. Jaime waited eagerly all day for that eight o'clock phone call. And it came every single night in September.

Mick was one of those boys who wasn't pegged into a particular group. He floated through the smart kids and the stoners and the jocks easily. Girls loved him because he looked like a bad boy but had the heart and soul of a poet. He had long, blonde hair that touched his shoulders. His blue eyes and pale skin stood out next to that black leather jacket. He always wore it. Jaime never saw him without

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