• If the outside of the school was stunning, then the inside was breathtaking. When she opened the door to The Main Building, Monnie was greeted by a hallway filled with artwork, which lead to a lobby made of sea-foam green marble, with gold bands on the edging. As Monnie walked towards the front desk, she passed many short, black leather sofas, with stout, chic metal tables by their sides. She got in line with other students who were also waiting for their room keys. Some looked bored waiting, clearly returning students. Others had the same awed look that Monnie had. And still others looked about to vomit, but scared to on the shining floor.

    Finally, Monnie reached the desk, where the secretary smiled and gave her the room keys and numbers. On the way back, though; she did a little sight-seeing. The art on the walls were captivating, but she knew she had to get back to Lucas. But as she rounded a corner of the hallway, she stopped cold. Directly to her right was an older painter, with a faded gold border. She looked closer, hardly daring to believe what she was seeing. “The angel…” she mumbled to herself, for indeed, that was what she was looking at.
    The same angels from her dream- tall, dark-haired, and handsome- was wearing robes of white and gold, a gold that matched his eyes brilliantly. His white wings were arched in such a graceful way that he looked in mid flight, about to talk off from the page even. Then Monnie noticed he was in a fighting position, and turning reluctantly to the painting’s other occupant. It was also angel, but in a more sinister way.

    This was almost like a reflection of the previous one, except with inverted colors. Instead of the heavenly, majestic look, this one was malevolent looking. With snow white hair, pure black wings, and black and purple robes that brought out its gleaming purple irises, you would think it was evil. Yet somehow it was just as handsome as the other. And it was these captivating details that kept Monnie standing half way in the middle of the hall; when a boy deep in a book so much you couldn’t see his face, came around the corner, sending both to the floor, and back to reality.

    “Ow,” groaned Monnie, rubbing her knee where it had hit the floor. She looked across to the boy, about to apologize, but stopped, entranced, when she really looked at him. Something she was about to make a habit of.

    At first glance, he was just another 15 year old student, wearing a long-sleeved shirt, jeans with belt, and white sneakers. But the rest of him was anything but as ordinary. He wore a black string necklace with brown stone on it, three gold rings with some kind of crest on them, and a tranquil look on his charming face, which was framed by startling, bright yellow hair that curled a bit at the ends. But his eyes where really eye-catching: a clear bold blue that shimmered like diamonds. Right now he looked kind of dazzled, sprawled on the floor, but not any less strikingly good-looking. He almost was too handsome for human standards.

    “Sorry,” he said cheerfully, getting up and brushing himself off. He glanced at her, smiled guiltily, which made her heart flutter, and offered a hand. Monnie realized she was still on the floor, clutching her knee. “I wasn’t looking. Here,” he reached down and pulled her up gently in one swift movement that would put most dancers to shame. “Are you hurt?” he asked, eyeing her knee like he already knew the answer.
    “I’m fine,” breathed Monnie, but knew he could see the truth. Something about him gave her the impression that he could read you mind, what you really thought or felt. He simply nodded, more to himself than to her. The boy led her over to the wall, leaned her against it, and knelt by her knee with a focused look on his face. Monnie couldn’t see what he was doing, but felt her knee start to feel better. When he stood back up, Monnie smelt something in the air that hadn’t been there before, but yet was familiar to her. It was warm and rich, but she couldn’t place where she had smelt it before. Anyway, her knee felt better, and she turned gratefully to the boy about to thank him, when she saw his book on the floor, which was as startling as the boy. “Thanks, umm…” Monnie said uncertainly to him, still eyeing the book.

    “Oh, I’m Marc, really Marcus, but just call me marc.” He looked oblivious to her startled outlook on him. She pointed to the floor, where Marc’s encyclopedia had fallen. “Oh, thanks,” he conversed, like reading an encyclopedia as a novel was a habit. Again, it showed that he must be stronger than he looked, for he picked up the 4 inch thick volume as if it was a flyer.

    They stood there uncertainly for a minute, Marc grinning idly with his eyes closed, Monnie like she was back on the bus still dreaming. Then Marc broke the uneasiness by saying fare well to a still dazed Monnie and in his agile, graceful step, turned and walked away like a dream being blown by the wind. And then he was gone. Monnie looked down at her knee. Where there had been a clearly black and blue, tennis ball sized bruise, there was now no trace of injury, not a scratch, on her at all.