Mistakes Happen by Morwen Undomiel

A Good Start

I woke to the mesh underside of the bunk above me. The mattress doing its best impression of supporting me in these wee hours of the morning was faintly musty, and old. I knew it was old because of the distinct feeling that when I stripped, I'd find lots of little spring-shaped impressions all along the back of me. My thoughts were usefully following a track of 'maybe that's why I'm sleeping on my back.' I usually wake up face-down, see, or rather, since I never figured out how people could sleep with their face in their pillow without suffocating themselves: amended, that would be front-down, with my face twisted to the right. My chiropractor assured me that this was hell on my spine. My ex-chiropractor, I should say. I won't be getting that luxury in here. Which is apparently fine, if I'm now going to start sleeping on my back.

Enough about my habitual sleeping positions. What my freshly-woken mind couldn't immediately grasp was why I seemed to be waking on the bottom bunk of a metal-framed bunk bed in (as I turned my head) a row of similarly Spartan bunk beds, all of which were occupied by dark and gently heaving forms, unmolested into consciousness by morning's light (which wouldn't be up for another couple of hours anyway) or some barking militaristic type with a shrill whistle and a nightstick to clang down the rows of bunk beds. We had one, no, two snorers here. Bunk beds.

You must pardon me; I have a more than slight Thing about bunk beds. I hate them, and refuse to lie in one, especially the bottom bunk, because of the entirely justified fear of the top bunk breaking from its secure place and squishing me thoroughly. I came by this fear because of an unfortunate incident with a plastic Barbie bunk bed and a strange but ultimately short-lived fascination with bowling. Ask me now why I ever put a bowling ball in the top bunk of a Barbie bed (you can imagine what happened to poor Barb') and I will vehemently deny ever having played with those doll-things. Way too pink. But still, ever since, I've had that understandable dislike. I would never sleep in a bunk bed, unless I was given no choice.

Which brings me back to what I'm doing in this place that strips me of the choice. As memories from the previous night drift back, it comes to me that I'm in a private school, not un-similar to a militaristic school in its strictness.

Ah hell. Might get those nightsticks after all.

I'm here because I've been a stupid little pain-in-the-ass, plain and simple. The less condensed version? I've been homeschooled since Day 1. I also never really had friends, so make little bother about social graces. My da died when I was four, right after Souta was born. Souta is obviously my brattling brother whose undiagnosed bipolar disorder (by my call, anyway) leads him to be a pillar of twerpish snot that I refuse to acknowledge as human, and alternately a little boy of surprising sweetness and trust. Too bad he's usually the inhuman mucus. My mom, after a short but (to the child-psyche) disastrous period of dating, married again. And, after that guy cut and run for no reasons apparent to us, she married yet again. Toki's an aggravation on every account, including that the nutcase wants me to call him "Dad". Thank you, but no. In fact, skip the thanks.

So family life is hell, but you always hear that from a teen. Especially when their eccentric grandfather's living with them as well. Ugh. So, in rebellion for every complaint that every teen has (I refuse to delude myself that I'm unique in this. If I'm going to be an ass I might as well be honest about it) I determined to make Mom wish she'd never had me. I didn't do drugs, have unprotected sex, get in a gang, or whatever.

I just made everyone think I had.

It was surprisingly easy. I have an odd body clock anyway, and tend to get up a couple hours before dawn. Mom, Toki, Grandfa, and Souta were bugging the hell out of me anyway, so I spent an inordinate amount of time in my room or out of the house. I wore all black. (the color looks good on me anyway, so what do I care?) I hinted, I evaded, I made a point to 'sneak' out of the house and into the waiting black car middlingly often. The driver of said car, Naraku, was the only individual I really at all cared to have the acquaintance of, and that merely because he was willing to drive me to the library and back all those times. He was the type my mom was paranoid I was. He was in a gang, he dealt drugs, liquor to teens, and easy sex. He gave me the creeps, when his flat black eyes would take me in, but as long as his hand stayed on that side of the gearshift, I didn't give much thought. Didn't, that is, until the sonofabitch broke in and lifted a few choice jewels.

Mom blamed me, of course, and airmailed me to here. Big brown box. Insufficient air holes. This Side Up. Or at least, thus went my morose daydream as my forehead was pressed to the window in the backseat of the car, not-watching the rain drizzle down the other side as Mom ironed out the final quick details in person. Here at the Academy. Never heard it referred to by any other title. Just "The Academy". How . . . overblown. Anyway, I'd been up for about 22 hours, and I was less than clear on my surroundings. Mom glaring a goodbye at me before driving away, (she deliberately aimed for that puddle. Delightful.) Dripping in an impressively ugly front hall with my unmatched luggage, managing to juggle and drag said luggage down a corridor while a woman (and I use the term loosely) I dubbed Annita the Hun marched in front of me. Depositing my stuff in the aisle at the foot of my bed where someone's sure to trip on it, then dropping into bed with an atrocious CREAK. Fantastic.

So now I'm awake, apparently. I rolled out of bed and at the courtosy of gravity found myself facedown on a severely cold concrete floor. Well now I'm awake. Better than coffee. I creaked into a standing position, and blinked in the less-than-dim light at my surroundings. Yup, still ugly.

I just barely failed to miss my dangerously piled luggage, and limped resolutely over to a window. I braced myself in the frame and stared fixedly on a little bit of nothing, concentrating viciously until the pain eased to a pleasant throb. Right. First order of the day: pills. I walked back to my bags (stubbornly without a limp) and fished out a white bottle of capsules. I swished my tongue around to build up some spit, then swallowed the pain pill almost dry. Grimacing, I dropped the bottle back into my bag and fished out some fresh clothes. Yanking on the black jeans and plain white T, I located the door, as quietly as possible shoved my baggage beneath the bed, stuffed my feet into sneakers without socks, grabbed the fake leather jacket I'd flung across the bed, and blessedly exited these militaristic barracks. And found little improvement in the decor of the hallway, but hey, at least I wouldn't have to be quiet.

As evidenced by my earlier slightly nut-cracked stare out the window, I wasn't on the ground floor. I'm more like on the third floor. Third of unknown. I needed air. I found some stairs and headed up. You know how some buildings have those handy stairs that take you all the way up? No such luck. Turned out to be four floors total, and I found an open window. Why? I don't know, it wasn't exactly summer, outside. But it was beside a plain-ladder 'fire escape' (how would it facilitate escape when it ended in a rusty snarl between the third and second floors?) that I could easily swing onto. This accomplished, I swallowed a brief feeling of vertigo and gained the roof. Flat, boxy, multi-layered. Apparently some storage-attic-thing. Fine by me. I sat with my back agaist the outside of the apparent attic, sidelong to the edge of the roof about four inches to my left. I zipped the jacket and stuffed my hands in the pockets. I leaned my head back and studied the indistinct horizon which would in another hour or so lighten to varying shades of blue, and some time after that bloom lavenders, pinks, and peaches. My eyes fluttered closed and I released a slow sigh. Life just got very, very different.

"Listen, bitch, take that last roll and I'll make sure you have nightmares for weeks."

"What're you going to do, flash me? If you really want the roll that bad I'll give it and spare myself the torment." The boy who'd growled bad-naturedly at me blinked amber orbs as he took in my quick comeback. My sidelong appraisal tagged him as cute, newly-woken, and grouchy. By now I'd been up three or so hours and could afford to be flippant in the face of life's lack of morning people. I lived for this. Everyone hated me in the morning.

He reached for my roll. Well hell. I grabbed his wrist and cordially lobbed my bowl of entirely unapatising oatmeal into his face. The students before and behind us in line drew back as he let out a hoarse and somewhat gummy yell and hit me. Boys annoyed the hell out of me, as did girls, so I was familiar with the usual fighting techniques of each. This boy with the mane of bestickied silver-white hair didn't swing from the side like most brawlers did. He came in straight and fast, and clipped my cheekbone. Dammit, that would look great in a couple hours. I slammed my fist into his groin, (he barely flinched! No way!) And we grappled happily. He was much better trained, but one of the dubious perks of my former association with Naraku was that I was good at fighting dirty. And I enjoyed this. This split-second exercise of wits and speed and muscle. I didn't even mind that I was getting as good as I got, because he was loving it too.

Someone got an effective lock on me and hauled me bodily away from the albino prick, and I saw a beautiful (and absolutely livid) girl doing the same to him. Rather, she had both slim hands gripping his forearm, and this was apparently enough to restrain him.

"Inuyasha!" She'd shouted in his ear to get his attention. Well then. Inuyasha.

As 'Inuyasha' had shared his oatmeal with me, as well, I was as sticky as he. My restrainer loosened his grip and held me slumped away from him. I twisted to see his face, expecting a teacher (that's what they do, no? When not directing knowledge into our malleable minds, they break up student fights) and, peering blurrily through my swelling eye, discovered a sense of Deja Vu in the silver-white hair and amber-goldish eyes. Great. Rare coloring. We have, what, a brother?

The guy released me and walked away as the faculty belatedly swooped upon us.

"Hey, bitch!"

I hesitated only a moment before turning. It wouldn't take much to figure that Inuyahsa was shouting at me. I last saw him as he slunk out of the headmistress's office, though I'd been slightly distracted by thoughts of what was in store for me. Turned out to be nothing much, just a couple skipped meals, today. Well that's just spiffy. Always did study better after 24 hours or so of no food intake. Should've licked off the damn oatmeal when I had the chance.

"Yes, Nutless Wonder?" I intoned, thinking back to my opening punch. "How might I serve?"

"You got alotta damn cheek, for a new fish."

"A regular puffer fish." I watched him warily. His hair was still damp and messy from washing, but his hands were in loose fists and his legs were spread in a stance that portrayed arrogance, defiance, and try-it-and-taste-shoe attitude. He looked ready for another fight.

He stalked to within normal speaking distance and kept on stalking, stopping with his toes two and a quarter inches from mine. Not that I was looking down, because his nose was in the same proximity. Annoyed with this breech of my personal space, I poked a finger hard into the hollow of his throat. He coughed, narrowed his eyes, and peered at me. Damn unnerving, but I blinked not.

At length, he tilted his head. "What the hell's your name?" He demanded.

Masochist me, I started to like him. "Kagome."

"Inuyasha." He flashed a reckless grin. "Kagome, huh? Think I like 'Bitch' better."

I shrugged daintily, a smile tugging my lips. "Fine by me, as long as I can call you --"

"Inuyasha!" A deep harsh male voice called out. "I heard some girl beat you up at breakfast. What, boys not tough enough for you anymore? Need cat fights to show you who's boss?"

Inuyasha's eyes alternately narrowed and flared as his gaze slid with malicious intent sideways, trying to get a fix on where his antagonizer was without turning. Really, he looked somewhat unhinged. "Kouga, you fucking idiot, you saying that girls are tougher than boys?"

"You're saying they're not?" I put in quietly, masking a grin with a glare. Boys're always so fun when they're pissy.

He turned those annoyed golden globes me briefly, promising retribution (to which I of course scoffed) before turning fully and settling his glare on his antagonist whom I could now clearly see:

Again, a clear aesthetic vote for female heterosexuality. Long black hair bound back in a high horsetail with a heavy fringe of bangs falling over a headband which crossed a defined brow, sitting over black eyes that spoke of motorcycles and fast fists and many, many orgasms. Straight nose, great bones, wide shoulders, etceteras examples of what was no doubt very fine tanned male flesh covered with a black undertank and khakis and a dark olive-green shirt knotted carelessly at his waist.

"You obviously are so weak even a..." His eyes fell on me, and his brows bunched, then arched up his temples. "Inuyasha," His tones warmed with growing delight "Surely this isn't the presence of the girl," He emphasized the word, then paused further for unnecessary effect: Inuyasha was already seething. "Who disturbed your breakfast so, earlier?" He sidestepped my red-faced new friend and stood at a proximity which was definitely a violation of my personal bubble. He leered down at me. "A pretty little tart, but by the looks hardly ---"

The rest of that was a deeply pained whuff that my ears took in with deep satisfaction, having driven my knee swiftly between his arrogantly widespread legs.

After my earlier experience with Inuyasha, I'd wondered if I'd really been out of practice so long. I experienced not only sadistic but personal delight as his eyes crossed and he bowed a bit over the, ah, tender section.

Not seeking a new diet plan via school punishment, I thought it a prudent time to flee. After eliciting Inuyasha's agreement (hearty shove, "Move, dammit!") we commenced with the fleeing. Gratefully stopping behind an ugly section of wall, we recovered our breath. I recovered my breath. He looked like he'd been skipping in a dandelion-covered... back ally. Black jeans and a red shirt looked good on him, from an observer point of view. Damn him. Pride was all that was keeping me from wheezing. I glared at him and his in-shape-ness, and noticed he was starting to turn a bit red himself. I'd started up the first inklings of concern, when he started laughing. Collapsing, practically convulsing from it, he leaned on a hand against the wall then slid his back down it until sitting on the ground. Hooting. I slowly crouched and wrapped my arms around my knees. He was daft. Demented. Definitely a dodo.

Alarmed by the thought pattern developing, I opened my mouth to shut myself and him up.

"Inuyasha! Why is Kouga curled up in the South Garden, and... why are you laughing like an escapee from the mental ward?" I turned to glare at the speaker -speakers- as Inuyasha's laughter renewed and he collapsed on his side.

The speaker had shaggy black hair pulled back at the nape of his neck, was dressed in black and purple, and wore a decorative glove with a necklace or something looped around the wrist. His eyes seemed unusually large and dark, until I realized that was the effect of eyeliner. He'd pitched his voice to carry to us without shouting in any sort of undignified manner.

Running in front of him was a redheaded kid; my guess would put at 11 or 12. Freckles dusted his nose and cheeks, and I would later find his eyes lit with clever intelligence.

Behind the loping goth-boy came two more girls with long black hair. One wore hers tied high on the back of her head, the length remaining still ample enough to flow over her shoulders and blend with her tight black clothes. She had cat eyes on her shirt, low on the left. Cute. The other was the girl from that morning, who'd grabbed Inuyasha. Her voice, I remembered, was deep for a girl's our age, and gorgeous to match her. Loose blue pants under a too-large white top that, in the breeze, whipped and flowed about her frame most becomingly. Drat her. She was looking at me with narrow-eyed dislike. I was, of course, more than willing to return the sentiment.

Behind them all was the other boy from that morning. Boy, yes, though man would be more appropriate, by his bearing. His hair, so like Inuyasha's but finer and better groomed, was longer than mine. Taller than them all, though Kouga would've been the closest, by my estimation. He wore crisp white pants and a simple elegant shirt. He looked at me with admirable detachment.

I was distracted, however, by Inuyasha sitting up and holding his breath to halt his residual snickers. "He met Kagome, here. She had the good sense to kick him in the nuts."

Five pairs of eyes turned to me. The first boy and the tougher-looking girl with humor, the kid with admiration. The lovely vision looked at me with a flash of renewed anger. The tall one'd yet to show expression. Fine. I stood, leaned back against the wall, crossed my arms and ankles, and said nothing. Inuyasha gave a final snicker and stood as well, his arms crossed and his legs braced.

A moment passed.

Inuyasha unwound an arm to flip his hand palm-up in a 'hello?' gesture. "Names?" He demanded testily.

The rusty-haired boy bounced with barely restrained enthusiasm. "My name's Shippo," he chattered, "And we're going to be in classes together!"

The boy who'd first spoken laid a hand on Shippo's bright hair. "Shippo's the Academy's child genius. And I am Miroku. A pleasure," He said, with a small gentlemanly bow.

Gazes turned to the two girls. The one I'd met this morning spoke first. "Kikyo," she said in a richly bored tone, conveying that she really did not care if I knew her name or not. Her eyes sharpened momentarily. "Inuyasha's girlfriend."

I smothered a giggle. I'd really already sorta figured that.

I looked at the other girl. "Sango," she said simply.

"Violent angel. You two should get along well, I think," Intoned Miroku with a teasing lilt. Sango kicked him lightly in the ankle. He winced. I grinned.

I turned to the one who'd restrained me that morning and blandly raised my brows. He did no more than meet my gaze.

Oh I could feel Inuyasha looking back and forth at the two of us. "And this giant flaming snot is my half-brother, Sesshomaru."

That introduction wasn't earning my rash friend any brownie points with his kin. The look Sesshomaru cut to Inuyasha had every bit of scorn the comment'd warranted.

When they turned their golden magnificence back upon me, Sesshomaru's eyes were once again... lifeless. I shrugged and looked away, leaving him for dead, and turning my attention anywhere but my angrily growling stomach.

I sometimes have a strange effect on people. Sometime later, I'd put my mind to it. And I'd make him smile.

A sigh. "Why, I ask, is that place called the 'South Garden'?"

Shippo looked up. He'd been sprawled on his belly next to me where I sat propped up on the one single lonely tree in The whole bloody Academy. Inside the halls and rooms the walls were bare, the furniture was Spartan, the cushions nonexistent. That includes the beds, I refused to count those as 'cushions'. But don't get the wrong idea. This wasn't a criminal-looking place. No water stains seeping down the walls, no whipping-rooms, no flickering bare bulbs. Just fluorescents that flickered when first turned on, then gave a steady, utilitarian light. The grounds were mostly walled-in courtyards of various sizes; open sky above and cracked concrete below. The largest courtyard had a few low walls of knee-to-hip height whose original purpose I have no idea, but were now used as simple perches for socializing teens. Aside from this courtyard with shade tree and grass, it was a singularly ugly school. Respectable enough when parents looked it over for the children they found troublesome, or just too much to bother with.

I was starting to look through my study materials for the classes that for me would start the next day, and half-listening to Shippo as he chattered on about this or that. I pretended I didn't enjoy his company. The kid was refreshing. There'd been a brief period where he fell silent in favor of studying an ant on the grass before his nose. Into this pause I inserted my question. It'd been bugging me.

"The South Garden? You bet! 'S called that 'cause, other than this place -'Eden' to us- that's the courtyard with the most weeds poking up through the concrete."

No matter how factual and/or fun, I was saved from him launching into a new set of topics by Sango's searching yell of aggravation. I tamped down a grin and looked sidelong at Shippo. It hadn't taken me long in his acquaintance to realize he had a penchant and a delight for tricks.

"Later, 'Gome!" He said quickly and scrambled in whatever direction he thought was 'away'. An abrupt stop and reversal, I couldn't hold in the laughter as he fled wailing from the courtyard, a muddily enraged Sango with a bucket of water in hot pursuit.

Snickering, I settled back against the bark and re-opened my books.

I watched her. I settled on the comfortable branch without a sound. Everyone thought this tree couldn't be climbed. By standing on someone's shoulders, you could reach the lowest branch, but it was so awkward from there that nobody bothered. I liked it that way: it ensured my privacy. I guess they didn't care, because it really hadn't taken me long to find that if I wanted a leafy retreat, the rout was to leave the school, find the outside wall, and climb the vines to the top of the wall, thus being able to simply step into the enclosing foliage. It wasn't the tree I liked so much as the isolation. I didn't mind people. They just didn't know when to shut up. Offhandedly, I like her voice. Young, smooth, disciplined away from being squeaky. She looked too tough for it, when she spoke around the group.

But now, I had to admit it fit. Shippo'd gone, seeking to escape the wrath of his latest victim, this round. Thinking no doubt she was alone, Kagome'd laid her books against her legs and leaned her head back against the trunk, her long-lashed eyes closed. Her face was young, her lips softened into a smile as the sunlight threaded through the leaves to cast dappled caresses on her cheeks, 'cross her nose, highlighting her luxuriant black hair.

This was an annoyingly sentimental direction of my thoughts, and I broke it off. I didn't want to look away from her, though. Really, there was something sublime... oh stop, it would do no credit to the cause of stoicism to start writing sonnets to her eyebrows.

Her eyes fluttered and opened. Their blue depths focused on me, directly above her.

Shit.

A.N. Eternal thanks to Sumisha, Aesuka, and Mistress Dragonflame for being my Beta Readers. A pledge of eternal servitude to ElementalSpirit, the best goddamn 12 year old in the world. Story and chapter title from Aesuka, story summary mostly from MistressDragonFlame. You've witness the start of my first fanfic. Thankee.