She didn’t fit in anywhere. She didn’t know why. Was there anything so ridiculous as a sociophobic dance team manager? Girls like her weren’t supposed to have any problems. They were supposed to be perfect. But Temari didn’t feel perfect. She felt odd and out of place. She watched as her so-called best friend, Sasuke Uchiha, needle his brother and ignore everyone else. A fairly typical evening around the Uchiha twins - one minute they were beating the hell out of each other, the next they were spookily affectionate - especially when they did that thing when they would look in each other’s eyes and you could tell they were talking to each other without speaking. Temari avoided Sasuke’s gaze and tried to occupy herself by talking to another girl, Kin. But nothing that evening, not even the fact that they’d been given the best table in the house or that the Calvin Klein model on her left had asked for her number made her feel any less miserable.
She’d felt that way in Houston as well. But there, she could hide it more easily. In Texas, she had a natural tan and curly hair, plus the best backflip on her team. Everyone had known her since she was a “wee chile” and she’d always been the prettiest girl in her class. But Daddy had to move everyone back to New York, so here she was, even more miserable.
Of course, Manhattan was nothing like Houston and Temari’s (once) curly hair and backflips didn’t matter at her new school, which didn’t have a football team, much less mini-skirted cheerleaders. But on the other hand, she didn’t expect to be such a hick.
First day of school, she wore a pastel Ralph Lauren sweater and a plaid Anna Sui kilt with a honking leather white Chanel purse on a gold chain, only to find her classmates dressed like they were going to hang at the arcade. No one wore pastel in Manhattan or rocked white Chanel (in the fall at least). Even that weirdo goth girl - Tenten - displayed a chic that Temari didn’t know how to match. In the very least, she was very lost and very lonely.
But then there was the deal with her accent. Whenever she would say “y’all” or “laaahke” they imitated her, none too kindly either.
For a moment, it looked like Temari would be one huge reject and should have just been homeschooled. After all, her father was the Senator of New York.
That is, until clouds parted, lightning struck, and a miracle occured: Sasuke Uchiha took her personally in hand. Sasuke was a junior, a year older. Him and his brother Itachi were like the Princes of England. Sasuke was the orientation leader for new students, and he’d taken one look at Temari - horribly dressed and all and said:
“That’s a new look. It’s so wrong, it’s right.”
And that was it.
Suddenly, Temari was whisked away into the In-Crowd. Just like in Texas, it included jocks (starting lacrosse instead of football), uniformly pretty girls (but they were on the dance team and debate team, headed for the Ivy League)- with the same unwritten code to keep out newcomers. Temari knew it was only Sasuke’s good graces that she’d managed to infiltrate the sacred stratum.
But it wasn’t that she was lonely, or just a bit scared of the people around her, it was how she would go somewhere and get a feeling of deja vu, but stronger - as if it were embedded in her primal memory - would overwhelm her and leave her shaking. When she walked into their new home on East Seventy Seventh street for the first time she thought, “I’m home.” and it wasn’t because it was home... it was the feeling in her bones that she’d been there before. Walked in that doorway. Went up those stairs. Looked through that window. “It used to have a fireplace.” She thought when she entered her room. Sure enough, when she mentioned it to the real estate agent, he’d told her it’d had a fireplace in 1819, but it had been boarded up for safety reasons.
“Because somebody died in there.”
But the nightmares were the worst. Nightmares that left herself screaming awake. Nightmares of running, nightmares of someone taking hold of her - as if she weren’t in control - and she would wake up, shivering and cold, the sheet drenched in sweat. Her parents assured her it had to do with hormones. Like it was normal for a fifteen year old girl to wake up screaming so loudly, her own throat dried up and she choked on her spit. That was so not normal.
Now, in the club, Itachi was standing up and Temari was glad to have an excuse to leave. Kin had already snaked her way outside. Temari lost sight of Itachi halfway through the crowd, and she flashed the stamp on her right wrist to the guard, who had to let people out and in due to the draconian smoking laws in New York City. Temari found it ironic that New Yorkers considered themselves cosmopolitan - when in Houstan, you could smoke anywhere, even inside a beauty salon when you were under the dryer; but in Manhattan, smokers were consigned to the margins and left to deal with the elements. Maybe they should kick alcoholics out here as well.
She pushed open the door and found herself in an alleyway, a small dark corner between two buildings. Through the darkness she noticed those from the club next door. It was so odd, there was almost an invisible line seperating the two from each other, like those from the other clubs weren’t worthy enough for those who had went here. But they were all smokers here, so it didn’t really matter. She saw Kin leaning against a wall, hanging out with a couple of models.
Temari rooted in her overcoat for her cigarettes and tapped one out. She turned to Itachi and held one.
“No thanks.”
Shrugging, she put them back inside her coat and brought hers to her lips, fumbling for the matches.
A hand extended from the darkness, offering a small, lit flame. From the other side of the alley. The first time someone crossed the line.
“Thanks,” Temari said, leaning forward and inhaling, the cigarette glowing red at it’s tip. She looked up, exhaled, and through the smoke recognized the guy who’d offered it. Kiba Inuzuka. A transfer - just like her - to the sophomore class from somewhere out of town. One of the odd-ones-out at Stepford-like Delphine, where everyone had known each other since nursery school and tap dancing lessons. Kiba looked quite handsome and dangerous in his customary beat-up leather motorcycle jacket over a band t-shirt and ripped jeans. It was rumored he’d been expelled from numerous prep-schools. His eyes glittered in the darkness. He flicked his Zippo closed, and she noticed his shy smile. There was something about him - something sad and broken and appealing... he looked exactly the way she felt, and he walked over to her side.
“Hey,” he said.
“I’m Temari,” she said.
“Of course you are.” He nodded.
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Chapter notes: Still not much to say. Won't be updating as much because I'm going on vacation. I'm glad you guys like this, it's turning out to be one of my favorites as well.