The Power-lock (UNDER CONSTRUCTION)

CHAPTER 1 : ANDREA

Must close my eyes. Must resist. Must resist. Oh forget it!

I turn my head 270 degrees eastward to give the couple-in-heat some privacy. The blondie that was engrossed oh-so-deeply in a sweet-talk with the big piece of chiseled beef, never even bothered for a second to consider the sudden shift of air, initiated by the convulsive movement of my head.

Alyson - the afore-mentioned blondie - twirls her fine, thin, flat hair around her fingers. However Rossen - or should I say Alpha Baylor - was getting somewhat bored of the long conversation - how long could one resist before catching the itch of monotony.

However, Alyson ignores the all-too-obvious signs of his irritation and continues her speech on something probably very trivial but is cut off when Mr. Cronelli enters the class - humming yet another feel-good song.

Mr. Cronelli sets down some books that he had previously carried into the room - with great effort may I add - onto the table. Whilst his fingers graze the cool wooden substratum, his eyes scan the entire classroom. I hope I don't catch his attention. Just like I wished, I hadn't. Somehow, that irritates me - not because I can't even manage to catch the attention of a teacher but I feel as if the vastness of this place is going to gobble me up.

He doesn't look a day over twenty-nine, even though it's no big deal for him since it runs in his genes or should I say their genes. Dark brown hair - rough as though sprayed with brine - sits on his head like spilling dark waves constantly breaking softly towards a shore while his eyes capture an emerald sunrise.

Mr. Cronelli gives Alyson a lingering look - not full of adoration or lust, even, but one filled with disgust. The only thing I like about Mr. Cronelli is our mutual, unexplanable hatred for Trachtenberg.

I derail myself from my own train of thought. Mr. Cronelli has a faint smirk forming at one of the corners of his mouth. "Well, Ms. Trachtenberg, I hope you're finally awake."

I smirk back at his words. Trachtenberg had it coming. Trachtenberg. Even the mere thought of her name makes me want to vomit. Something about her being German irritates me. My biological father was - is - German. That makes me half-German. We all have secrets we're not proud of. Not that I'm against Germans or anything. Maybe if that blasted Alyson didn't look so strikingly like my half-sister Kate...

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