"Even from a distance, Nixon Young has an aura of maturity. The way he carries himself, the rolled back of his shoulders, his tall and confident posture, the lazy way his eyes skim his surroundings- it's hard to explain and to formulate into words, but it just shows. All of Nixon Young screams maturity. It's hard to believe this is the guy that tied a live goat to a pole in the gymnasium." xxx Chantelle Géroux thought people like Nixon Young only existed in books and movies. Ever since freshmen year, stories about the legendary Nixon have circulated throughout the student body. Stories about his glorious escape from the cops, of the time he stole a car and promptly almost crashed it, of how he had jumped from one roof of a house to another during a crazy party. For the last three years at Princeton High, Chantelle had listened to the stories, even if they were painfully exaggerated, in awe. She spared small glances at Nixon, taking in his confident smile and loud voice, his blue eyes that sparkled like no others, and tried to understand. Understand how one person could stir such talk among such an easily-distracted group of teenagers. But Chantelle knew how: Nixon Young was simply extraordinary, in a way that simply couldn't be understood. But then junior year came around. Two years of stories full of fascinated stories turn into heated whispers in the hall. Looks of awe when he walks by turn into hurried avoidance. Nixon's easy-going smiles turn into scowls, his fist making a dent in the lockers as he lashes out once more on someone. Nixon Young's personality does a complete 180 degree turn, and no one has any idea why. Eventually, Nixon Young is nowhere to be seen. Until he turns up at Chantelle's doorstep, three weeks after he got kicked out of Princeton High, asking for one hell of a favor.