Chapter 1

James Anderson had been a happy child, always smiling and, for the most part, making those around him smile as well. He never went through that colicky phase that some babies were prone to and, other than the normal feedings and occasional dirty diaper issues, manage to sleep through the night from the very start.

This, of course, endeared him to his mother, and her good moods endeared him to his father as well. There was always a smile on his chubby little face, and even the most cynical of his parents friends thought him just the most wonderful baby they had ever met.

As a toddler, he never went through the "Mine!" phase, sharing his toys with anyone who would play with him. As he entered kindergarten, he quickly became the darling of the teachers there as well.

He was a quiet child, and it usually took people quite a while to realize that he almost never spoke. Oh, he could speak, and fairly well, though he wasn't any more advanced than his class mates, he just seemed content to let others babble on while he listened.

As he progressed through elementary school, he never lacked for playmates, but his parents began to notice that he didn't have a best friend and, in fact, had very few playmates that were good friends. He was friendly to everyone, seemed to know just want to say or do to get people to like him, but he didn't seem particularly concerned about getting close to any of them.

His parents spent many an hour discussing this, even going so far as to have him talk to a child therapist. When the therapist told them that the boy seemed well adjusted, they decided to leave well enough alone.

James, for one, was relieved. You see, James was quite a bit brighter than he let on, having learned at a very young age that if he showed others, some would be unhappy with him. It was much easier to just go along to get along.

Getting along was very important to James, because he could always tell when others were unhappy, or angry, or a host of other emotional states that were not conducive to a calm existence.

James was an empath. He didn't know this, of course, not from the beginning. He was a child after all. He knew, after several aborted attempts to explain how he knew what someone was feeling, that others thought it simply a harmless childhood fantasy. The one teacher who he had almost managed to convince had become nervous, afraid whenever he was around and it took the rest of the school year to convince her that it had all been a bit of a lark.

When James entered High School in the United States, well, that is where this story properly begins.

"Well, this is going to be a proper pain in the arse." James thought to himself, keeping his face expressionless as he watched the horde of students filing inside when the first bell rang. He had never attended a school with so many students and his uncanny ability read the emotions of people around him became problematic when in large crowds. His recent headaches were exacerbated by crowds as well, so it was almost guaranteed he would be feeling poorly before the day was done.

Nothing to do but get on with it.

James's parents had moved to the US over the summer, his father taking a position with an American firm with a fairly substantial raise in pay being the lure. The company had also paid to relocate them, finding them a rather larger house than they had owned in Oxford as part of the bargain.

James had been quietly impressed with America thus far. Everything was so big here. The streets, the cars, the buildings and now this monstrously large school. The people he had met seemed to be as nice as those at home, though the accent was taking a bit of getting used to and the food was all odd-tasting. Good, for the most part, but definitely not what he was used to.

The students at the school he was attending numbered almost five thousand, and the building was larger than any school he had seen, including the buildings on the campus at Oxford. It was three stories and covered what would have been about eight square blocks back home. Behind the school were two American football fields, two regular football fields (the Yanks called it soccer), several tennis courts, two baseball fields and an Olympic-sized swimming pool.

When his mum had brought him down to register for classes, he had been astounded at the size of the school building, but literally speechless at the size of the school grounds. Then there had been the folderol about getting the school to recognize the classes he had already taken. They organized education into strict levels here, based mostly, it seemed, on age rather than education level or merit. Quite a change from the charter school he had attended in England.

So many new things to get used to. Ah well, soldier on as his father liked to say, though he was not sure exactly why since his father had not, in fact, been a soldier.

Shifting his backpack higher on his shoulder, he consulted the map he had been given and joined the throng of students as they passed into the building. As he worked his way through the crowded hallways, searching for his first period class number, he had occasion to feel thankful that he had insisted on American style clothing. He seemed to blend into the crowd here, a good thing.

His first class was English, and he couldn't help but grin. It should properly be called American, he suspected, as he wasn't all that sure that the Yanks spoke English anymore. He did his best, as he entered the classroom, to block out the emotions of the other students. He was mostly successful, just feeling a general buzz of excitement from the others in class, with a few spikes of anxiety and one really bothersome flow of despair.

Casually looking around as he chose a seat near the middle, but off to the left of center, he opened his 'shields' in an attempt to hone in on the despairing student, but didn't have any real luck, the ambient emotional noise making it difficult to concentrate. Closing his shield up again, he pulled out his book and waited, watching the ebb and flow around him.

When the bell rang again, he heard the door close and looked over his shoulder. The teacher, a rather attractive woman in her late twenties, if he guess correctly, was making her way to the front of the room. She was very pretty, and had a very nice figure, though her clothes appeared to be chosen to disguise that fact. Probably a defense mechanism against the leering eyes of teenage boys like himself.

Well, not exactly like himself, he thought amusedly, and he wasn't exactly leering, just admiring.

"Good morning class, I am Ms. Sommers. This class is English Literature, a precursor course for the English classes you will be taking when you become a senior, and those classes preparing you for college. This semester, we will be studying some of the greatest authors of our time. Next semester, we will focus on creative writing and what makes an author more than a scribe."

Her voice was melodic, James thought, very well modulated and pleasant to the ear. It made you want to listen, a very valuable talent for a teacher. As she introduced herself and described the syllabus, she was pacing around the room, looking over her students as they looked her over in return.

Returning to the front of her class, and leaning up against her desk, she picked up a notebook and began calling the roll. He was the third name called, there being an Charles Aarons and an Amelia Abelard before him, and he raised his hand when called.

"Here." he called out, mimicking the students before him. That went well enough, he thought. I don't want to be called out as a foreigner any sooner than necessary.

He had allowed his attention to wander, assuming she would continue the roll call, but he had been mistaken. When he noticed that almost every eye in the class was on him, he glanced around worriedly before returning his eyes to the teacher. She had obviously asked him something.

"I beg your pardon, Ms. Sommers, I didn't catch that." He said, silently damning himself for not paying attention.

"I asked if you were the new transfer student, but I think we have our answer." she smiled, attempting to make it a joke. Some of the students laughed, a couple smiled, but most just stared at him.

"Ah, yes Ma'am. From Oxford, England." He answered, though he might well have just kept his trap shut, now that he thought of it.

There were a couple of giggles from the rear of the class, and one girl in particular was staring at him, her eyes intent, but not in an unfriendly way.

Ms. Sommers returned to calling the roll, and when she was done, she placed the notebook back on the desk and crossed her arms.

"Today we are going to get to know each other. In addition to being your English Teacher, " James saw her eyes flick to him, the hint of a smile on her face. "I am also your home room advisor. We will be seeing each other twice a day this year. What I would like to do now, is to start at the rear of the class with Mr. Brennan, and have each of you introduce yourselves and list at least one hobby. Mr. Calder, having met you before, I would prefer if you limit your list to half a dozen in the interests of time." She smiled at the boy in question while about half the class laughed at some inside joke.

Great. Yet another thing I didn't consider. Growing up and going to school with my old school mates meant that we all had a common frame of reference. I could, for instance, mention the Cod Cricket incident, and everyone knew without asking that I was referring to Basky Anders's father having a laugh during a cricket match by bowling with a bit of haddock instead of the ball. Here, he had no common frame of reference and would be all the more an outsider for the lack.

"My name is Andrew Brennan and I play baseball." the first student said quickly, then returning to his seat with a relieved look on his face.

"My name is Cecelia Topin and I collect butterflies." a very plain looking girl reported next.

This went on for quite a while before they reached him, with James taking mental notes when one reporting something that might interest him.

"My name is Jim Anderson, and I am trying to learn Spanish." he said.

The process continued through the rest of the class, the only real standout being Joe Calder, who reported that he was "in the band, played classical guitar, and concert piano and collected baseball cards and rode BMX bicycles and..." he was cut off there, to general laughter and sat down with a cheeky grin on his face.

By the time the last student had reported, there were forty-two in all, it was almost time for second period. Glancing at her watch, Ms. Sommers told the class that she wished a two-page report, due the next day, on what they had done over the summer holiday. The groans were almost universal, and Ms. Sommers grinned.

When the bell rang there was a general exodus for the door but, when he stood to join the queue, he found that his way was blocked by the girl who had been so assiduously studying him earlier.

She was very cute, was his first observation. She was about two inches shorter than his five foot, six inch height, and had a nicely developing figure. Her platinum blonde hair and bright blue eyes were striking, as was the grin she had on her face as she held out a hand in the universal "STOP!" manner.

"I'm Zoe, and you are Jim." she said, and he could feel the waves of curiosity practically rolling off her. It was mixed with something ... ah, that was odd. It was mixed with a touch of fear and a touch of longing. How strange.

"I have the weirdest feeling that we are going to be friends. I know we have never met, but I would swear that I know you from somewhere." she said, her head cocked slightly to the side, a puzzled expression on her face.

He nodded to the doorway, now almost clear, and she looked around. She stood aside and, as he went to pass her, she slipped her arm through his and matched his step.

How very extraordinary. Now, in addition to curiosity, she was feeling compassion, as if she was empathizing with his plight as a new student.

They walked through the door together and, after glancing at the map in his hand, he turned left. When she stayed in step with him, he glanced over to see her studying him out of the corner of her eye.

"I have Mathematics next, in room 207." he said, as much to gauge her reaction as anything.

"I know." she replied, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. When she saw his expression, she relented. "It's right there on your map, silly! I have Physical Science, room 211. You don't mind if I walk with you, do you?"

"Not at all." James did, a little, but because he would be more conspicuous walking down the hall arm in arm with this very attractive girl, not because he objected to her presence. He had intended to keep a very low profile for a while until he better understood the pecking orders.

Zoe kept up a running travelogue of sorts as they walked upstairs and down the hall, pointing out directions to various destinations. The gym, the cafeterias, the library and the activities rooms were just a few. She commented on groups of people as well, pointing out the 'Jock', the 'Society Girls', a group of black-clad Goths and she seemed to know just about everyone, having exchanged waves or greeting with at least thirty students.

When they reached James's classroom, Zoe simply released his arm with a cheerful "See you later!" as she continued onward. James stood and watched her walk away, enjoying that view as much as he had enjoyed the front view. He was a bit nonplussed when she looked back over her shoulder, a grin on her face as if she had known he would be watching, and a cheeky wink.

He saw Zoe again in Home Room just after lunch, of course, and was not surprised when she grabbed the desk next to his. When Ms. Sommers called the class to order, the rest of the students pulled out various books and began working.

Not sure what he was supposed to be doing, he looked to Zoe who was more than happy to explain that Home Room was a period where they could work on projects, on home work, go to the library, see a counselor an things of that nature. They could, it seems, chat during class, but Ms. Sommers was quick to inform several groups that any talking should be done at low volume, and only about class work. Gossip was not a course on the syllabus. Shrugging, he started in on his Mathematics assignment.

It turned out that Zoe was in three of his classes. English, of course, and home room, but also in his last period class, Introductory Spanish language as well. His prediction, vis-a-vis his impending headache, was right on the money. By the time he was walking to his final class of the day, his head was pounding. The crush of people, the unstoppable waves of emotion that had rolled over him all day long had taken its toll.

He stopped by his locker to exchange his Geography text for his Spanish text, and, as he was about to close the locker door he felt a great weight slamming him into the metal lockers. He was shocked, as much by his failure to read any warning before the push as he was by the attack itself.

The student who had shoved him hadn't done so because of some personal animus towards him, but as a sort of banal, target-of-opportunity brutality. He hadn't detected any anger before it happened because there hadn't been any, and only a low level enjoyment of the event afterward. The student, a much larger boy wearing a football jacket, simply sneered at him as he and his friends continued walking. James stared after them, watching as they pushed and shoved their way down the hallway, not letting anyone get in their way.

He had run in to the type before, and he had a long-standing plan to simply avoid their type once identified. In an odd way, he preferred emotionally stunted people like that, at least as long as he could avoid them, as their emotions rarely impinged on him unless they were angry.

He was a bit embarrassed that other students were looking at him, sitting there on the floor, so he scrambled to his feet and almost ran head-first into Zoe.

"Don't worry about those guys, they are assholes to everyone. I doubt they even saw you, not as a person." Zoe said cheerfully as she brushed a bit of dust off of his shirt.

"There seem to be some of that type in every school." James agreed, his face a bit red.

"So, Spanish next?" Zoe asked, either oblivious about his embarrassment or simply ignoring it, not wanting to make it worse. In either case, James was glad for a change of topic.

"Ah, yes. You as well?"

Zoe just smiled and slipped her arm through his again, leading him off down the corridor.

The noise level, in both auditory and emotional volume, seemed to explode when the last bell rang. James, almost overwhelmed, lay his forehead on the cool desk and tried to block it all out.

He had developed what he called his shields over time, learning to partially shut out the constant impinging emotions of the people around him. There had been a time, when he was in lower level classes, when he thought he was going to go stark raving bonkers. But, through a lot of hard work and, frankly, desperation, he managed to work out a way to simply ignore most of it, focusing on one person at a time, or focusing his mind on one favorite topic to the exclusion of all others.

At times like this, with extended, overwhelming exposure, the shields were overwhelmed and it felt as though he was suffocating, his head pounding and his skin clammy. Nausea sent waves through him as well, making him feel even worse. He needed to work on his defenses if this was how the first day of school had bothered him, and he needed to start straight away.

He felt a hand on his back and turned his head to the side, just enough to crack his eyes open and see who it was. Zoe, of course.