Paris had stood outside Mrs. Hamada. classroom door for over a minute. The adrenaline rush from that mornings breakfast had finally worn off, and she stood there with sweaty palms and a quickened heart. She wasn’t used to being the "new girl", the one that everyone shied away from. Although she wasn’t exactly considered popular at her last school. The last years before her mother died Paris had had a multitude of friends, many dear to her heart.

What if they don’t like me? She thought to herself, her fingers gripping the brown strap of her pack hard enough to turn her knuckles white. I should just go back…

Her nerves were not able to take the stress and, finally acknowledging that the butterflies in her stomach had morphed to elephants, she turned to flee. What stopped her was not her courage or her logical reasoning. It was not her bravery shining through that brought her to a halt either. Instead, it was the solid chest of a passing alumni. One that stood a good deal taller to her with vivid amethyst eyes and a flowing mane of crimson hair. Blind from nervousness, Paris stumbled backwards, a cry escaping her throat as she started to fall. Right before the impact against the cold wooden door, a set of strong hands reached out and grabbed her, gently pulling her back onto her feet. Startled and still bewildered, Paris muttered a thank you.

“You should be more careful.” A gentle voice said. “If I hadn’t looked up from my paper at the very last moment, I would have ran you over.”

Paris looked up into two beautifully shining violet eyes. Close to breathless, she slowly nodded that she understood.

“Are you new here?” The man asked, recognizing her shyness. The austere, stern look on the professor’s face practically shouted that he was a respected teacher in the school.

Paris nodded again, looking down to realize that he still had his hands gently holding the sides of her arms. Blushing, Paris stepped back out of his grasp.

The professor let his hands fall down to his side, one still grasping the Tokyoscope Press tightly. With a nod, he stuffed the newspaper snugly into his back pocket. A long, flowing braid of blood red hair swung over his shoulder before he slowly pushed it back.

“I know a new face when I see one.” He said, reaching out a hand. “Welcome to Yaza Arts. I’m Mr. Fujimiya, the Contemporary Art professor.” Mr. Fujimiya greeted, polite as ever.

Timidly, Paris reached out and clasped his hand.

“Pleased to meet you,” The dark haired girl said shyly. “I’m Paris Borcelov.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have my class, would you?”

“Umm…” After shaking his hand weakly, Paris reached into her back pocket and pulled out her schedule. Her eyes scanned the chart until, with widened orbs, she found the teacher's name.

“I have you second period.” Paris replied softly. Mr. Fujimiya, for the first time since they met, grinned adoringly. “Second period is when I have most of my rambunctious students.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. We have a few fashion groups functioning in Yazawa,” He started explaining. Paris’ bemused, yet engrossed gaze silently asked him to continue. “For example, Moonshine, of which most of the seniors try to get into, and WoodStock ‘00 and also Paradise Kiss...those are the troublesome ones.” He informed. “Almost all of the members, except for Isabelle, is in my second period class. Oh, I guess you don’t know who Isabelle is, yet?"

Paris shook her head.

“Well, you might see him walking around school throughout the day…”

“He?”

Mr. Fujimiya smiled down at her, changing the subject.

“Did you know that you're five minutes late to your class?”

Paling, Paris let out a cry and turned towards the door.

“Wait a minute…” He called after her. Digging into his pocket he pulled out a crumbled sea green piece of paper.

“Here, this is a hall pass. Well, one from a few weeks ago. Anyway, tell Mrs. Hamada that you were talking to me." Handing it to her, he bowed and grinned kindly. “See you next period, Mrs. Borcelov.”

She bowed also, still a little awkward with the custom, and watched him walk down the hallway, his braid bouncing against his back. She steadied herself against the door, the lightheadedness overwhelming her. Turning slowly towards the classroom, Paris took a deep breath and turned the knob.

Paris found it ironic that of all the places to sit in the breezy classroom, she has to sit next to George. He sat in a lounging position next to her and shot her a mellow smirk. He had come in a few minutes before she had, barely missing her and Mr. Fujimiya in the hallway.

"Why were you so late, George?" Yukari whispered as she secretly moved her seat to the only empty chair next to Paris. Down below, on the floor of the studio, Ms. Hamada sifting through a pile of notes and swatches. She glanced up just as Yukari leaned in over Paris.

“Miss. Hayasaka!” Ms. Hamada suddenly called up to her. Around the classroom, thirty heads turned up to where the black haired girl sat. “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember sitting you there…”

“Oh, I must have, uh, misplaced myself.” She said jokingly, a rosy blush on her cheeks. As a small murmur of laughter rang around the classroom, Yukari moved up one level to her original seat. Content with her power over her students, the light haired teacher turned back towards the chalkboard and started class.

"How lucky I am to be sitting next to you, my angel.” George whispered as he leaned in towards Paris. She glanced in his direction, courteously smiling as she unpacked a composition notebook and a pen. “We should be study partners, eh?”

Seated down below them by one level, sat a pink haired, little beauty. Discretely, Miwako turned her head towards the two and smiled, greeting George. Recognizing the new foreign exchange student as the one that George had been talking about Wednesday night over the phone, Miwako agreed with the fact that she was a fresh break of air from all the pseudo-punks in school. With her short, choppy hair cut, pale, porcelain skin and large, bright blue eyes, Paris was a knockoff for what they needed for this years fashion show. Miwako had learned not to argue with George’s new “finds”.

Paris pressed herself back in her seat as she felt George’s breath on her cheek. With widened eyes, she looked sideways and their noses touched. He pushed her chin to face forward.

“I’d like to introduce you to Paradise Kiss.” He said in a hushed voice. “You can get up close and personal with them later but right now, I’ll just get you on a name basis.”

With a large, ring clad finger, George pointed directly below them.

“The small, rather pink one is Miwako. Right next to her is Isabella.”

Remembering the name from her small talk with Mr. Fujimiya outside the classroom, Paris squinted her eyes to get a better look at the…man?. Although she could only see the back of his head, she was surprised at how open and confident he seemed.

“You’ve already met Arashi,” George paused for a moment, his expression bewildered. “I wonder where he is at the moment?”

Paris nodded gently, interested in all the different attitudes around. George smirked down at her curiosity. Leaning in closer to her ear, he placed his hand over hers before she slowly inched it away.

“And, the leader would be me, George Koizumi. If you’re free anytime soon, I would love if you stopped by our studio--”

“George!” Ms. Hamada shouted abruptly. “If you have anything more interesting than the history of the backstitch than you can tell the entire class!” The woman placed her hands on her hips and frowned. “Well?”

“I’m dreadfully sorry, Yeckuno. My apologies.”

Ms. Hamada, seemingly unfazed by the fact that a student had just called her by her first name, once again turned and continued her studies. Only after the professor was entirely engrossed in her lecture, George lifted Paris' chin and looked over her face, nodding to himself. He stared deeply into her eyes, paralyzing her with such an intense look of desire that she felt her heart physically skip a beat.

"You're lovely.” He said simply, gently releasing her. Paris’ face stayed in the same position, her eye wide with confusion. Slowly, she lowered her chin and turning her face to the front of the classroom, gulping down the extreme feeling of bewilderment.

“Have you ever considered being a model?” He asked quietly after a few seconds of silence. Paris, too gone and lost in his gaze, shook her head. She tried to regain feeling in her body, but as the numbing sensation ran up and down her limps, she could barely move. Sensing her venerability, George smiled and sighed to himself.

“There is a big show coming up wh--”

“GEORGE!” Startled, George quickly looked up innocently at Ms. Hamada, her fiery brown eyes sparking with anger. “Once again George, I don’t want you taking during my class. Pay attention.”

With his charm finally shining through, George flashed a seductive grin at the middle aged woman, leaning away from Paris as he did so.

“I’m just trying to make Paris feel welcome.” He explained, pretending to empty out his text and notebooks from his bag. Completely unused, the little act was hardly a believing show.

“Well do it on your own time.” She snarled, slapping her pointing stick on the old, scratched-up desk in front of her. Around the room, snickers and talk rang out about what “your own time“ could possibly mean. A bright red blush exploded on Paris’ pale features as she quickly tried to cover it up.

“I think I will.” George leaned down toward Paris and whispered in her ear “Let's continue this later.”

The blood from the blush drained down to absolutely nothing on Paris‘s face. What brought Paris out of her trance was the worried, frightened glare from across the room. Sitting idly in her seat, Yukari, her orbs as wide as saucers, lowered her head as Paris made eye contact. The German blinked slowly, regaining her composure and sitting straight up in her seat.

The next few minutes were slow and tedious. Because Paris was a new student, she was assigned a partner to work with for the first few days of class. Walking around the room with her large, flat soled shoes, Mrs. Hamada had chosen Miwako as Paris’s partner for the next week and a half.

“I want you two to work diligently. No goofing off, you hear.”

Miwako, dressed up to represent the most beautiful and darling of all little pink fairies, smiled a cloy smirk and nodded.

“Miwako and Paris won’t fool around.” She replied. “We promise!”

The entire class then lapsed into silence, save for a few under-the-breath murmurs and conversaions as each student started on their sewing assignment. Paris was surprised at how incredibly open and kind Miwako was. It only took seconds before she felt comfortable talking with her.

“Oooo…” Miwako exclaimed quietly as Paris handed her the balls of sapphire and silver yarn they were given. “This stuff matches you’re eyes.”

Paris forced a smile, but it fell flat on her face. The pink haired girl’s grin also faded.

“What’s wrong, Paris?” She asked in a sweet, young voice. “Is something the matter?”

Paris looked up and shook her head.

“No everything’s fine.” Frantically searching her head for an idea to change the subject, Paris finally found one. “Um…could you tell me a little about Paradise….um, what was it?”

“Paradise Kiss!”

“MIWAKO!” Mrs. Hamada yelled from her throne at the front of the room. Miwako’s eyes grew and she shrunk back in her seat. “Silence in my classroom!”

“Paradise Kiss…” She whispered. “George created it a few years ago when Yaza Arts had a fashion show.”

For once intrigued, Paris leaned in closer to the bite sized girl, getting a nose full of strawberries.

“Yukari was our model. Miwako thought that she was beautiful in the dress that George and the rest of us made, but we only won second. George thought that maybe it was the fact that Yukari looked like most of the other models…”

“What do you mean?” Paris asked in the same whispered voice. “You mean that Paradise Kiss lost because of Yukari?”

“No, not that.” Miwako tapped her little finger against her chin. “Back then, all the models were tall with long black hair, exactly like Yukari…”

As Miwako said Yukari’s name, Paris shifted her eyes to look at her across the room. Bent over a beaded scarf of some kind, Yukari meticulously weaved bead by bead into the rich fabric. Seated next to her was George, knitting the last few strands of what looked like an entire dress, bodice, ruffles, and hemline included. He seemed to be the fastest, most skilled worker in the class, perhaps not even seconds to Professor Hamada herself. Suddenly, as Paris’s eyes were fixed on him, George looked up. Blushing wildly, Paris jerked her body around.

“I’m sorry.” She said quietly to Miwako. “Go on.”

“Oh,” The pink haired girl smiled at George and waved enthusiastically before continuing, “I wish Liyah was here, she would be able to tell you the story better then Miwako could. I wonder if she’s sick…“

“She seemed fine this morning.” Paris touched the fairy’s arm gently. “George liked Liyah when he first saw her?”

“Oh yes! She was different, maybe the same in height as Yukari, but because she had red hair and jade colored eyes, she was perfect for the lead model in Paradise Kiss.”

“How did George find Liyah in the first place?”

“The beginning of last year, about a month or two after the first fashion show, Yukari was told she was going to have a roommate, and it turned out it was Liyah. When Yukari introduced Liyah to Parakiss, George automatically knew she was exactly what they needed.”

“Are you saying that Liyah was a foreign exchange student also?” Paris asked, suddenly engrossed.

“Yeah, she’s from somewhere in Europe, but her dad was Japanese.”

Paris’ world froze for a few minutes, her head spinning from the information. Liyah was an exchange student just as she was and hadn’t told her?

“Was Liyah in any shows?” She asked shakily, clearing her throat.

“Yup, she was the main model for two shows this year. The Summer Show we won first place because of her and the Fall Show we tied for first.” Miwako’s excitement was almost too much for her to bear. Her little eyes widened when she talked about the show and her friends. For once, Paris wished that she was as happy about those around her, as carefree and innocent like Miwako.

“Is there a show this season?”

“Oh yes yes! The Summer Show starts in a few weeks, I think about five. It’s the biggest one this year, that’s why George is using both Yukari, Liyah and Miwako as models!“ An idea suddenly sprung to her attention. “Hey…you should come to a meeting!”

As the bell rang for the end of the period, Paris found herself smiling once again, just this time it was a true and honest smile. As she gathered up her belongings, and the little silverish blue square that she had sewn on her first day of class, she couldn’t help but feel that she would actually go to one of Paradise Kiss’ meetings.

Liyah cursed to herself as she ran down the hallway, her hand holding her messy hair down. She had completely missed first period. The first day of the new spring semester, and she already had a tardy.

She raced down the first hallway, twisting around a student at the last moment to avoid impact. A shouted apology left her lips as she neared the stairs, her book bag grasped tightly against her side as she raced down them. Her free hand grabbed the railing as neared the first platform. With the added momentum, she twirled around the bend, shooting down the next flight of stairs in a blur of burgundy red.

Please, oh please, let me get to second in time. Liyah yelled in her head. She hit the bottom hallway and took down the center, trotting impatiently when the crowds became too thick. If only she had been a few minutes earlier, she would’ve been able to miss the hoards of students during class intermission.

“Liyah!”

“Jeesh,” The redhead slowed her pace, her breath coming out in gusts as she looked behind her. She was met with a mass of faces, none of which she particularly recognized.

“Liyah! Go left!”

She sighed and ducked to her left, making sure not to bump into the countless portfolio bags and random guitar cases. Finally free at the side of the hallway, Liyah bowed her head and let herself fall against the wall, exhausted.

“Wow, I thought I would lose you in there.” The recognizable voice said. In front of her, Ayato melted out of the sea of students. He brushed off his shirt, straightening it out. Suddenly, he paused and looked down at his empty hands, his eyes jerking around him. “I had a whole armful of books a second ago.”

Liyah raised an eyebrow and pulled him closer to the wall, seconds before a hefty man in fuchsia demon stormed by.

“Where were you first period?” Ayato asked after a few seconds. He pressed his back against the wall, covering up a poster for the new Summer 05 Fashion Show. “Isabelle and I were looking for you.”

“Oh, “ She quickly cleared her throat as her fingers drummed innocently on the bag in her arms. “That doughnut I ate this morning upset my stomach. I can’t eat sweets that early in the morning.”

“I see.” Ayato, his hands deep within his pocket, looked over at her questionably. How many times had they eaten candy for breakfast as children? It never seemed to bother her when she was younger. “Do you want to walk to class together.”

“Sure.” Liyah’s tone sounded forced, but Ayato grinned at her renewed valor. He held out a hand to her as he straightened up. Liyah squinted her eyes up playfully and grasped his palm, taking a deep breath as they looked out into the ocean of people.

“Hold on tight,” He warned as he leaned forward, “When I could to three, we make like monkeys and run.”

“Monkeys?” Liyah shook her head in confusion. “Wait, what about your books? Didn’t you say you lost them?”

“One…”

“Wait! Ayato?” Liyah arched her long neck towards the thinning crowd. She could almost see to the other side of the hallway. A smile grew on her face when she suddenly saw a brazenly dressed man gracefully scale the populous walk. Dressed in a gorgeous Elizabethan styled corset and violet dress, Isabelle stood out among the throng, his height elongated by the flamboyant hat perched on his head. If it hadn’t been for the noise, Liyah would have tried to call him over.

“Two…”

“Look over there!” Liyah excitedly pointed to a ruffled up mess of papers strung across the floor. A text book lay haphazard against a closed door. “I think I see your noteboo--”

“Three!”