Alright! This is my version of Coraline; cept I've replaced Coraline with a teenage, homosexual boy named Corey. First person, Corey's perspective!

The long, drive here from Pontiac, Michigan was shit. No fancy airlines to take us there in a zip; nope, not with your Dad and Mom having a Gardening Catalog writer and editor's salary. We just had to make due with the tiring, boring, trip-by-car all the way to damned Oregon, of all places.

I slumped in my car seat, the tell tale frown on my face that I usually always kept there nowadays. Being a sixteen year old, and male at that, I've always had an incredibly boring life. Boring childhood, boring holidays, boring schooldays, boring friends... the only thing that wasn't gradually growing boring by the second, was my overly active imagination.

Too active, at least for the kind of life that I'm living.

"Hn, finally." Announced my mom, pulling to a stop. It was dark outside; still day time, but way too cloudy to be considered light out. Being summer, everywhere was supposed to be way sunny. Even in good ol' Pontiac, MI, it was hotter than shit out.

"We're here, Fuss-pot. You can wipe that pout off your face now." My Dad still called me such an old, embarrassing, childhood name. Cripes almighty, I love the guy, but he could really be a doofus at times.

My arms folded across my chest, I sat up, rolling my window down in the back. I leaned over the edge of the door, window now fully down. I poked my head out, looked around, scrunched my eyebrows together, and sighed. This place actually looked like shit. Mud and dirt everywhere. Sure, I liked mud when I was a kid, since my parents and I used to garden all of the time. But now, it just looked totally useless. How could you garden in such awful looking weather?

I finally got out, shutting the door before unhooking the bands of wires that held a few of our suitcases on top. I took one of mine, and my mom's, starting to carry them up across the porch and front door. My Dad and I continued this, until every suitcase in the trunk and on top of the car was unloaded into the house. My Mom didn't do much, because of her neck injury.

Yes, I had forgotten to mention that she was injured. She wasn't paying attention, and had ran into a truck. A TRUCK. And it wasn't even moving.

I think she sort of deserved it, for not paying better attention.

Knowing she'd probably slap me silly for saying that, I always kept it quiet, grumbling it indistinguishably to myself when I needed a little, 'pick-me-up'.

I wheeled my suitcases past the gray, ultimately dead looking kitchen. Then past the boring and non-entertaining hallway, with stairs. I looked up those stairs dejectedly, knowing all too well that my room was up there. The stairs looked old and rickety enough; could they handle one hundred and twenty pounds, plus a few suitcases stuffed to kingdom come? We'd just have to see.

Thank heavens the stairs didn't give in, though I almost did. Carrying those things were hell, up those damned stairs.

After several trips up and down those stairs, carrying bags, suitcases, and all kinds of luggage, I nearly passed out in relief when the movers showed up. The great thing about that was, no personal labor of your own was involved. Which meant I got to relax and explore.

I slipped on a yellow raincoat; pretty standard for this type of weather, since it looked like it might rain soon anyway. Zipping it up, over a white, wool-knitted, long sleeved sweater that fit my slender but slightly toned form, and letting the coat drop down, nearly past my dark blue jean covered knees I patted the coat down. My yellow rain boots matched as well.

I left the hood down, since it wasn't entirely raining yet. And hoods always messed up my hair; not that I liked it perfect, but I liked it at least suitable. Speaking of which, my hair was an incredibly deep, blue color, that almost matched the tone of my jeans. Weird, huh?

I mean, I'm not an alien or anything, this shouldn't be some strange phenomenon. My parents' hair isn't blue, or anything.

I hate my blue hair. But I wouldn't dare try dying it.

I stomped out the back door, letting the big, burly, moving men get their job done, probably only to receive a lousy tip from my cheap Mom afterward. Mud sloshed around my boots, making it a bit hard to walk. I sighed, stuffing my hands inside my coats' pockets.

The great Corey Jones... stalking out in the mud. Didn't sound so great at all.

I, Corey, walked... and walked. I hadn't gotten my morning jog in, so I was feeling a bit antsy. Walking past the area where the garden would be kept, I noticed how empty it seemed now. If anything, at least I had the garden to look forward to. Even though gardening had kept my family apart, through work, and all the seriousness of it... gardening also kept us together, whether it was the first squash that I planted with my parents, to the marigolds we kept on the porch at our old house... Hopefully, we'd be able to share lots more memories together, then just the ones that I held onto dearly.

I scoffed at that, crouching down to pick up a pebble. I resumed my walking, now on a narrow trail on the side of a rising hill, which overlooked the Pink Palace Apartments; the place in which I and my family had moved to. I bounced the pebble in my left palm, eyed it for a spell, then swung my arm back, before flinging it outward. The pebble crashed onto some rocks up above me, on another trail on the slow rising hill. I heard an animalistic screech, which made me jump and nearly cry out. I hurriedly continued my walk down the path, trying to shake off whatever fear I had of the sudden noise.

I came to a clearing at which I decided to rest. I sat on a large boulder, my elbows on my knees, my chin held gently in my hands. Hopefully, whatever it was that I hit wasn't too angry with me.

"Hey, you!" I heard an unrecognizable voice. It was deep, masculine. I was instantly frightened, thinking that I had trespassed, or was in trouble; the voice seemed to hold authority. Whipping my head in the direction of the voice, my eyes widened.

Standing opposite me at the clearing stood a single silhouette. He was sort of masked behind a tree that he was under, until he stepped out from under it. Now, I could see him more clearly. My shoulders relaxed and slumped, looking at him like I could care less about what he called me to attention for.

It was definitely a male in his teens; he was tall, had a well toned figure. His body was nothing to laugh at, since it looked apparent that he had hit the gym often. His dark colored skin looked silky to the touch... but I was too stubborn to compliment him on it.

"What're you doing here? This is private property of the Pink Palace Apartments." Said he, his arms folded across his chest, which was covered with a black raincoat. His sleeves were rolled up, however, which revealed his masculine, well-defined arms. I crossed my arms right back at him, mustering the biggest frown I could.

"I just moved into the Pink Palace. I think I'm at least allowed to chill here, in this mudhole you call a town." Retorted I, sounding a lot angrier then I was. I was cranky, and not really in the mood.

The other boy's stern expression softened, and eased. His arms fell to his sides completely before he started to give off a chuckle. He moved closer, and I stared at him, defiant, but at a loss for words. This weirdo, however good looking he may be, yells at me and then starts laughing? What is wrong with Oregon?

He came over and sat down next to me on the large rock. I tried not to look at him from up close, and ended up looking at the muddy, boring ground instead. I bit my lower lip softly as he started to talk.

"My Grandma, she owns the Pink Palace. But... she never rents to anybody with kids. Huh." He said, before holding out a gloved, big hand. "I'm Wybie, by the way. What'd you get saddled with?"

"Hmph. I didn't get saddled with anything; my name is Corey Jones. W-Wait... Wybie?" I had questioned, confused at such a... different name as Wybie. Too confused to wonder why Wybie's grandmother hadn't rented to people with children. Nonetheless, I took his hand in mine, my own small hand getting smaller in comparison with his. Even through his glove, I could feel the heat radiating from it. It felt nice.

"Short for Wyborne. I don't like it either. Nice to meet you though, Corey." He replied, shrugging his shoulders before letting go of my hand. I stared at him incredulously, at him having such an awkward name. But I didn't question it further.

"So, where'd you come from? It doesn't seem like you like the rain much. Or mud." Wybie had said, taking of his glove to run a bare hand through his slightly messy, curly brown hair. I liked that hair.

"Pontiac." After I had answered his question, he looked at me weird. "Uhm, Michigan." He understood me at that, his head bobbing up and down.

"Well. We're the only two kids around here, so we might as well get along. I'm also pretty good with plumbing and maintenance, so if anything breaks down over there, give me a holler; the place is over one hundred and fifty years old." With that, Wybie finished, getting up from the rock and back over to the tree. Then, he pulled out a bike from a place where I hadn't seen before, and rode it down the hill. I sat up a little straighter, watching after him.

It started to rain and get colder, leaving my shallow breathing visible, my cheeks a burning red, and giving me the irresistible urge to cover my face with the yellow hood of my coat.

It had to be the rain, to get me to act so strangely.