"When he walks into the room, you will not cheer. You will not scream his name, or ask him to sign your binder. You will sit quietly and respectfully when he enters." In middle of the room, a red-haired student watched his teacher lazily as she addressed the class. It had taken forever to shut everyone up; the room bore too much excitement for this quiet to last. All around him, girls were fighting back the squeals that had bombarded him when he had first entered the room. Usually, he was met with some chatter, along with smiles and cute little waves from some of the girls. Today, he walked in like a shadow, unnoticed and ignored. Only one name left their sweet lips today: the name of the internationally famous pop star that would begin institution-based school for the first time in seven years. "Are we all clear?"

"I wonder what kind of pencils he uses," a blonde girl with a squeaky voice piped up, the excitement within her bursting. "Oh my God, what if he drops one, and I find it and take it?" Like a row of dominoes, the energy struck the next girl and her control fell. She shrieked and flapped her hands around as if she was not in control of her actions.

"Where will he sit?" she asked. "Please tell me it's next to me!"

"What kind of math does he take? I'll bet he's a genius, he has to be!"

"Of course he's a genius, don't you know anything about him? Once he walks into the classroom, he'll know immediately that I'm his biggest fan, and we'll be contenders for 'best couple'!" The noise pounded in his head; he covered his ears with his pale hands, trying to block out the high-pitched waves of teenage girl. Some of his classmates were quite cute. Today, they were beautiful enablers of chaos.

His teacher smacked her white board furiously. "Calm down! You will alienate him on his first day! I don't care how famous or 'hot' he is; he is here for a high school education!" To her dismay, the chatter did not soften. "Do you want to force him to transfer on his first day?" Silence fell. Wide-eyed girls stared at their teacher, suddenly interested in what she had to say. A smile emerged on her face as she paced around the front of the classroom. "I know it is not every day that Ludwig Beilschmidt, winner of three Grammy awards, including Artist of the Year, as well as five successful tours in over forty countries, born in Germany, with the body of both a male model and a bodybuilder combined perfectly, is starting as a student of West Valley Academy . . ." she took a moment to swoon, her blue eyes glazed over in a haze of admiration and joy. After a sip of water, she continued to speak. "If anyone would like to volunteer to escort him around our lovely campus—" several hands shot into the air, all of them female. The boys in the class groaned and muttered, clearly unhappy that some German-born celebrity was stealing their spotlight. None of the girls had paid an ounce of attention to any of them since the news came. "I told you, all you crazy fangirls are going to scare him away—Feliciano, why don't you guide our new student?" The red-haired boy pointed to himself in confusion as an angry uproar drowned out all other noise.

"That's not fair! Feli can't even name a Ludwig Beilschmidt song!"

"Do you realize who this is, Mrs. Cravitz? This is Lord Doitsu we are talking about! Our savior! Don't you realize he needs a completely devoted follower like me to guide him?"

"Lord Doitsu is the Creator of all great music, and you allow a wimp like Feliciano to guide his holy steps?" A brunette girl, who had fallen for Feliciano's flirtatious advances in the past, scoffed. She flashed him a dirty look; it made him feel offended. "He'll run away at the sight of his bulging muscles . . ." He had a feeling that he, like the other boys, would be forgotten by the girls for the rest of his high school career. He tried to plug his ears with his hands, but it did nothing to ease the furious, high-pitched shouts. Usually during homeroom, he would either talk to the girls or sleep, but none of those options were available to him.

Due to his repertoire of opera music, Feliciano had never even heard of Ludwig Beilschmidt, nicknamed "Lord Doitsu" by the fanatics, until a week before his arrival. He hadn't realized how many people were into his music, and from what he's seen of the pictures that girls shoved in his face, he didn't look special. He just looked kind of angry and scary. If Mrs. Cravitz wasn't such a nice lady who allowed him to eat in fifth period English, he would have avoided the newcomer completely. Though he could always give the job to one of his eager classmates, he figured that since he earned his teacher's trust, he might as well do the job he had been assigned.

Meanwhile, chaos continued to ensue. The deep, rowdy voice of disgruntled boys added with the girls' gossiping and squealing.

"Ludwig Beilschmidt is gay!" one insisted, sneering at a short girl wearing an iron cross around her neck. According to the die-hard fans, Ludwig wore one constantly, and clothing stores were able to make a fortune by selling cheap metal knock-offs to crazed fans.

"His music is shit," another added. Several cross-bearers huffed.

"You wouldn't know good music if it hit you in the face!"

"If Lord Doitsu's so 'gay', then why is he going marry me, and honeymoon in Cancun, and have three children with me, named Desiree, Xavier, and Ludwig Jr.?"

"You really think those stupid, cliché lyrics are aimed at you?"

"Lord Doitsu's songs are inspiring, uplifting, and beautiful. What do you listen to, songs with lyrics like 'sex, money, and girls'?" Mrs. Cravitz placed her hand to her lips desperately.

"Class, I really need you to quiet down!" She looked horribly anxious. Her pace had quickened and she kept watching the door. "Please, quiet down, for just two seconds—" With a click, the door opened, and all arguing halted.

"Am I in the right class?"

"PRAISE THE LORD!" An incredibly handsome teenager stood in the doorway, looking horribly confused as a flurry of his admirers crowded around him. Even though he was surrounded, he towered above the sea of fans, staring at the rest of the class with intense, piercing blue eyes. Feliciano noted his large biceps and made a mental note never to anger him. A few of the other boys did the same, but those who did not either crowd or cower sulked at their desks, bothered that they were never as popular as the blonde, fair-skinned celebrity. Though Feliciano assumed many wanted to, nobody made a move to touch Ludwig—they simply invaded his personal space. Mrs. Cravitz hurried to the new student's side and began to shoo girls away.

"Stand back! He is a student, not a work of art in a museum! Get back to your seats!"

"Where does Doitsu sit?" one girl asked. Feliciano noticed Ludwig sigh. He probably endured this often; how much privacy could an internationally famous singer have? Mrs. Cravitz ignored the girl and spoke to her student.

"Welcome, Ludwig. I apologize for my students' uncharacteristic lack of decorum. Please take the empty seat in the right corner of the room." The indicated seat was positioned strategically behind the teacher's desk. He pushed his way through the swarm of girls and sat down, all eyes focused on him. A smile emerged on Mrs. Cravitz's lips as she watched him, his own expression indifferent.

"Alright, let's start the lesson, shall we?"