Ⓒⓗⓐⓟⓣⓔⓡ ➀
ⒶⒹⒾⒽ

Baby blue eyes converged the ceiling in the upmost focused matter, traces of melancholy and cholera and trepidation flickering amongst them fervently. No doubt the thought of the first day of high school—which, he unfortunately had to admit was only two days away from now—would incessantly taunt his mind with fear. He always had been scared of going into high school; not for the academically inclined challenges that awaited him, but mostly for just plain fitting in with everyone else.

Normally, he could proudly—and somewhat egotistically—state that this wasn't a problem for him. He was actually quite popular with everyone. Considering his adorably charming and affable demeanor, his adroit intellect (mainly concerning history), and his astoundingly gorgeous looks, he could very well be the epitome of Mr. Popularity. Though, that was only back when he actually had enough courage to flaunt his perfection—when he didn't feel like such a stranger. When he was actually in his hometown of Dripping Springs (a small little suburb somewhere close to the middle of the Lonestar State) instead of the intimidating city apparently called "Newcastle upon Tyne," which was very well in the foreign territory of England. England!

His parent's choice of moving had been almost too hasty and spontaneous, with no real reason save for, "We'll be closer to family this way." And by "family," they meant his senile grandfather, who practically lived on the opposite side of the English country. While the lack of proper justification for their movement irked him, what made him squirm even more was the fact he was to attend school here. In England.

He had the ideal imagery of what school in England, as opposed to the states, would be like. He suspected and most certainly expected a plethora of haughty, aristocratic, tea-drinking children abound, with their frumpy and pompous uniforms and whatnot. They would all have a strong heart for highly-praised literature—most likely Arthur Conan Doyle and Shakespeare's works—and a desire for the luxurious sports, such as golf and croquet. Their manners would always be taken into consideration before completing their task on hand, and conversations would be of the upmost taciturn manner. And, above all, they would all have those intriguing British accents. (That is something that he unfortunately could not imitate, and was completely astounded at his friends' mockeries of the accent with such unfathomable facility.)

It really scared him to think that he was subject to learn in such a different environment. He would miss all his robust and talkative (and highly inappropriate) friends, and he was almost certain he would be making no close acquaintances amongst the English population of children at his school (which was, if he could remember correctly, called "George Stephenson High School"). What he was certain was that his school life for the next four years would be a living nightmare for him. Trying to cope with the ways of the English would even further drown him into that abysmal nightmare. How could he—Alfred Frederick Jones, your average countryside bumpkin—be able to live amongst the proper people? How could he possibly strive to live through torturous years being expected to go through school normally?

Those same blue eyes flickered again, though this time with a mutinous aura. Though he was dubbed as a very nice person, he was also quite the rebel; he would not succumb to the ways of the Englishman, and instead opt for his usual American flair. Despite the horrid consequences of possibly being set out as an immediate outcast, it was a much better option than becoming someone he most certainly was not. And Alfred Frederick Jones most certainly was not a proper gentleman, be it in America nor England nor anywhere else in the world (well, save for the times he was at a fancy restaurant with the family and all).

The blonde American, still not the least bit tired, jumped out of his bed in a frantic daze and stared at the school uniform hanging loosely on a hanger. It consisted of a pair of ironed red- and black-colored checkered pants, an almost-translucent and pressed white button-down shirt, a forest green vest with the school logo attached to the right side of the torso area, and a flamboyant red tie to complete the look. He stared at it for a moment in a contemplative manner, his finger placed gingerly under his chin in an act to indicate his deep musings. Then, with a sudden epiphany, he smirked thoughtfully and began making some minor "adjustments" to his uniform. To give it the American flair. To give it the rebellious flair. To give it the Alfred flair.

After tailoring the outfit to meet his needs, the American let out a satisfied sigh and patted it gently, nodding in contentment. He then proceeded to return to his bed, wrapping himself snugly in his blankets. For once, he might have actually not been scared of going into high school; rather, he was excited to show off his uniqueness. He was excited to be different than anyone else.

He was excited to show everyone who exactly Alfred Frederick Jones was.

➊ ➃ ➌

Commence the first day of school (which roughly translates to the first day of hell, hurrah.)

Alfred heaved out short, relieving sighs to resettle his equanimity and tugged nonchalantly at his tie (full of little, shiny, American-esque buttons). His gaze diverted towards the fancy looming letters above him: George Stephenson High School.

The entire exterior of the campus was empty, save for himself. That lead him to assume that school had already started, which was surprising. He was so sure he set his alarm clock to an early time, but shrugged it off; he would only prove to be fashionably late for the first day, which was more or less desirable for the image he would set upon for the English students.

He stepped inside the school hurriedly, taking in a whiff of the atmosphere. It smelled like any other regular school, and upon closer inspection, it looked very and eerily similar to his old schools back in America. The only difference was, really, the chilling vacancy, as if the hallways were frequently haunted by ghosts and the like. It sent a bone-chilling shiver down his spine, proving to diminish what courage he had initially.

The American began walking wearily through the hallways, glancing at the shiny green lockers and the plethora of posters pasted on the walls here and there. After some time of walking every direction possible, he felt as if he was lost. He felt as if he was stuck in a maze, and the fact that practically everything looked similar to each other made it all the more difficult to figure out where exactly he was.

It sure was pathetic to have been lost on the first day of school, even if he had never been here before. He felt like such a child whose been separated from his family at the grocery store. The only possible think they could do (after their frantic panicking) is sit and cry their heart out. Alfred would've done that, too, if he was roughly around ten years younger or so.

The American glanced wearily at the classroom doors, being able to make out silhouettes of people inside. He actually considered walking inside to ask where exactly he should be, but he thoroughly decided against it. There were times when asking for directions were okay, but he felt as if it wasn't the right time right now. He felt as if—

"Umm, hello?" The quiet, foreign voice made Alfred jump in surprise, turning around to see a boy who looked slightly similar to his self in a weird sense. They both shared the same kinds of glasses, the same shade of baby blues, the same sun-kissed skin and hair color (though, his hair was a lot longer and reached just above his elbows, a lone long curl springing off from his head in an act to defy gravity). As opposed to Alfred, the boy in front of him held an innocent and withdrawn demeanor, quivering slightly yet smiling with the warmness of your usual boy next door.

"Hey, dude," Alfred said nonchalantly, passively waving a hand to the side.

The boy cocked his head to the side, scrutinizing the foreigner carefully until coming up with a sound conclusion. "You must be… new here. You're a tourist, eh?" He gestured slightly at the American buttons on Alfred's tie.

Heat rose to Alfred's cheeks. "N-no!" his stentorian interjection went as he looked down in embarrassment. "I'm a new student here…" He tugged at his clothes, sticking out his tongue in the process. "I mean, I guess that's what I was kinda aiming for… but a tourist, really?"

The boy smiled softly, tinges of pink splaying across the bridge of his nose. "Eh, sorry about that, mate. We've been getting a bunch of tourists waltzing in here every now and then. I don't know why they don't understand that this is a school and not a restaurant or something."

"Really? I didn't think people could be that dumb," Alfred inquired thoughtfully, scratching his head. The boy in front of him chuckled softly, nodding his head in agreement.

"Weird, eh? Sorry for mistaking you for a tourist again, though. I should have known considering you're wearing our uniform."

"I dunno, a tourist could possibly wind up wearing this."

The two looked at each other, exchanging sheepish and halfhearted smiles, then burst into a fit of giggles. After their little laughing fit had subsided, the two stared at each other intently again before Alfred spoke up.

"I'm Alfred," he stated, a big smile still attached to his face. "Alfred Jones."

"Well, Alfred Jones, I'm Matthew." The boy paused for a brief moment before adding in a mocking tone, "Matthew Williams."

Alfred sent him an amused look, in awe at how absolutely charismatic the boy was. He wasn't anything like he expected an Englishman would be; he seemed to be pretty laid back, and even his attire wasn't all that "pompous" and "frumpy". At least, in the way he wore it, for the sleeves extended beyond his finger tips and the collar hung slightly past one of his shoulders. It looked as if the uniform would engulf Matthew (hmm, would he mind if I called him Mattie? Alfred mused bemusedly) any minute now, what, with its large proportions compared to the small boy's almost effeminate body structure.

Matthew flinched at the way Alfred was staring at him, shuffling his feet uncomfortably. "Uhh, so anyway," he piped in hesitantly, picking at a nonexistent loose thread on his vest. "Where are you supposed to be, eh?"

"I'm not even sure. Honestly, I'm lost," the American said meekly, his hands floating towards his face subconsciously to adjust his spectacles. "Pretty pathetic, huh?"

"Not at all, mate! We all get lost sometimes; this is a big school, eh?"

"Yeah," Alfred muttered softly, shrugging.

Matthew noticed the despondent look on the American's face and diverted his gaze to the side. His hands were wrapped behind him, fingers fumbling nervously with each other's. "It really is no big deal," he reiterated carefully.

Alfred shot him a short glance, then shrugged again. "Yeah, well, I still dunno where I'm supposed to be at right now. What class period is it?"

"Still first," Matthew said in a matter-of-fact way, calming down slightly from his fidgeting. He feigned a smile and walked towards the American, gesturing him to follow. "You should come over to my homeroom. I'm sure our teacher wouldn't mind helping you out. He's a really laid-back kind of bloke."

"Bloke?" Alfred asked dumbly, scratching his head. "Isn't that a word for an American guy? So the teacher's from America?"

The other blonde stared at the American, dubious of his question, then laughed out loud. Alfred blushed again, knowing full well he had just made a complete and utter fool of himself. "N-no," Matthew said, trying to regain his composure after his little laughing fit. "I-it's an English term for m-men in general. You Americans sure are funny, eh?"

Alfred grinned. "Well, yeah, I guess so," he beamed. "So anyway, where're we s'posed to go?" He stuck out his tongue playfully, then added, "Mate?"

"See, you're catching on quick, eh?" Matthew nodded his head rapidly, trudging towards whatever their destination was. The American followed closely behind, amazed at how the boy was able to easily navigate throughout the entirety of the hallways without so much as a pause or any moment of hesitance. When the two blondes finally made it to the classroom, Alfred took a quick chance to peer inside the one of the little windows on the door before entering. He couldn't exactly make out what anyone looked like—all he could really see were shadows and anonymous silhouettes—considering there were no lights inside, but he did notice a pair of emerald green orbs staring his way intently. It almost seemed as if they were… glaring at him.

He shivered slightly (this truly was a very scary school), turning his head to face his new friend. Matthew gave a reassuring smile before knocking quietly on the door two times, as if in code form, and walked in. Timidly, the American walked in slowly afterwards, watching as the lights came back on and everything was absolutely clear to him. Everything from the teacher—lanky in build, but gave a promising and kind-hearted feel—to the desks and the pencils and the cupboard, and the students.

Surprisingly, the students were nothing like Alfred had imagined at all. Instead of that proper image he engraved in his head of the local Englishmen, he realized that the students displayed a sort of uniqueness to each of their outfits, as well as their overall look. They all seemed to have a particular attribute about them that made them stand out from the rest. On the right was a lone-looking guy with a cold and intimidating stare that sent Alfred plummeting down to horror-land. Next to him was a smiling guy with a huge white scarf, though he also made the American feel very weary. There was a girl with a bright purple ribbon, but without it she could have very well been mistaken for a male considering her short haircut and androgynous face.

All in all, everyone was just different than everyone else. No one was the same. No one looked like a proper gentleman (or lady). No one looked like a British person!

Feeling a light push on his back (a la Matthew, of course), Alfred stumbled onto the front of the classroom, feeling a million pairs of eyes boring into his soul. He gulped quietly, staring at Matthew who just gave him a simple thumbs up. Shaking his head, the American sighed dejectedly, all courage quickly draining from his egotistical mind.

"And who may you be?" the teacher enquired softly, placing a giant hand on Alfred's shoulder.

Oh… fuck my life. Alfred stared at the creepy stares he received from his peers, twitching at the exceptionally curt glare from those same emerald eyes he had seen earlier on. "Umm," he started, mentally slapping himself for his meek tone. "I'm Alfred… Jones."

"Ah! Alfred Jones—the American transfer student, eh?" The teacher began shuffling a stack of papers around, flipping through them quickly, his eyes darting from left to right with such rapidity that it almost made the American faint from dizziness. Though, he managed to squeeze out a small, "Y-yes," from his quivering lips as he continued to feel the horrible pang of deathly stares from the students.

"Well, Mr. Jones, you are definitely in this class. Here's your schedule." The man handed the American a flimsy piece of paper with professional-looking font abound, and Alfred started to skim through it with shaky hands. Eyes softening from pity, the teacher gently tapped Alfred's shoulder and pointed towards an empty desk next to a tanned boy, who was scribbling something down with a pencil that had a… tomato-topped eraser. Weird.

"Here, Mr. Jones, you may have the seat next to Carriedo."

Carriedo? Alfred quickly assumed that it was some sort of Mexican surname, feeling the least bit more comfortable knowing that he wasn't the only foreigner here. However, upon glancing at the students again… it seemed that no one really was from England.

When he heard his name, the tanned Spanish boy craned his head towards the front of the room and smiled. The American could have melted right away from the charismatically warm display; ah, finally, someone who wasn't a completely coldhearted bastard!

"Here, here!" the Spaniard gushed happily, pointing towards the empty desk next to him.

Alfred nodded curtly and made his way swiftly towards his new desk, attempting to avoid every single awkward glance from his peers. Just as he was about to sit down, he heard a rather stentorian yell from across the room: "Hey! What's with your American buttons? America—fuck yeah, eh?"

Heat rose towards the American's face as he frantically searched for the owner of the voice, only to find it was a frightful and rugged-looking blonde, smirking smugly. Alfred could have very well punched that grin off of his face, but he restrained himself, chuckling softly as the teacher began scolding the boy for his sudden outburst.

No one else seemed to be fazed from the outburst, save for a few gossip-obsessed girls in the corner who were giggling madly. The vast majority of the class was busying themselves with whatever they were doing. Alfred noted that some were even texting as discretely as possible under their desks, and he began to find a small smile etch itself on his face. So, he wasn't the only rebellious teenager around here, was he?

Sitting down calmly in his new desk, he planted his elbows on the table and began contemplating, as he always did after being a nervous wreck. All he could describe this school to be was freakishly weird. The students were even weirder than his acquaintances back in his old American schools, and that was saying a lot considering his friends were complete and utter freaks! But the students here were beyond the freakishly abnormal. He wouldn't be surprised if insanity here was considered the norm.

He had realized that there was at least one normal guy around here, and that was Matthew. Though, the blonde kid (who had the verbal tic of "eh," which made the American assume he was Canadian or something… but then again, so did the teacher) did seem like a withdrawn kind of person, he was nice and lighthearted and humorous at times. He was also the only person Alfred felt safe and normal with (the Spaniard kid next to him was making things awkward with his constant babbling on about tomatoes and another kid with a weirdly Mexican-sounding name). Matthew was the only sane person in the entirety of the school! And, well, Alfred was too. So far.

He began to shudder unconsciously, the familiar pang of a hideously scary glare coming towards his way. Just when he almost retrieved his equanimity again...

Alfred cocked his head to the side, searching around the classroom for whoever was making him feel uneasy. His eyes immediately fell on a rather haughty and petulant-looking boy, who had dark brown hair (and a peculiar curl sticking out to the side, similar to Matthew's but different in the way that it was less springy), tanned skin, and an eternal scowl plastered onto his face. From the way the tanned boy was staring at the American, Alfred began assuming that he might have been the owner of those enigmatic green eyes glaring at him earlier on. But, he quickly discarded the very thought; the tanned boy's eyes were a liquid amber and far from any shade of green, lest an emerald color.

The boy continued glaring at Alfred for reasons unbeknownst to him. Maybe the boy just hated on foreigners, especially Americans. Maybe the boy was just one of those hateful xenophobes. But whatever the case, Alfred felt himself slumping down into his chair. It had only been barely into first period, and he was already being hated on by someone he wasn't even introduced to yet, let alone know his name. The American felt even more flabbergasted than when his parents decided to suddenly move here just a few days ago.

He let out a deep, foreboding sigh. If the rest of his days (of hell) continued in the same manner as this, he would for sure die from the insanity of this weird school. The sad thing was, he already felt his life slowly draining away from his body, and that tanned boy's glaring didn't help in the matter.

Oh, fuck my life. Please.

➊ ➃ ➌

After a long day of introductions, intimidating glares a la peers, and more frightful insights on the sheer lunacy of the school, the almost-angelic chime of the lunch bell brought a sense of gratitude on Alfred's eyes. For one thing, he was finally glad he wouldn't be in a stuffed-up classroom full of the weirdoes. And, another thing, he was on the verge of caving in from starvation.

Hastily, the American grabbed his backpack (he still didn't have a locker yet), took out the saggy brown paper lunch bag, and began his little search for Matthew. The Canadian had promised him that he would help Alfred with his way around school, and of course the American gladly took him up on his kind offer. The American even started to look up to the Canadian as if he was some omnipotent and lily-white present from above. The everlasting gratification from Matthew's constant assistance made Alfred's miserable life have a little tinge of hope, if only a little. Nonetheless, it was better than suffering with nothing at all.

A few turns here and there, and the American finally found Matthew straggling behind another student with lunch in hand. His face having brightened up by the mere sight of the Canadian, Alfred beamed and waved frantically to gather Matthew's attention. When he realized that Matthew still seemed oblivious to his frivolous hand gestures, the American took it upon himself to approach the Canadian directly.

Once reaching Matthew's side, Alfred began to gingerly nudge the boy's side. A gasp erupted from his throat as the Canadian stared awkwardly at Alfred in a daze. Alfred cocked his head in confusion at the boy's seemingly horrified state and asked, "What's wrong, Mattie?" (Hopefully he wouldn't mind the American's nickname for him.)

The only response Alfred got out of him was a small, quaking shrug. "Oh, uhh, nothing interesting. Don't worry about it, eh, mate?"

"Well, if you say so… mate." His tone was unconvinced, his baby blue eyes glinting with suspicions. The quivering Canadian had something to hide, that much was sure, and it was obvious he wouldn't be telling Alfred any time soon. And, as curious as he was for the cause of Matthew's strange behavior, he wasn't going to be nosy. Not just yet.

So, letting the matter drop and attempting to ease the atmosphere, Alfred inhaled a huge reassuring breath and nodded fervently. "Well, let's go to lunch now, eh?"

Sensing the abrupt change in mood, the Canadian smiled wholeheartedly and sent Alfred a thankful nod. "Alright. You're getting good at this, by the way. You'll fit in no time of you keep this up," he said in a joking manner, walking off to some random direction. Alfred, like an obedient puppy, trailed closely behind the other blonde, attempting to memorize his surroundings and making a mental map of the interior of the building. So far, he was sure he would at least know where the cafeteria is from now on with no help whatsoever.

Upon reaching the cafeteria, Alfred couldn't help but gawk at the amazing decorations. It was as if this room was more of a luxurious suite than his school's cafeteria, what, with the fine-linen bench seats (really?), gold-trimmed and fancy-looking white draperies fall down from the ceiling, and an actually pleasant lunch line with feasible food. The cafeteria food from his school had always been a bit on the revolting side. The food here, however, actually looked temptingly appetizing. (He had to take a mental note to buy his lunch tomorrow and sample the delicious-looking food, just to see if they live up to their grandeur looks.)

"So, where would you like to sit?" Matthew asked quietly but just loud enough to be heard from over the excessive chit-chat from other fellow students. Alfred looked around and chose an empty set of tables in the back of the cafeteria, dragging the Canadian towards his mentally claimed spot. Fortunate for them, no one else seemed to have wanted to sit at Alfred's table choice, so the American seated his self promptly at the table with a hint of victory flickering in his eyes. Matthew stumbled across the floor and sat himself right beside Alfred, making a comfortably safe space between them.

"So anyway," Alfred spontaneously piped in, grabbing a wrapped sandwich from the depths of his lunch bag. "What's up with all the glarin'? There was this one Mexican-lookin' dude who kept giving me that death glare. Kinda freaky, huh?"

"Eh? You mean Romano?" The Canadian toyed with his salad, gingerly placing a hand on his cheek. "I can't really state this as fact, but rumor has it that he and Antonio Carriedo... the guy who sits next to you... have a sort of affair with each other. They're not going out, though. Everyone is saying that Romano is too much in denial. And Antonio is too oblivious to notice." He let out a blissful sigh, munching on a dark green leaf. "But I know that they will get their act together some day and actually notice each other... Hopefully."

"Oh." There really wasn't anything else Alfred could say, for he wasn't used to homosexual relationships. Everyone at his school had always had a straight pairing, and no one ever dared cross the border, straying away from the "normal" sexuality. It wasn't as if he outright hated gay relationships; he just couldn't say he supported them. However, he wasn't about to say that out loud. There were some things better left unsaid, and his thoughts on homosexuality were one of them. Besides, upsetting your only friend (and school navigator) practically meant suffering through his freshman year in solitude. That was not going to happen.

Straying away from the subject hastily, Alfred began taking a long glance at the whole of the cafeteria. It might have just been him, but he had noticed a wide range in ethnicity from everyone. It was weird. He supposed that this was a distinct school with a very diverse population. He couldn't even make out any Britons from the vastness of the crowd.

"This really is some place," Alfred muttered under his breath.

As if Matthew had read the American's thoughts perfectly, he said, "This school is pretty out of the ordinary, I know. It is supposedly the most diverse school in the entire world, or so I've heard. Nifty, eh?"

"Totally."

The two continued lunch in a taciturn manner, with Alfred munching loudly on his peanut butter and jelly sandwich whilst his best friend chewed his salad with careful mannerisms. The American hadn't even noticed the new pair sitting down next to then until he felt the Canadian nudging towards him slightly, quivering again.

Alfred craned his head and noticed two new figures sitting next to Matthew. There was a girl and a boy. The girl had skin bathed carefully under the sun, bright red lipstick that looked tacky on her skin, luscious black locks tied loosely on red ribbons, and brown orbs that bounced with happiness. She was absolutely gorgeous, and Alfred found himself fawning over the girl's irresistibly delectable looks.

Next to her was a pasty and lanky boy with tousled blonde hair, insanely thick eyebrows (Alfred stifled a giggle), a too-good-for-you attitude, and emerald greens... Exactly like the pairs that had been glaring at Alfred not too long ago.

Their existence at the table dropped Alfred's comfort zone, as well as the shaking boy beside him. "Who are they?" Alfred asked suspiciously, leaning close to Matthew's ear to prevent the other two from hearing their conversation.

"They're the it couple of the school," Matthew explained quietly. "The girl is Samira, and she is apparently from a small island called Seychelles. Her boyfriend is Arthur Kirkland. He's actually a purebred Britain, and quite popular too. Pretty admirable, eh?"

"A little arrogant," Alfred scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "That Arthur kid... He kept glarin' at me this morning. What's up with him?"

"Eh, that's probably my fault..."

Alfred gave him a befuddled look. "How...?"

"Well, you see, mate... Arthur is my younger brother."

"What?" Alfred's voice accidentally came out as a half-yell from the sheer surprise of the fact. The two looked nothing alike, save for hair color... somewhat. They weren't the same shade, but they were both still blondes. Other than that, absolutely nothing. "You're related to him?"

"Technically, yes, but not through blood. It… is… a little complicated."

"Long story short?"

"His mother married my father," Matthew said with hidden remorse cowering behind his words. "We've been brothers for six years now, but he still hates me. He just doesn't want me to be in his life." The Canadian let out a deep sigh. "He refuses to associate with me, but he will end up sitting next to me sometimes. I have no clue why, though."

"What a jerk," Alfred sneered in contempt. "I would he so happy with a brother, but he just hates you for being forced into his family?"

"Like I said, it is a lot more complicated than that. Just forget about it, eh, mate?" Matthew's baby blues were full of childish begging.

"Fine," Alfred huffed out, re-crossing his arms. He stole a quick glance over at Arthur's direction and found him surprisingly staring at him. Taken aback, the American hurriedly turned his had the opposite direction to avoid any more eye contact.

"Obnoxious git," said a deep voice with a strong hint of a British accent. The only logical explanation was Arthur, but when Alfred turned his head to look, the nasty Briton was long gone.

Even though he had no idea what a "git" was, the American could at least assume it was a sort of insult. Thus, he let out a deep, perplexed sigh, pushing away the remains of his lunch. He glanced at the Canadian next to him, who just shrugged and gave him a look that signified an apology. Alfred forced a grin on his face, but he felt as if his insides were going to explode any minute now.

Sheesh, this is gonna be one fucked up school year….

I found this in one of my old fanfiction folders. Apparently, I have up to the third chapter done. I'll be uploading those soon, but I just want to know: should I continue this, or just abandon it entirely? I know school fiction is pretty cliche, but I find that writing this is a lot easier than a lot of my other works. Plus, this is the only non-Spamano story I have. Sort of... Not really. XD