Natasha was hopelessly lost. She traipsed through the corridor, studying each door and referring back to the pathetic, incomprehensible map she'd had thrown at her by the receptionist.
She traced a finger along a building on the north of the map and glanced at a number on a classroom. Was she on the wrong floor? "So if this is E Block then I need to-"
"Hey!" Yelled somebody, and she snapped her head up. Standing a few feet down the corridor was a guy; tall, with dirty blond hair and blue eyes, sporting a goofy grin. "You new?"
"You bet," she murmured, raising an eyebrow. In all her worldly experience; of which she had a fair bit, considering this was her fifth high school this year, he was a jock. Not football, athletics or track or something. He was wearing a team jacket, but she wasn't sure what club he belonged to.
"And do the new kids always talk to themselves?"
She scowled. "Look, I need to find… E115. Do you have any idea where that is?" He flashed a crooked smiled again and re-adjusted his backpack. "Do you have English with Mr Bryant?" She nodded. "Great, me too."
Natasha gave him a sceptical look, and he laughed. "Yeah, we're a bit late. I wasn't planning on going but now something interesting's happening… come on." He beckoned for her to follow.
She followed him silently – despite his best efforts at conversation – up a flight of stairs. She wasn't planning on making any friends if this was going to end like it always did; her dad promising it was permanent followed by the company re-locating him, apologies and her pretending she didn't mind. In all honesty, she could do with just a bit of continuity. That was why her mother had left.

The boy's voice pulled her from her train of thoughts, and she blinked slowly and looked at him with a blank expression. "Ya head in the clouds or something, new kid? I said we're here." The door looked like any other bar a barely noticeable 'E115' scratched into the plaster of the wall. Classy. He pulled the door open and Natasha stepped in behind him, making a point to have a staring contest with the floor because if there was one thing she hated it was the judgemental, evaluating glares. She still wasn't used to being watched like a monkey in a cage; it was horrible.

The professor was a middle aged man – maybe in his forties – who had light ginger hair that was slowly growing back into his head. His forehead was lined with frown lines and the corners of his mouth were pulled down into a permanent grimace. He didn't turn away from the board, simply said, "And is there a reason you decided to join us, Clint?" with a weary sigh. Everybody laughed.
The boy – Clint – flashed his never-wavering smile at the teacher who turned slowly and gave Natasha a brief glance. "This is…"
"Natasha," she said.
"Right, Natasha," Clint agreed. "She was lost. I helped her out sir."
"You hero," said the teacher, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Just take a seat. I'm sorry, Natasha, I wasn't aware you were coming. For now, you'll have to sit next to your knight in shining armour while I sort out a seating plan. Feel free to hit him if you feel the need. I often do." He turned back to the board. "Persuasive writing…" Fantastic. She'd done this a thousand times.

Clint leaned across to her desk. "So Natasha huh? You heard the teacher, I'm Clint, Clint Barton," he whispered. 'What's the worst that can happen,' she thought, hesitating for a moment before turning to face him. "Natasha Romanoff."
"Really? How exotic. Where're you from?"
She sighed. "Russia, originally. But I've kind of lived everywhere."
"That's cool," he said with a nod. "So what are you doing in New York?"
"My dad's company. They relocated him again."
Mr Bryant glared at them. Clint raised his eyebrows and blinked innocently. "Be quiet, Barton."
"Sorry sir," he said, and then quietly to Natasha, "Do you have anyone to sit with at lunch?" She shook her head tentatively. "Cool. I'll introduce you to the gang. Just come with me when the bell rings." She experimented with a smile small that didn't feel too foreign. Maybe this time she could at least try. "Hey, thanks," she whispered, silenced by another stern look. They both buried their heads into their books; Natasha knew persuasive speaking inside out but considering the way she'd met him, Clint could do with catching up on some.
'Here we go again,' she thought.