"Alright, (Y/N)," you let yourself roll to a stop, reaching up to hold tight to the chain link fence surrounding your school, "You can do this, can't you? Not like you've got much a choice," Lifting one foot you tug at the laces of your skate, and then do the same with the other. You drop your backpack and grab your replacement shoes too, swapping them out with fumbling hands and a bubble of anxiety in the pit of your stomach. With your new shoes on and your skates in your arms you suck in a breath and force your legs to move, to continue down the sidewalk towards the main path that'll carry you all the way to the school's front door. If you don't move fast you might end up not moving at all. In your head you begin to repeat a sort of mantra, all good all good all good, like a broken record and it seems to help calm your fraying nerves the tiniest bit. It's just hit 8:00 o'clock so the school is nearly empty and you take a look around without worrying about looking like the ditzy new kid- the exterior is a red brick with slim windows all along the first and second floor, the bold letters Ashboro High standing proud above the main set of double doors. Grass stretches out on either side of the path you're walking on with a few old, struggling oak trees and a collection of flower boxes with nothing but dead shrubs. You don't see a playground, which makes sense since this is a high school, but you do see the beginnings of a soccer field around the left side of the building.

Your goals before classes start are really nothing special; you just want to find your locker and classroom before you wind up late. Shifting both skates into one arm rather than both you arrive at the three wide steps up to the entrance doors and hurry up them, pulling the door open with your now free hand and stepping inside to be hit with a chilling AC and the smell that only an old, yellowing building can pertain like rotted books and distant mildew. It isn't entirely unpleasant and you're certain you'll get used to it within the week. Your locker number and password are both on your phone, same with your schedule and the class numbers. With your right arm (the left still occupied with your skates) you reach awkwardly for your left back pocket, the one holding your beloved cell. As you do you nearly drop your skates and almost overbalance thanks to your backpack as you try to gather them up again. With a quiet curse you finally figure things out and gain your composure yet again, your face warm with embarrassment. Phone in one hand, skates in the other, backpack squarely on your shoulders. All good. You click on your phone and go to your trusty notes app, where everything you need is written out in a disorganized mess that only you could decipher. There were no titles or dates or anything like that and yet you pulled the information you needed without effort. You were locker 1821, and, looking to the locker just ahead of you (which was 1002) that seemed to be pretty far away. You huff, noting that you should probably look for a different door to enter through that's closer to your locker, and set off in a trudge to go searching.

Ten minutes pass. The hallways are empty and yet you still can't find the damn locker. The halls seem to wind with no rhyme or reason, branching off at random and leading to dead-ended locked doors being of no help. You felt like a rat in a maze and yet you kept searching anyways because you didn't really have any other choice. Maybe it would be smart to find a person instead, to ask for help- if you kept this up the halls would flood and then you'd never find your locker. Still scanning the numbers on the little metal doors you brought up your pace and kept an eye out for other signs of life; just your lucky day, you turn the next corner and are met with the sight of what you assume to be another student seated on the floor with his back against the locker that must be his. His hair is black, messy in a way that can only be intentional, and his gaze is glued to his phone. The boy is wearing a black leather jacket and blue jeans that are torn at the knees.

"Excuse me?" You call down the hall, raising one hand in a tentative wave, "Do you mind giving me a quick hand?" The boy drags his eyes from his cell phone screen and instead looks at you with a piercing yellow gaze that threatens to send a shiver running down your spine. This guy doesn't seem all that approachable. You probably should have just kept your mouth shut. Without saying a word his gaze rakes you up and down, sizing you up like a bear, and then he hauls himself to his feet and begins to saunter in your direction, his gaze gluing back to his phone as he does so. "I, uh..." You don't really know what to say. He looks entirely uninterested. "I can't find my locker and, well, I'm new. I was wondering if you could... point..." You trail off as the boy moves past you, still without speaking a word. You turn to face him but he just continues away. A scoff escapes your lips before you can think twice about it, and then so does a muttered, "Jesus, jackass, thanks," that makes the boy stop for a moment and glance back over his shoulder. His face is still absolutely monotone, his yellow eyes all too menacing. With a streak of confidence you glare right back, meeting that golden gaze until he turns and continues taking his leave. "Great school, huh?" You mumble to yourself and shake your head. Welp, back to searching solo. You flick a glance up at the locker the boy was seated against, mindlessly noting that the number was 1692 and then continue to search and search and search. You turn another corner, find that the hallway contains lockers in the number family of 1300, and spin right on your heel to turn the other way. It takes another five minutes of hapless wandering before you arrive in the 1800s aisle, heaving a sigh of relief.

Somewhere down the hall you hear heavy doors spring open and then the first students begin to push their way inside. You found your locker just in time, it seems, and now you just hope that someone will be kind enough to point you towards your first class, which was English. Scanning, scanning, you skip from one locker to the next until you spot your number and a grin splits your face. Mission successful, it seems, and, despite all odds, you're still right on schedule. The locker door is a cool grey metal with a few chips of blue telling tales of an older, brighter self. There's a silver lock hanging form a handle and you quickly twist in your code- miraculously you get it open on your first attempt and reveal to yourself the interior. The locker is pretty simple, with a shelf a quarter to the top and three hooks decorating each wall. It's pretty tight, but it'll hold all your things easily enough. You drop your skates against the lockers floor and hang your backpack from one of the few hooks, unzipping the top and pulling out your school things to store in the handy top shelf. Pulling out your phone you check the time- ten minutes to class- and grab your ELA supplies to prepare for another desperate search. As you slam your locker door shut you are almost startled out of your skin as a boy appears from seemingly nowhere and reaches for the lock on the locker just next to yours.

The boy seemed to notice your jump. He turned to you, noticed the startled look in your eyes, and pulled his hands into his chest, his brows swooping low and his forest green eyes lighting with guilt. This guy was tall, almost impossibly so, and his hair was buzzed down to the scalp. He wore a green bomber jacket with a black shirt underneath that hardly fit over his hulking frame. With wide shoulders and muscled arms, he did look rather intimidating, but that look in his eyes made him seem like more of a gentle giant.

"I- Sorry, I just got a little surprised I didn't mean to make you feel bad or-" Shaking his head, he began to move his hands, making different signs and shapes- oh, it clicks that he's using sign language and you try to decipher the fluent movements with your very basic knowledge. This boy isn't using the alphabet, he's using actual signs that mean actual things, and you hardly know any of those. You catch the sign for 'sorry' at one point but that's about it. "I'm afraid I don't know much ASL besides the alphabet..." For a moment the boy halts, and then he nods his head and starts to sign again. This time, you do recognize the signs as simple letters.

D I D N T M E A N T O S C A R E

You grin, waving a hand dismissively as he continues to sign. You have to flex your brain to keep up, matching signals to letters faster than you've ever had to before. You'd only ever learned the ASL alphabet as a hobby, and it's a surprise you even remember it at all.

N E W K I D I M J A S O N

"Jason? It's nice to meet you, Jason. You can call me (Y/N)." You extended a hand to him and he took it with his own, giving it a firm and contended shake. "Can I ask what class you have next?"

E L A

"Awesome, me too! I'm... well, I'm a little lost- do you mind showing me the way?" Jason gave you a thumbs up, turning to his locker and inputting his code, pulling it open and grabbing his things before slamming it shut and locking it once more. Balancing his books in one arm he turns back to you and signs one last thing.

S I T W I T H M E N I C E F R I E N D S

"I'd love to, thanks." With that, Jason set off, and you stuck close behind. The hallway was flooded at this point, a river of students pushing in all directions but Jason cut through them like a boat through the sea. Despite the way he seemed to control the crowd, you could still spot the looks that were thrown his way and the way he seemed to hunch into himself, trying to make himself as small as possible. You can't help but frown- it doesn't take a genius to take a guess that maybe Jason isn't the school's favourite person. With his help you were at your class in no time, Jason pushing open the door and then holding it open for you to pass by. You give him a quick thank you and step into what has to be the most organized classroom you've ever seen. The walls were painted a dark brown, the tables all perfectly straight and the chairs that weren't occupied pushed in all neat and tidy. It was a little bit overwhelming, and seemed way too fancy for a small town public school. The man behind the desk that must be your teacher was in a grey suit with blood red lines making a gridded pattern, his hair slicked perfectly to the side. He was picking at the end of a pencil with a boxcutter, trying to get the finest end possible. Staying at Jason's side he led the way to a few seats on the right side of the room that were mostly left empty, motioning for you to take your pick and sitting down in the chair just beside you.

"Jason? Who's this?" You turn around in your seat at the sound of a voice, spotting a boy with dark hair and a kind smile, a heavy knitted sweater clinging to a slim, short frame. The collar of a white button-up poked out from the top.

"I'm (Y/N)," You smile back, the boy taking the seat on Jason's other side and leaning forwards in his chair to peer around him at you, "I'm new here, and Jason was nice enough to show me to english."

"Of course," The boy turns his smile to Jason and it widens just slightly, "Jason's nice, isn't he? My name's Norman, It's nice to meet you. Hopefully our school treats you well." A fresh wave of students push into the classroom and the last of the seats fill up. Right in time, 8:30 sharp, the teacher stands from his seat, straightens his too-fancy tie, and folds his arms behind his back.

"Welcome students," He says with a serene smile, "I anticipate that the day finds you kindly. Today, we have quite the interesting news- a new student has joined us." The teacher's gaze scans the classroom and then settles on you. He blinks, slow and calm, and says in that same noble voice, "Class, please welcome (Y/N) (L/N). I am Mr. Lecter, and I'll be your English teacher for the year." A few other kids pass you glances and one or two even smile, but then Mr. Lecter is continuing with the class and the attention evaporates. "Just in time for our new student, we're going to be starting our second unit for the year and both reading and analyzing one of the many timeless masterpieces of our world- The Raven, a narrative poem written by none other than Edgar Allan Poe." You couldn't help but perk up in your seat- poetry was one of your strong suits ever since your father went through his poetry phase. The Raven was a poem you grew up alongside, it had been your favourite bedtime story as a child despite it's darker themes and supernatural elements. Your mom hadn't been too happy with your dad when he'd read it to you, but it had always put you right to sleep. You knew the poem well. The english class slipped by peacefully. There was something about the room's atmosphere that cleared your head and brought forth rivers of focus and creativity- it would be a great work environment. For this particular class you were tasked with simple review, listening to Mr. Lecter going over different poetry terms and other famous pieces (that you also knew well). After english came math, a class you didn't share with Jason or Norman so you sat alone and soaked in as much information as possible. Your teacher in that class was an older man called Mr. Kramer, and he had welcomed you with a warm greeting. Now you broke from the math classroom and made for your locker, quickly putting away your books and pulling out your lunch instead. You had been dreading finding the cafeteria alone and let out a sigh of relief as you spot Jason's towering figure pushing through the thinning crowd in your direction.

"Hey," You greet with a smile, Norman and another taller boy following Jason close behind, "You don't mind if I eat lunch with you do you?" Jason is quick to shake his head, glad to have you tag along, and then he turns to the newest addition to the group, a stoic man with ice blue eyes and chocolate brown hair that danced in curls and ghosted the tops of his shoulders.

M I C H A E L

He signed, and you extended a hand in Michael's direction.

"Great to meet you, Michael." He doesn't take it, regarding you with his cool gaze and then turning away. You hear Norman sigh and look over at him- he's smiling apologetically in your direction. With a shrug of his shoulders and a glance at Michael he says,

"I'm sorry about him. He's pretty quiet, but he's nice once you get to know him." With a smile and a nod you dismiss the interaction and let Jason lead the way once more. The cafeteria is painfully full and you're relieved when Jason continues forwards towards the schools front doors instead. A light, warm breeze carries fluffy white clouds scuttling across the bright blue sky and the sun beams down in thick bands of gold, kissing the bright greens of the grass and trees with it's gentle embrace. There are a few groups of students scattered around eating their own lunches and Jason veers left towards a student who is sitting alone with his hands in his lap. As your group of four approaches the boy's head raises and a scarred face stretches into a smile.

"Good afternoon," the boy's voice comes out strange, high pitch, younger than he looks- then, his eyes land on you and his cheeks begin to glow red. "I-" He clears his throat, "I didn't k-know that someone new was coming." Now, his voice stoops lower, into something more normal. Michael shot you a glance, and then quickly tore it away and sat down beside the boy.

"It's alright, Brahms," Norman takes his own seat in the grass, patting the spot beside him as a confirmation of you joining the little group for the lunch hour, "They're nice. No judgement here, right?" Brahms lowers his face, his black, curly hair hanging over the top half of it shyly.

"No, no not at all. I'm (Y/N). It's Brahms, was it?" For a second Brahms stays quiet and then Jason takes his seat as well, reaching out a hand to gently pat the boy on the green-cardigan clad shoulder. That seems to coax him out just enough to meet your eye. Brahms swallows hard, and then nods his head, tentative. You don't want him to be afraid of you. Taking a risk, you try to act how you think your father would in this situation. A compliment. "I really like this," You reach a hand up and tap your face where his is scarred, and tilt your head, smiling, "It's badass. Makes you look like some sort of action movie hero."

"Really...?" Brahms lifts his hand, fingertips ghosting what looks like a burn, and then the corners of his mouth flicker up into a tiny smile. "Thank you." Michael's gaze is burning into you, and when you turn to return it you spot the mistrust before he tears it away again. Without showing a visible frown you feel a stone of disappointment and vow to gain his trust one way or another.

"So, (Y/N)," Norman asks, "Where are you from? Not here, I'm guessing?" You shake your head, jabbing the nail of your thumb into the skin of an orange and beginning to pull the peel away.

"New York, actually." Brahms lets out a little gasp, leaning forwards excitedly. Jason seems interested as well- even Michael seems to be listening, though his gaze is trained on his own food. Jason pointed at himself, and then signed

B E E N T O M A N H A T T A N

"Oh, cool! I'm from Brooklyn, but Manhattan is awesome too." And so, the conversation began and flowed along naturally, comfortably. Brahms spoke more and more as it progressed, and you learned to read Jason's rapid signing easier and easier. Michael stayed quiet but that wasn't much of a surprise to you- some people just didn't trust easily. As the lunch hour progressed you found warmth swelling in your stomach, a hot relief that you were getting your feet underneath you and had found a few nice people already. Things were already looking up for you- since when did you have luck like this? For most of your life you'd gotten used to things hardly ever going your way, but now the tides of fortune had shifted and they were in your favor. You were carried through the rest of your classes with a warm smile and the taste of hope like the sweet, sweet flavor of honey.

(A/N): Sorry if this chapter is a little boring. I hope to make the next one a little more fun :) We only got a tiny bit of Danny here (literally hardly any) but I'm gonna introduce him properly next chapter! I hope you enjoyed!