Assassin's Creed High-School

Fresh Start

You find it hard to believe that any school uniform could  look even remotely ‘great’. You subconsciously smoothed a palm over the front of your skirt. “Thanks, Lucy.”

There’s a plate of food in your usual spot just waiting to be eaten, but the idea of eating makes you want to puke. Lucy takes notice and removes the plate, choosing not to comment on your lack of eating lately. Desmond turns away from the kitchen counter and holds out a brown paper bag with the word ‘LUNCH’ scrawled across the front.

You accept the bag with the tiniest of smiles only to then realise that the bag was unnaturally light. Peering inside you quirk a brow, finding a twenty dollar bill sitting at the bottom. “Money?”

Desmond’s shoulders raise faintly. “So you can buy your lunch at the cafeteria. Trust me, whatever I cook will kill you.”

Fair enough.

You shove your ‘lunch’ into the front of your backpack before slinging it over your shoulder. “Alright, well...I’m gonna head off. Don’t wanna be late on my first day.”

“I’m on my way out too, (Y/N).” Lucy says quickly. “I can drive you there.”

“Actually, Lucy, I’d prefer to walk. The fresh air will do me good.”

Her disappointment is evident, but again she doesn’t say anything. Instead she places a kiss upon your forehead and gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Now, I’m aware that school can be...cliquey. But don’t think that that limits you to only one group of friends. You’re pretty, smart, and athletic, so it’s not fair to restrict yourself to a single label. Be nice to everyone, and try and have a good day, okay?”

A forced nod is offered in place of words and you spin on your heel, leaving the Stillman residence behind.

Fortunately, Primrose High is only a quick ten minute walk from the house. Frankly, you doubt that any two addresses in downtown Primrose were more than a ten minute drive apart, except if you were looking to visit the picturesque mansions on the outskirts and tropical beaches.

Dozens of small, independent businesses dot the tree-lined streets. Drivers are more likely to honk in recognition or greeting rather than frustration. From what you’ve recognised, this place hasn’t changed a bit. Crime is relatively low. Only four or five homicides per year, and those usually involve crimes of passion. Random street crime is virtually non-existent. That may have to do with the 8:00 curfew the mayor put in place. From what you’ve been told, anyone under the age of twenty isn’t allowed outside after curfew unless accompanied by an adult.

Wow. Just wow. Your eyes widen upon reaching the high-school. It was enormous. No doubt you’d be getting lost quite a few times today. At least two dozen students are hanging out at the school’s entrance, and other’s are lounging negligently in the grass; either soaking up the sun or seeking shelter  in the shade. Your head swivels to take it all in.

A lot of them seem to know each other, giving hugs or high fives, but most keep to themselves. Some warily size up their classmates, yourself included.
You stand rooted to the spot, completely frozen, as students slowly work their way inside the main entrance. Unfolding your class schedule, you confirm, for the fifth time this morning, that Art takes place in room 3.7. You inhale slowly and convince your feet to move.

Time to meet your classmates.

A wide hallway lined with freshly polished lockers greets you. There isn’t a single face you recognise as you drift pass small clusters of squealing girls, guys horsing around with their buddies, and introverts whose noses are deeply buried within novels and textbooks alike.