Boys Over Alices
Authoress: iTomo
Chapter: One – From Howalons to Red Notes
Published: November 29, 2009 - Revised July 14, 2013
Notes: Italicized text - thoughts. Names will be in the Western format, as in First-Last name, and I will always refer to the school as Alice Academy.
Amateur Authoress' Office
From the Desk of iTomo
Dear lovely people,
(Updated message from July 14, 2013)
Just to clear things up, I am only in the process of watching the Korean film adaptation of Boys Over Flowers. I admit, I have not as much touched the manga or anime of the very popular Hana Yori Dango, but I have watched the Gakuen Alice anime and read the entire manga. I know the very basic plot, where Girl A goes to this SuperCoolSchool and meets Boy A and his gang of Boys B, C, and D, and such.
Anyway, on with the story, shall we?
Love,
iTomo
"Alice Academy . . . Alice Academy. . . ."
It was a crisp Monday morning, with cool temperatures in the sixties. It was a picture-perfect image of an October school morning; the sun shone brightly through fluffy clouds, and even at 7:15 AM, the city was pleasantly awake with the hum of morning business.
A young woman with mid-length brown hair was on a bike, leisurely pedaling down the side of a road. Her outfit consisted of a simple navy skirt, a light gray windbreaker, probably donned over a white collared shirt. With the exception of a random orange straw hat on the girl's head, she was clearly wearing the school uniform of a local high school. Two boxes of the famed Umenomiya Howalons sat neatly in the basket compartment of her bicycle. The girl steered the handlebars with one hand, the other clutching a map; it was supposed to lead her to the previously-muttered destination, Alice Academy.
However, our lovable protagonist still couldn't locate the grand academy, even after checking the map, pedaling, and rechecking the map. She stopped the bike, took a deep breath, and glared up at the sky, only to be blinded by the sun.
"What now?" she groaned.
"Miiiiiiikan-chan!" Anna had greeted her last evening.
Mikan Sakura, otherwise known as our main character, looked up just in time to be attacked by a bundle of pink hair.
"Anna," Mikan grinned at her good friend and co-worker. "Is something wrong?"
Anna Umenomiya leaned back slightly and straightened her outfit and apron before giving her friend the guilty and pleading face she was known to pull off constantly, especially with her parents.
When the boss's daughter made a face like that, Mikan knew something was up. It was one of the very, very few troubles she had with her job. She worked at one of the many Umenomiya Confectionaries Shoppes in Japan, owned by Mister and Missus Howard Umenomiya. Their only daughter was Anna, a pampered but well-meaning young lady.
"Mikan-chan," she began anxiously, "There's an order that needs to go out early tomorrow morning."
Mikan was confused. "I don't see what's wrong. We've done morning deliveries, before."
Anna cringed, "They said that I had to deliver it, but. . . ."
Damn, this girl.
"You already have plans, so you want me to cover for you, right?" Mikan took a wild guess, hoping that she was wrong.
She wasn't.
Her friend shyly peeked out from behind her handkerchief (which appeared out of nowhere, by the way) and the edges of her lips turned upwards slightly, a grateful smile dancing on her face.
'I can read minds,' Mikan groaned, but she smiled outwardly.
"Thank you! I owe you one, I really do!" Anna sang, eyes shining, "I told my boyfriend that we'd grab a coffee before school, so . . . you know."
"So where to?"
"Oh, um. Alice Academy," Anna gave her a fiercely apologetic smile.
The brunette's eyes widened.
After giving the damn map the toughest glare she could muster, she hopped on her bike again, muttering something about the female-dog of a certain piece of misleading paper. Alice Academy, though a school, was a famous national attraction located in the heart of the country, yet why couldn't she find it?
Fortunately, her horrible sense of direction decided to take a break, and when she turned at the corner, she found herself face to face with a series of tall, towering gates, black brass and ornate, literally screaming, "I'm worth more than your house!"
Only happening on numbered occasions, her mind was speechless and silent.
It wasn't like Mikan was completely clueless about the world. Sure, she knew about the neat stuff and geek stuff, the do's and the don'ts. Since Mikan could remember, everyone talked about Alice Academy. It was not just an academy, it was the Academy, with a capital A, at that. The Academy for the rich, the smart, the famous. Even three year-olds knew about Alice Academy. If you did not have connections or the money, all you could do was pray that you had either the brains or the brawns. And even then, admission was harsh - Alice Academy had an aristocratic history, and to this day they stressed image and etiquette.
Mikan never thought too much about it. She was her own little self, and her life consisted of her loving family, her supportive friends, a well-to-do school, and a comfortable job. Of course, you can't forget her favorite Howalons, but. . . .
Between the heavy metal bars, Mikan could see a heavily-financed and luxurious estate sprawled out before her. The architecture featured royal Victorian influences, with decorative manor-like buildings and campuses, smooth marbled-granite and concrete covering areas that weren't bestowed with nature. Luscious pools of healthy green grass cut to the perfect height, with aesthetic patches of flowers, added color to the fantasy landscape. Even the trees and bushes were artistically cut and strategically placed everywhere. As her brown eyes absorbed the scene, she highly doubted that you could find a better school anywhere in the world (except for Hogwarts, of course. No one could beat Hogwarts. Where else would they serve treacle tarts and butterbeer? Seriously, and those adorable messenger owls—Anyway, back onto the story!)
Her dream-like trance was interrupted, quite rudely if you ask me, by a voice so rich and deep it put the bass member of the string family to shame. "Miss? How may I help you?"
Mikan jumped slightly, turned to the owner of the voice (which turned out to be a muscular and built guard dressed in a suit so large it just had to be custom made, like YaoMing's shoes), and presented her Umenomiya Confectionaries Shoppe ID as well as a receipt, proving that she was not just a random admirer who happened to stumble in and locate the entrance.
His eyes scanned over the items, and he nodded at the boxes of sweets Mikan was holding. He disappeared back into the booth by the gates, and a few seconds later, the heavy gates squeaked open, and - whatever the red laser lights were doing there! - the extra-security measures deactivated.
'. . . This will be the last time I deliver here. . . .'
Mikan cautiously entered and sighed in relief when she passed the security check, unsure of what to do with her bike, with herself, and nodded politely to the guard before hurrying on.
"Wait," the macho man called after, "It's a large place; I'll have an escort come by in a moment."
Overwhelmed slightly, she awkwardly stood there, clutching her delivery when a vehicle the size of a small golf-cart wheeled by, a bored young man with a mushroom-cut motioning for her to get in, and if she would please buckle up, as they would be going quite fast.
Quite fast was an understatement.
By the time they got to what the mushroom-dude referred to as the West Division, Mikan swore that she would kill her buddy when she got home, friend or not, job or not, boss's daughter or not.
A robotic bell-girl took over when Mikan got off the vehicle, and she guided her all the way, up high, until they were in front of mahogany doors, gold-plated with, "MIDDLE-SCHOOL PRINCIPAL".
'I think I'm at the right place. . . . I'm pretty sure I am. . . . Right?"
The door opened, and at the far end of the room, by the wall made of solid glass, a man (in his late thirties) with strands of silver hair sat, trying to do file work, but evidently failing epically. His name was Shiki Matsuchika, and he was more than glad to see his Howalons.
"Thank you," he smiled kindly, as he handed over a check with gold lining, "There's just something about Umenomiya's that makes it one-of-a-kind. Nothing you can get on campus."
His computer started beeping. Mikan just smiled nervously and slowly walked backwards until she felt the heavy doors against her back.
"Thank you for your business, and we hope to hear from you soon-"
As soon as her mandatory end-of-a-purchase speech ended, she fumbled with the doorknob and ran out. Damn, this school was designed to intimidate. Just when she thought she was safe from other performers of the freak show, a blonde girl rushed past her, leaving behind a powerful trail of the new Harada Sensations Berry Series perfume. The girl was pretty, wearing an elegant black-and-blue uniform, but her voice was like a seagull's, squealing and screeching as she made, what it seemed like, the announcement of the century.
"Middle School Class B's Kazuki Kobayashi has gotten a red note! Repeat, Middle School Class B's Kazuki Kobayashi has gotten a red note!"
An explosion of pandemonium soon followed the girl as she continued to flit down the hall, spreading news of the rumored red-noted Kazuki. From behind the door, books crashed, chairs shoved, desks knocked over, and a human tidal wave poured out.
'Um. . . .?'
"Ah! Why Kazuki-kun! He-"
"He was a handsome guy too-"
"I heard he ended up buying the same-"
Mikan's ears only caught snippets of chatter as blurs of black, blue, and other snippets of color whooshed past her. Beyond confused, all the brunette did was stand there flabbergasted, before she herself was whisked off by the crowd to an area by what seemed to be the lobby. After some shuffling, a disheveled guy showing signs of being dunked in Funfetti cake batter was thrown out into the empty center of a crowd.
"See ya, Kazu! Sad to see you go, but it has to be done!"
"You're so sweet, you'd make a good cupcake if we could bake you!"
Mikan gagged at this comment, and her mind flooded with question marks.
"They're here!" a random girl shrieked. "Make way!"
Giddy chatter and murmurs immediately filled the lobby. Desperate for any explanation, any, she whipped her head around and found someone poised by the stair railing with an expensive camera in hand. She was wearing a variation of the uniform, in honey-yellow rather than blue.
"Hey, uh, sorry. I'm not from here. What's happening?"
The girl slowly turned to reveal eyes that could rival a brick when it came to the emotion. A dark, purple-tinted bob framed her rather sightly but pale face; her purple eyes (or were they contacts) stared her down, but not formidably. Well, at least not intentionally.
"I don't know how you got in here, or why you'd want to do so. But, look," she pointed at the entrance of the lobby.
She saw shadows making their way to the fortified glass entrance. And if she squinted hard enough, it was four shadows.
"Welcome to Alice Academy, Outsider," the girl monotonously said, like she was reading a report, "Meet the infamous Alice 4."
To Be Continued …
Amateur Authoress' Office
From the Desk of iTomo
Dear lovely readers,
Oh my god, that was finally finished. And finally edited.
What did you think of it? Was it too long? Too short? Pretty decent? Just plain horrible? Pathetic?
Leave a review, and let me know what you think… This takes hard work and a deep tolerance of Angry Asian Parents. You don't know how much it'd mean to me to wake up in the morning, check my email and see those adorable notification emails from 3~
I'll leave for now, but make sure to let me know your precious feedback as readers! I'm a one-woman team, and only a one-woman team, with the occasional appearances of chocolate and pecan pie, so I am in no position to judge my writing XD~
Love,
iTomo
PS: Sing to the tune of that weird I-Love-You-You-Love-Me Barney song :D~!
I LOVE WRITING
YOU LOVE READING (I HOPE)
LET'S MAKE iTOMO HAPPY
AND DON'T LET HER MOPE
IT TAKES BARELY ANY MUSCLE
JUST A THOUGHTFUL FLICK
LET'S BE NICE
IT'S JUST ONE
CLICK
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*You liked my song, didn't you? BD*