Moving from Ireland to America was hell enough for James, but going to an American school only made it worse. Despite common belief, when a student comes from another country, they are not stood up at the front of the class. They are not introduced to said class, and they most definitely are not offered a place to sit. Rather, he was put in the exact same boat as everyone else— which included getting lost in the halls of the public school multiple times, making several failed attempts at friendship, and trying to juggle all of the things he had to carry. It was the height of inconvenience and bad luck, the single most inideal scenario he could imagine. And that was before he killed someone.
The murder wasn't immediate, no, it was a slow and carefully planned process. And this details the inception and execution of that plan with utmost care. This is not a horror story, no. It is a story about a lie, a secret, a kiss, and most of all, one boy with too much time and not enough care. This is a story of love, but not a love story. If anything, it is an adventure. And adventure in the mind of a teenager.
Jim was wearing the most monotonous clothing he could find, as he had no desire to stand out at all. His shirt was grey and had once read in a white print "Meh", but due to fading spelled out "Me.". His jeans, baggy enough to need a belt and long enough to drag on the floor, were a pale blue. His black hair showed some sign of an attempt at grooming, but it was obviously in vain, as it stood up wildly. He carried a messenger bag, which he set down on the floor as he took a seat, slouching dramatically into his chair and crossing his arms as he waited for the teacher to give instructions.
In hindsight, Jim should have seen the icebreaker games coming. Luckily, it didn't involve standing in front of the class, but rather just telling those in his group. Each group was actually a cluster of five desks, four put into a square and one at the end, facing the rest. At that head table sat a tall, lanky boy with limbs that resembled those of spider, his hair a mess of black curls, and he was clad in an unreasonable dressy button-up shirt and trousers.
On the desk in front of him and to his right was a boy of much shorter stature with sandy blond hair. He had been wearing a knitted sweater when he had arrived at school, but as soon as he was inside he had removed it, and it was now hanging over the back of his chair. He was smiling and holding a hushed conversation with a boy beside him, who had a bulky (but not fat) build.
He managed to wear a mix between the lanky black boy and short blonde boy's attire— a T-shirt and a hoodie worn with a pair of denim bootcut jeans. But the most startling theme of his appearance was his hair, which had a surprising streak of grey, which he was actually discussing with the blonde. ("No, it's not dyed." "Really?!" "Yes, my doctor told me it's natural and can happen with anyone." "That's amazing!")
But the most interesting figure of the five sat beside Jim. He worse black skinny jeans and combat boots. He wore a white T-shirt and a dark black leather jacket. He had blonde hair that might have at some point been maintained, but was now long and hung in his eyes. He had four piercings in the one ear that a bit of hair was tucked behind, and he was tapping the table with disinterest as he chewed on a pen and stared off into space, obviously bored out of his mind.
The teacher finally called out for the introductions to begin, and the lanky boy was the first to speak.
"I'm Sherlock Holmes and I know everything about you."
