So this is one of the long stories I'm writing, and I pray that I'll actually finish it. Here's the prologue, which isn't all that interesting, but I promise it'll get better in the later chapters. And its two successors (yes, this is a trilogy) are far more interesting. Gets a bit mature later on. Extreme OOC.
Also, a reviewer just pointed out that the title has to be appropriate...so I've changed it from "bitch" to "brat". On the AO3 it will probably have its original title.
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Synopsis
High School AU. Ciel Phantomhive is an all British boy bitch in year 11. He intends to finish his 12th schooling year at a prestigious private school, Joseph Locke Academy. However, when he is offered the opportunity to be an "experimental exchange student", his parents take the offer for him and ship him off to William Shepherd High School in Evrington, Maine. It just happens to nearly be a ghost town in comparison with London, England with a population of 1,000. He ends up living in the Trancy household, which happens to be run by a completely homosexual, bitchy, sadistic madman called Alois Trancy. As he attempts to adjust to his new, crazy, downsize-from-his-rich-lifestyle life, he also manages finds one more unexpected thing in this turn of events. And Ciel Phantomhive's reality TV show of a life is just about completely refilmed.
Sebastian Michaelis, a somewhat-American freak in his junior year. He is the "It" boy at William Shepherd High School, the object of every female's affection. His charm is attributed to his peculiarity and seemingly supernatural intelligence, and is fairly formidable with an unsettling smirk always on his face. Girls found his virginity (a rumour) and never having a girlfriend to be enticing; Sebastian is the mouse and they are the cats. He thought his senior year would be normal. That is, until a pretentious bitch by the name of Ciel Phantomhive charms his interests for the first time ever. And all the girls will be jealous once they find out who Sebastian's really got the hots for.
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Prologue
Ciel was in trouble. He was sitting in the principal's office, on one of the ornate chairs that garnished it. He wasn't even sent to the vice principal's office first, just straight to Mrs. Dougherty's office. It was rumoured that skipping interrogation from Ms. Pillsbury and moving on to the highest level was punishment for only the highest school offences. But nothing was ever able to be confirmed. Because the expelled never get the chance to tell the tale.
On the walk from his third period to the office, he was beginning to break out in cold sweats and his entire figure was trembling. His fingers were clammy and stiff and he suddenly felt like a sluggish, senile old man, walking with arthritis in eroding joints and osteoporosis in deteriorating bones.
But none of this added up. He couldn't find a reason for being called down. He had been nothing but a perfect student, the epitome of his peers' envy and loathing and every teacher's dream student. It did nothing to assuage the migraine that pounded at his head or the red that painted his pallid cheeks. He felt sick down to the very quark.
He nodded at the two receptionists and opened the gate into the administration office foyer. The vice principal's office was the first door he saw. Next to it was the principal's office. The blinds of Mrs. Dougherty's office were shut and the door was closed. It was starting to look like Ciel was walking into his death.
The young boy was a noble, the Earl of Phantomhive. He owned the world famous Funtom Company and a stately manor with three (idiotic) servants. Ciel Phantomhive was supposed to hold his head high and show his regal status, to prove that he was powerful.
It was impossible to maintain the appearance of such high social status when his dreams were about to be destroyed. He was supposed to get out of Stanley Reagan Secondary School and complete year 12 at Joseph Locke Academy, the highest and most well-received secondary school in the nation. He dreamed of attending the University of Cambridge or maybe Oxford. None of that was going to happen now.
He knocked softly, praying that it wouldn't be heard and he could just leave. But that was irrational and stupid. He was beginning to think like that of a young child. And then the door was opened.
So he was now sitting in the single chair in front of Mrs. Dougherty's mahogany desk, staring into the brown eyes of his principal. Said principal hadn't even uttered a syllable.
Instead, she dug around in one of the desk drawers and pulled out a pamphlet, dropping it in front of Ciel. He scanned the title: The English-American Experimental Student Exchange Program
He made eye contact with the woman, a quizzical expression blanketing his sapphire eyes. "What is this about?" he inquired. "It wouldn't do much good to have an exchange program between England and America," he continued. "Both countries speak the same language and have nearly identical customs and industries. This program defeats the entire purpose of studying in a new country to learn more about it."
She nodded, agreeing with the pupil. "That is true, Phantomhive, however, not the purpose of this exchange program," she said, then sardonically and a bit condescendingly added, "Maybe you should read the pamphlet before jumping to conclusions."
He nearly rolls his eyes at the principal's rude comment, though manages not to. He opens the pamphlet and skims the printed text.
Apparently, child psychologists and sociologists and anthropologists and therapists and all the like came together and performed a large case study on the children of America and England and concluded that both groups needed to know more about each other. They considered it fundamental, as England is a huge part in trade with America and vice versa. Children lacked the knowledge of each other's partner countries.
Since the project was still in beta mode, only two students, one male and one female, from each country with the highest test scores would be given the offer. Ciel made the not-obvious-at-all deduction that he was one of these people.
Mrs. Dougherty folded her hands on the desk. "So, as you have probably already guessed, you are the English male that has been chosen for the offer," she stated.
He nodded. "Who is the English female?"
"She doesn't attend our school, but I believe it is a girl with the name of Elizabeth Midford," the principal replied.
"If I were to accept this offer, where would I be transferring? And where will Elizabeth be transferring, assuming she accepts?" Ciel asked.
"Elizabeth would be transferring somewhere different. I believe there were twenty possible locations on the website, ten for America and ten for England." Mrs. Dougherty typed on the computer in front of her and began reading from a webpage. "They were Cohourt, Missouri; Paynestown, Alabama; Grenedina, New Jersey; Cherry Creek, Michigan; Evrington, Maine; Castleville, Washington; York, California; Los Ninos, Texas; Kreatstown, Georgia; and Lilac County, Nevada."
Ciel nodded in acknowledgement. He had never heard of any of these places. The knowledge he had...People incorrectly pronounce Missouri as "misery". Sweet Home Alabama. New Jersey = Snooki. Michigan = Great Lakes. Maine is the most northern state. Washington state is always confused with Washington, D.C. California is Hollywood and tanned surfers and hot bodies. Texas is country. Georgia is peanut butter. And Nevada is casinos and hookers and prostitutes, Ciel silently reviewed the these were small towns, considering he'd never heard of them. Perhaps small towns were chosen so that the stereotypes and assumptions could be broken?
"Why these towns?" he queried curiously. "And who are to be the American transfer students?" He glanced down at the pamphlet. "Also...What are the English destinations?"
Mrs. Dougherty cleared her throat, "These are the towns that were selected because the researchers wanted to break stereotypes. They said remote towns that none of the English subjects heard of would be best so that they would go in without knowing what to expect. The towns were randomly selected, however, they are all large enough so to be recognised by the government and given postal codes," she explained. Then she typed on her computer, her long french-manicured nails producing an annoying clicking sound on the keyboard. "...The American transfers are Norma D. Vehrian and Lukis A. Wong…." She clicked elsewhere and read off the list of English destinations.
"Helena, Greater London; Brookston, West Yorkshire; Brickstane, Greater London; Doorwelle, West Midlands; Kesapeeke, Greater London; Haptom, South Yorkshire; Elstown, Merseyside; Sandelle, Kent; Woodston, Greater London; and Lancaster Hills, Greater Manchester," Mrs. Dougherty stated monotonously.
Ciel hummed in acknowledgement. "I'll consider it," he said. It was a blatant lie.
Mrs. Dougherty arched an eyebrow as straight as an arrow, as if she had practised it myriads of times. She didn't question him any further, though. "You may return to class, Phantomhive," she said, nodding.
"Thank you," Ciel curtly mumbled.
He stood up, eyes glazing over the pamphlet. He already knew he wasn't going to take the offer. His heart was set on finishing at Joseph Locke Academy, one of the most highly-regarded schools in the UK. Only the most intelligent students were allowed in. He was confident in his ability to make it in, and there was no chance he would be wasting all the effort he had set forward at some low-socioeconomic-status American public school. Ciel nearly scoffed at the idea.
His parents would never allow him to go to a scummy, lower class school run by the American education system. Ha! he thought, Just the phrase is a joke, much less the actual system. Oh, Americans.
"Ciel," Mrs. Dougherty said.
Ciel stopped before he could cross the threshold of the office.
"There would be no use in ridding of that brochure. We've already sent the applications and information to your parents in the mail," she stated matter-of-factly. "But- will you at least consider the opportunity, Phantomhive?"
"A public school in middle class America versus a highly-regarded private school in England," Ciel simply murmured, more to himself than anyone.
The principal nodded tersely and made a grunt that said she was defeated.
Ciel smirked to himself. He just loved taking wrath on those his elders, the very individuals who thought they were so much smarter and better than him.
The minutes on his watch ticked by slower than a mile long queue. Ciel sighed impatiently, clenching his jaw and fists until the skin turned white.
The young noble was generally impatient, always expected everything to be catered to his doorstep within a moment's notice. But on this day, upon receiving the news that information for the stupid exchange program was mailed, he was more anxious to get home than any other day. He had to discard of the packet before his parents could find it. But what if it came this morning and they've already seen it? he neurotically thought.
When the bell rang and Mrs. Burmeister finally dismissed the class, Ciel ensured to sprint out the door faster than Bolt Hussein. That is, until a bony hand grabbed the material of his expensive, midnight-blue pea coat. He almost scoffed in disgust, had it not been for his lack of time for anyone's bullshit.
"Mr. Phantomhive, I wanted to let you know my congratulations about receiving the offer for the exchange program. I do hope you take this learning opportunity," his (rather senile) AP biology teacher said.
Yeah, right, Ciel thought contemptuously, You just want me out of the school. Not my fault I'm so much more intelligent than these hormonal sexual beasts.
Instead he dispassionately said, "Thank you, Mrs. Burmeister."
The teacher smiled at him. "Of course."
He quickly shrugged the ancient hand off his shoulder and flurried out of the classroom. It takes 15 minutes to get home walking. Probably five if I run.
Ciel quickly checked his watch, Five after three, and then starting dashing out of Stanley Reagan Secondary School as fleetingly as his short legs would allow. He had built up stamina and agility from doing this numerous times prior, due to loads of homework and the regular, laborious duties of the Earl of Phantomhive successor.
His watch read 3:13 PM when he finally reached the manor. Ciel supported himself on his knees, panting heavily. Damn, seven minutes, he thought to himself, I'm getting slower.
Remembering his initial purpose, Ciel traipsed sluggishly toward the mailbox, heart in his throat. He opened the ornate thing and swallowed his pride.
Then his stomach turned.
The packet was not there.
xxx
Sebastian Michaelis caught the eye of many girls, to say the very least. Particularly one girl, Heather Latraizza, who was a fellow junior. She was sweet and quite the romantic, journalist for the school paper (Aren't all writers true romantics at heart?), and determined to capture his heart. Of course, she had no idea that he was gay. Most people didn't. They never bothered to ask, always assuming he was straight.
Though she was very amiable, every time she would flirt or leave a note in his locker, Sebastian had to force himself to stop laughing. He almost found it shocking that no one had even made rumours up about his sexuality. Apparently they were all too lovestruck to face such disappointment.
He opened his locker today. There were two notes that were slipped in through the vents. One from Heather, another from Grell Sutcliffe. Ugh. He did not look forward to touching anything that Grell had made contact with.
Sebastian-
The Wintertime Soiree is coming up and I am left without a date. Perhaps you would do the honour of escorting me to the dance?
-Heather
He smiled. She really was a sweetheart. Had he actually an interest in the opposite sex, he most certainly would have gone with her. But he was most likely not going at all.
Sebastian slipped the small, vintage-style note into the pocket of his jacket. He picked up the other one that was laying in his locker. This was written on a plain index card.
The back was blank. He flipped it over and, in messy script, was scribbled:
Bassy, do meet me by that willow tree thing (or whatever it is) after school at 3:30. I want to give you a special surprise….
Love,
Grell Sutcliffe
Sebastian scoffed and then muttered to himself derisively, "Grell will never learn to lay off, now will he?" He flipped the notecard over so he wouldn't have to see the hideous writing, then crumpled it and tossed it into the nearest trash can.
He grabbed his AP Calculus textbook, then his AP Latin textbook, AP World History textbook….
"Whoa. Dude, you're smart as hell!" A voice said to him as he was digging through his large array of AP textbooks. "How did you get into so many AP classes? Are you like a genius or something?"
He turned around. The boy speaking to him was probably a sophomore, based on looks alone. And he was obviously quite impressed with his learning prowess.
"That's what most people say," Sebastian shrugged, as if used to this, shifting into a better position to carry the textbooks. Being 500 pages plus each, they were quite unwieldy to be carrying around. And his black shoulder bag was already teeming with miscellaneous supplies and workbooks and binders and….
"Well, actually, I came to talk to you because I need a tutor. It's already been a few months in, but I'm already failing my trig class...I hear from my friends and other teachers and stuff that you're like the smartest in the school, so…" the sophomore glanced timidly at the ground. He had seemed quite extroverted initially, albeit he found Sebastian quite formidable. Most people did. "...I was hoping you could maybe tutor me after school? I'd pay you and everything, I just really need help…."
The junior already knew what his answer was going to be. But he pretended to think about it. "I would love to help you, but I'm already pretty busy after school," Sebastian slammed his locker closed. "Maybe you could ask someone else."
"Okay," the younger shrugged. He masked his disappointment quite well. "Thanks anyway, dude." He said, slightly melancholically. Then he looked off the ground and smiled. "I've actually heard there's a guy that might be coming next year that's rumoured to be even smarter than you! Apparently he's one of the smartest kids in England and has the highest test scores! He's been given the offer to participate in an America-England exchange program. Our school was one of the places chosen for transfer. I think if he does come here, I can ask him for help!"
Sebastian almost sneered. He didn't intend to be vain, but...Who could be smarter than him? "Well," he said. "That's good for you."
"Yeah," the sophomore said perkily. "Nice meetin' you!" he called out, walking off.
The junior shrugged, watching the younger's brown curls bounce against the nape of his neck. He had blue-grey eyes, some acne, and a very charming smile. It made Sebastian wonder what the boy's name was.
But as he passed through the day, he kept hearing the rumours of the student that was smarter than him. He officially, and rather immaturely, nicknamed him Bitchface. Anytime someone referred to the student, he would say, "Oh, you mean Bitchface?" and they would get the hint and avoid the subject.
He was questioning why this topic so popular among the students of Stanley Reagan High School. But regardless, it made his blood simmer hot.
When the bell rang signalling the end of the day, and signalling the end of his neighbour Ronnie's chatter about the new kid, Sebastian glowered hard at his wooden desk. He packed up his calculus notebook, more like thrusted it recklessly into his shoulder bag, and slammed his fists on the desk, fortunately attracted no attention. He lifted his gaze and stared blankly as Mr. Torres wiped the functions and the sin, cos, and tan off the whiteboard.
"I will beat you, Bitchface," Sebastian enviously murmured to himself.
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So I know this was boring but I promise that I'm working on more interesting parts! Thanks so much if you read it anyway! I do not own Kuroshitsuji or any of the characters in it! I'm not profiting anything (except your much appreciated adoration) from this fic. All rights belong the Yana Toboso.