It was her first time at a so- called 'Hi- skool.' American teenagers, her kind, were a foreign concept to her. How bad had she messed up back at HQ that they gave her this assignment? Emiline met all the requirements; pretty, skool aged, previous extraterrestrial experience, and charismatic, she was a good fit. But she had been previously doing more sophisticated work; in fact she was a very valuable member of the organization. One of the best spies they had. She didn't know the difference between the real bombs and the duds- it was a miscommunication error on HQ's part.

Emiline shook head, clearing her thoughts. She looked around her. Currently in the principal's office, she was freezing cold and bored. It was a sterile white room with a cheap, ugly desk covered in mountains of papers. The chair behind it was brown, on wheels and torn. There was just one frame on the wall and all it contained was the principal's diploma. On the desk was a white computer- one of the big old bulky ones with a tower and a monitor the size of a small child with a tiny screen The whole thing was dented, yellowed and in bad shape. If anything was a clear sign bout the school, it was the computer.

Emiline's current mission was to infiltrate the Hi – Skool, find the harmless alien who attended and gather information. This seemed absolutely absurd to her. The instructions were just to obtain information. It was so open ended- so inconclusive, so without a purpose. He- it, she wasn't quite sure, was already deemed harmless. What was the information they needed?

The brown door behind her opened and the principal walked in. He looked young but weathered. His once handsome face was bloated and wrinkled badly. Dark hair was thinning and grey in patches. He turned his tired gaze on her after sitting down and getting comfortable. He pursed his thin, chapped lips and furrowed his brows.

"Emiline Turner, I assume?" His brows arched.

"Yes sir, and you are?"

He leaned forward, "I'm Principle Achers," The principle extended his hand to shake, "Nice to meet you."

Emiline pulled into herself and stared at his hand, disturbed. Stammering, "I- I- I, uh . . . I don't- I don't shake . . . hands. I'm sorry."

Miffed, Principle Achers pulled his hand back. "Alright," he drawled, "How about I take you to your new class. You've been instructed on the accurate behaviors and scheduling, I assume."

Principle Achers was one of us. I have no idea what his real name, but he was placed there to oversee my mission and keep things under wraps. His duties would be very helpful in my endeavor. Obviously though, he had not taken the time to read my file, because, in bright red, right under my alias, it warned him to be very careful to avoid physical contact with me of any kind. She read his. She was quite aware of his peanut allergy.

"Of course. Have the teachers been briefed?"

He nodded and got out of his chair and hobbled to the door. Emiline noted that his childhood soccer injury, another thing in his file, had never quite healed. She followed him out into the dirty hallway. A rat scampered across the brown floor and through a pile of candy wrappers. She heard a distant scream and a cackle. If this was what skool was about, then she thought she'd feel right at home. However, upon turning a right and walking two feet to the left, a door presented itself.

This door, she knew would lead her to years of pain and drudgery. The Principle swung the door open and shoved her in.

"Fresh Meat!" He yelled and then slammed the door behind her. The room was filled with rows and rows of crappy desks that looked like they had been through the First World War on the front lines. In them, were rows and rows of eyes staring at her. Emiline froze. For the past 10 years her job had been to avoid being seen and now she was front and center.

Like the divine angel she was, Ms. Bitters rose from her desk and screeched "C lass, it seems we have a new student. Welcome Emiline."

"Hello Emiline." They responded in dejected unison.

Emiline scoped the class, searching fro the targets, once found, she replied, "Hello."

She found the research target almost immediately in the crowd. She kicked herself for that it should have been immediate, he was fucking green. The alien was quite obvious, and she made it her first objective to figure out why he stayed so incognito. The only reports of him being an alien came from the second target. This one was undeniably human, male, with a shock of black hair that had a striking cowlick, glasses and a ratty trench coat. He as asleep. The alien was identified as "Zim" and the boy was a quasi celebrity- Dib Membrane. While Dib was sleeping peacefully, Zim was pelting him with spit wads.

Emiline sighed to herself. "This is going to fucking kill me."