Disclaimer: Not mine, as we all know. Besides, if it were, it would all be in Rikkai's point of view. Because Rikkai is WAY BETTER. FACE IT.

.change of plans.

.chapter one.

Monday morning, I wake up as usual to four different alarm clocks, all beeping their little electronic hearts out like their lives depend on it. As usual, I kind of zombie-walk around the room to turn them off, eyes half-closed, finding it too draining to pay attention to where I'm going. And, as usual, I pull on the already-prepared outfit before turning to the full-length mirror to make sure I look presentable.

Which is when I finally realize that something is very wrong.

Spinning around, I scan my surroundings. Blank walls, an oversized desk, an empty bookshelf, a clean bed. "What… the hell?" I demand out loud.

"Emily! Come on! I told you last night your new school starts earlier than in America!"

Than in America. Earlier. New school.

Right.

I stare out the window at the unfamiliar houses for a full twenty seconds, miserably noting that it has begun to rain. Tugging uncomfortably at the Rikkai uniform's black skirt, I pick up the strap of my worn-out bag and drag it grumpily out of the perfectly organized, plush-carpeted, fake bedroom.

"Good morning," Mom greets pleasantly when she sees me. "How are you?"

"Oh? You really want to know?" I challenge, dropping into a wooden chair and pushing my overgrown bangs out of my eyes. They fall back again, of course. "I feel like I've died and gone to… wait for it… wait for it… Hell."

She frowns at me. "You're being unfair, Emily."

I mentally cringe, but don't take it back. "It's not my fault that I'm being nasty and everything. I'd be the pleasant, perfect daughter I've always been if I were back home." I shrug. "Simple."

She sighs loudly before pointing at the deformed mound of matter on the plate in front of me. "Just eat, okay?"

"No, thank you." I pull on a pair of happy yellow smiley-face socks and stand up, walking dejectedly towards the front door. "Good-bye, Mother," I sigh, waving half-heartedly.

"Hey, wait – what about breakfast?" she protests. "I tried really hard to make this!"

I glance at the plate. I think they're pancakes, but no one can be completely positive with my mom's food. It doesn't stop her from trying, though, which would be cute if the food wasn't so inedible.

"I'll pass." Slipping on my black converse sneakers, I open my umbrella and step out into the pouring rain – but not before I hear her call after me.

"This is for you, you know!"

I slam the door.

"Once upon a time, there was a happy girl named Emily Koichi," I say out loud from under my umbrella, confident that no one can hear me over the pouring rain. "Yes, that's right, her name was Emily Koichi, and not anything dumb, like Koichi Emi."

I nod in satisfaction at the way my story is starting. "She was, as I already said, a very happy girl, with lots of friends and no curfew and a mall within walking distance. She was also quite intelligent, if she does say so herself, and got lines of A's on her report cards. Her parents were very proud of her and would never think of doing anything that might ruin her life.

"And then one day, something terrible happened." Right on cue, thunder rumbles in the distance, further accentuating the horror of the situation. "Emily stepped into an alternate universe, and her life crashed in on itself. She was packed away into a small car, crammed into the backseat with all of the luggage – almost as if she were just some luggage herself!" More thunder. Weather sucks and rocks at the same time.

"Her parents turned evil," I continue, stomping down hard on a puddle to send the rainwater flying, "and her father decided that his new job offer in Japan would be better than in America." Stomp. "Both of them claimedit was all for herand some nonsense about cultural exploration or something!" Stomp. "They ganged up on her and dragged her halfway across the world into a strange, foreign country," stomp, "in an airplane," stomp, "in which she had to watch movies that she'd already seen before with her friends!"

Seething, I look down at my converse all-stars, my favorite shoes, the rainwater slowly seeping up towards my ankles. I shake them out in frustration. "And now she is here," I sigh, giving up the stomping to instead diligently avoid puddles, which I have just realized are filled with worms, "Walking to a school likely filled with people who will gladly give her grief and misery, when she would usually have been catching a ride with her best friend's hot older brother."

By now, I have reached the school gates. "The end to a woeful story by Emily Koichi." I make a face at the large, black plaque on the brick wall that informs me I have reached Rikkai Daigaku Fuzoku. "Nice clock tower," I murmur, reluctantly impressed. If it's correct, then I currently have thirty seconds to get to homeroom.

I have thirty seconds to get to homeroom.

"Goddammit!" I yell, and break out into a full-out sprint.

I'm out of breath and all I want is to stop and go home and get under the covers and sleep. Why is the stupid school front yard so stupidly huge,anyway? Who needs a huge school yard?

Just as I'm only a few yards from the front entrance, a curly-haired freak demonstrates his mastery of the art of apparition directly in my path. Unfortunately, having the reflexes of a tortoise, I crash straight into him. We fall to the ground.

Did I mention it was pouring?

"Oof," I hear from under me.

"Watch where you're going, dude!" I snap in English. "Why does life hate me? Why do I deserve this?" I push myself off of whoever I've just fallen over and glare disgustedly at the mud splatters all over my leg. "I hate my life!" I scream, even though it does look like I'll be able to just wipe it off, considering I forgot to wear the black knee-high socks anyway.

"I don't understand English," the boy groans. His clothes don't look nearly as lucky. I watch as he sits up, wiping off his uniform in annoyance and running a hand through his thick mass of hair, somehow messing it up even further. Even in the rain, his ridiculous corkscrews stay relatively curly. "I hate Mondays," he comments amiably.

I huff. "Same. Now are you okay, or not? I need to decide if I should call 911 or just step on you as I leave."

He tilts his head. "You know, most people would be the teensiest bit more sympathetic when they've just mowed down an innocent second-year, but I guess you're special, aren't you?"

"Why do I get the feeling you're being sarcastic?"

"Probably because I am being sarcastic."

Sighing, I shake my head. "Whatever. Do you want me to carry you, or what?" I demand in exasperation, watching the second hand tick by on the clock tower. Come to think of it, it's that big clock tower that has caused this entire mess. If it hadn't been there, I wouldn't have realized I was late, and then I wouldn't have had to run, and then I would never have crashed into Sarcastic Boy.

"Yes, please," the boy decides. I open my mouth to beat him down with a few carefully chosen words, but then he stands up, inspecting the damage done to his uniform. "Just kidding. It'll be the apocalypse if I ever need to be carried by a girl."

"Hm," I nod thoughtfully. "Oh, I get it. You're just another sexist guy, intimidated by the superiority of women."

He nods. "Yeah, that's what it is. My problems with women are all solved now, thanks to you. Have you ever considered a future in psychology?"

I smile mirthlessly. "I'm cracking up right now, seriously."

He grins, picking up and shaking out his backpack with the speed and diligence of a sloth. Groaning in impatience, I grab it from him and glide irritably towards the school entrance, half in annoyance for his self-assurance and half in aversion to being late to my first class. Although I fully expect him to follow, a lazy call informs me he is doing no such thing.

"Hey," he drawls. Even without looking back, I can tell he is making no move to hurry. "That's my bag, you know?"

I stop. Breathe in, out. In, out. "You know what?" I say finally. "Just, whatever. I give up. Be late. Get detention. See if I care. I, on the other hand, would rather not, so enjoy your tardiness, kid," I huff. "I don't see why I've even waited for you this long anyhow."

"Bye," he responds.

I toss his still-dripping backpack at him as he nears, and although – being me – I miss by about a mile, he manages to catch it easily, coolly slinging it over his shoulder without a hint of disgust.

I pause. "You just got mud all over your back," I inform him. "Someone told me once that Japanese schools are super-strict about appearance."

"I thought you were leaving?"

I glare. "I was. But I actually have no idea where I'm going. Shut up," I warn as he opens his mouth. "I don't want to hear it."

He laughs. "They are," he says.

"What?" I say dumbly.

"Japanese schools, I mean. They are super-strict about appearance. But not to worry," he continues. "I'm a rebel. I'm allowed to."

I blink. "A rebel? Well, that changes things!" I exclaim excitedly. I hold my hand out brightly for him to shake. "We rebels have to stick together, you know. We're a dying breed. Now, we just have all these goody-two-shoes and suck-ups. No, really, why didn't you say so before?"

"Er," he says, looking incredibly confused and completely weirded out. "I mean, it's not exactly the best of conversation starters. Because, 'hi, I'm Kirihara and I'm a rebel' doesn't really scream 'I come in peace.'" He blinks, tilting his head at me. "Hold on a sec. Who are you? Because you're definitely not the same person you were two minutes ago."

I shrug. It seems more fun to keep him at a perpetual state of confusion than to answer him. Perhaps as bad karma for being so utterly sarcastic. "You play tennis?" I ask instead, motioning toward his racket case.

"What tipped you off?" he exclaims, pretending to be astonished. "Most people think I play soccer, but I should have expected your great deductive ability, considering how much more intelligent you are than the average Joe." Evidently, he has recovered from his previous mental crash.

"Oh god, it'll be a serious miracle if you don't get a swift kick from me in the shins sometime today," I threaten with a glare.

"Hey, who are you, anyway? I've never seen you around."

"You first," I prompt, because I am just a stingy, stubborn little ass like that, and feel the need to put up a fight to everything. I mentally cringe at myself, feeling suddenly sorry for this kid who has to put up with me.

However, he answers promptly. "Kirihara. Kirihara Akaya, second year."

"Koichi Emily," I say. "Third year. First day at Rikkai."

"Emily?" he repeats. "That's not Japanese."

"Can't fool you," I say unhelpfully, not in the mood to explain my origins. I make a mental note to introduce myself as 'Emi' from now on.

"And how is it your first day? Aren't you kind of late to be joining classes right now? Because it's spring, and all." He tucks his tennis racket under his arm and begins wiping off his backpack again.

"No, I'm really late to be joining classes right now," I correct. "Because it's spring, and all."

For some reason, he decides that now would be a good time to notice the time. "Hm," he says. "We seem to be late."

"Really?" I gasp, shocked. "I didn't notice."

"No, we are," he says earnestly, pretending not to notice my look. "I think it would be a wise idea to head toward our first class."

"I deeply regret not recognizing your superior mental ability before."

"What homeroom are you?" he asks as we make our way to the front doors.

"3-B."

"Really?" he grins with something that could be happiness, or evil intent. "That's… my friends' homeroom."

"Ah, dumb luck." I sigh dramatically. "But still, to be friends with your senpais? You fare pretty well for yourself," I say, impressed. "I thought that was hard in Japan."

"Tennis team," he explains simply. He tilts his head to the side and narrows his eyes at me, like he is trying to figure something out. "Has anyone ever told you you're extremely biased against the country of Japan? Because you are."

"Eh," I reply.

"You know, since I'm such a nice person, I'll show you the way. Right this way, madam."

He leads me down a long hallway. Then, we go down another long hallway, climb two sets of stairs, and go down yet another long hallway. I'm completely out of breath when he taps the sign in front of the door. "3-B."

"Huh?" I pant. "Isn't there… a shortcut to this place? I mean, jeez."

He watches apathetically. "Your stamina kind of sucks, a lot."

I stop panting, just to show him I'm not a weakling. "No, it doesn't," I manage to say defiantly, despite the fact that I feel like I'll spontaneously combust. I catch him roll his eyes before I peer into the classroom. It's filled with loud, obnoxious students—at least that hasn't changed.

I glance at Kirihara again, who is also peering in the window as if to look for something. He seems to find it, because he grins in a self-satisfied way and turns away. Weird. "Thanks, Kiri-kun," I say, pretending not to be analyzing his every move. He nods absent-mindedly. "Bye, maybe I'll see you around."

"If you're going into that classroom with those people, I'll definitely be seeing you around," he says mysteriously. "Bye."

"Alright, guys, shut your overactive mouths," the homeroom teacher calls out. "I have an important announcement."

I stand awkwardly halfway between her and the doorway, painfully aware of the semi-discreet glances the students steal at me.

"I'm pretty sure I told you guys yesterday we have a new student…" she says, rubbing her index and middle finger against her temple. "Did I?"

"Are you hungover?" A boy asks innocently from the middle row.

She glares at him. "No." Pause. "Okay, maybe a little. I mean…" She clears her throat. "So I want to introduce you to Koichi – Niou, get up." She sighs. "Somebody wake Niou up."

A nearby girl in a bleached-blonde side-ponytail looks positively overjoyed to do so. Her manicured hand taps the boy's back, softly at first, slowly increasing in power to a flat-out shake. "Niou-kun. Niou-kun!"

"Mm—wha?" Niou groans, lifting his head from his arms. "Sensei," he says pleasantly with a lazy grin. "You look lovely today." He doesn't even try to disguise the sleepiness from his voice, or the yawn that follows.

"Ah, Niou. Always a pleasure."

He nods lazily. There is something about him that catches me—something in his calmness, or in his sure, confident smile. Something in those eyes that watch, just waiting for something to happen. I stare at his silver eyes—silver!—until suddenly, without warning, he turns to stare straight back. I blink, startled, before looking away.

Why did I look away?

"Everyone, please welcome a new student to Rikkaidai. Koichi, introduce yourself."

"I'm…" I clear my throat. "I'm Emi Koichi. Nice to meet you, I guess. Call me… whatever." I shrug. "Koichi… Koichi-chan… Emi-chan?" I try my options out loud, feeling them out. I don't like any of them. "Call me Emi," I decide finally.

"Okay, care to delve slightly further?"

I shrug. "I'm from California, but my dad suddenly got a job transfer to Japan. So my parents dragged me here. And here I am!" I raise my hands in a 'ta-da!' pose. No one's really watching, though. They lost interest when I started talking about job transfers.

"Anyone have questions for Koichi?" sensei calls out to the class. Obviously no one bothers, so sensei turns to me and asks me herself. "How are you so good at Japanese if you were raised in America?"

"My dad's Japanese," I answer. "And they were strict about me learning the language."

"Wonderful," she says, without much feeling. Further proof she doesn't actually care. "The bell's going to ring soon… Well, anyway, welcome to Rikkai. We're all happy to meet you. Aren't we?" she calls out pointedly.

"Yes," the class answers half-heartedly.

"You can sit..." she scans the classroom. "Oh, this'll work well—between Yukimura and Sanada. They can help you if you need it." She nods towards the back of the room, and I turn to see the most beautiful— no, really, beautiful— boy raise his hand politely so I know where to sit. Two seats over sits an intimidating tall kid who looks like he has never smiled in his entire life. Exact opposites.

I make my way to the empty desk and sit down, turning first to Beauty. "I'm Emi. Are you Yukimura-kun, or Sanada-kun?" I ask politely. I think he has a smaller waist size than me.

Beauty opens his mouth to answer, but is cut off when the kid in front of me suddenly spins around and grins. I blink in surprise. It's Silver-Eyes. "Hello," I say uncertainly, slightly wary. His eyes carry so much in them.

"That," he says, pointing at Beauty, "is Sanada." Then he points at Scary. "And that's Yukimura."

Although I fail to see how that is his business, as I wasn't talking to him nor asking his name, I smile cordially and nod. "Thank–" I begin, but he cuts me off again with this infuriating lopsided grin.

"Or it could be the other way."

He's still grinning at me. I narrow my eyes. His confident, self-satisfied smirk tells me exactly what kind of person he is: the kind of person who goes through life like it's all a game, and thinks it's fine to use everyone around as game pieces.

Before I think about what I'm saying, English begins pouring off of my tongue. "Take advantage of the new girl, why don't you?" I hiss.

"Huh?" he says. I fight the urge to laugh. Who's superior now?

"Have you ever read The Princess Bride?" I continue. "Oh no, of course not. Why would someone likeyou," I emphasize the word, "bother to read such a wonderful classic when you could sleep in class? My mistake. Anyway, there's this part where Vizzini, the Sicilian mastermind, has a battle of wits against Westley. Westley wins, and Vizzini dies. In this case, I am Westley and you are Vizzini."

"What?" he says. None of what I'm saying actually makes much sense, nor does it apply to the situation, but does that matter?

"You need me to say it clearer? God, you're dumber than you look," I say meanly. "I'll say it clearly. Mess with me, and you will die."

He smirks.

Blood boiling, I furrow my eyebrows in frustration before turning to look at Beauty. "You're Yukimura-kun?" I confirm calmly, switching back to Japanese.

Beauty glances warily at Niou before smiling softly. "That's correct," he nods. Even his voice is beautiful. It's almost impossible; it's like an angel has descended the earth. I shiver, although I have no idea why I'm intimidated by such a beautiful person.

I turn to Scary. "Sanada-kun?" I confirm.

"Yes," he answers shortly, giving me a nod.

"Cool. I'm Emi. Nice to meet you."

He nods again. "Nice to meet you."

Against my will, I find myself glancing momentarily at Niou. He smirks and opens his fat mouth. "I'm Niou -"

"Oops, I forgot to get my schedule! Silly me," I exclaim, turning to Yukimura with an oh-I'm-so-stupid head slap. I cringe. Silly me? Who even says that?

Yukimura is looking at me strangely, so I quickly change the subject. "Hey, what do we have first period?" I ask.

"Oh, of course," Yukimura says. "Math."

Math. I gape at him, unbelieving of my horrifically terrible luck. My annoyance for Niou is quickly replaced by my hatred for the subject. "Math," I repeat. "Great." I sigh, extracting my books from my bag and pile them messily on my desk. "I hate math."

No one agrees, only watches me bemusedly. Apparently, they all love math.

The bell rings.

new story my broskis!

edit: 120521, because i'm a cheater