Hello! I've returned from the dead with another chapter. It's Zuko's first days of school! Gotta love the special hell that is high school.


Surprise, surprise, therapy fucking sucked. He woke up at 11am and Iroh drove him to the pointless appointment. His therapist's office was on the third floor of a white office building, and honestly, Zuko couldn't think of a more depressing place to spend the following hour. Of course, when he got to the waiting room, he was proven correct.

It smelled too clean and sterile. Ugly blue chairs were lined against beige walls. There were children playing with toys on one end of the room, which unfortunately, reminded Zuko that he was there to see an adolescent therapist. Iroh went to talk to the receptionist, a bubbly blonde wearing far too much pink for Zuko's liking. He couldn't hear what was said, or at least didn't care to listen in, but the retreating sound of high heels on linoleum told him that she had gone to summon the therapist. Ten minutes of awkward silence between he and his uncle later, a way-too-nice-to-be-genuine woman named Kate walked into the waiting area and introduced herself as Zuko's therapist.

For the next hour, she tried, and failed, to get to know him. He couldn't help but be bitter. All anybody ever did was ask the same stupid questions, as if reading from a fucking script, which they probably were. They didn't care, least of all, this woman.

"What do you do for fun?" she asked, starting the conversation off.

Drink? Party? Get high as fuck and forget my own name? "Nothing." Zuko answered.

"What are your friends names?"

"Don't have any."

"What's your favourite food?"

He tried to think of a snarky response, but the only one he could come up with was true. Fuck it, "I'm usually too anxious to eat."

She nodded "that's good to know. We'll make sure to talk about that and see if we can do something to help it." She smiled at him, it was far too sweet. "What's your favourite colour Zuko?" He hated the way she tried to keep the conversation light. Like a snake trying to make it's way into his life.

"Don't have one."

After fifteen minutes, she gave up trying to get him to open up. At least she didn't lose her temper; better than most therapists who tried talking to him. Instead, she opted to take the conversation down a different route.

"How often do you feel anxious?" she asked him.

"Always."

"What about depressed?"

"Same answer."

"Do you feel like hurting yourself?"

Why did therapists always have to ask that stupid question? They already knew the answer. Its why he was there in the first place, wasn't it? "Yes."

"How often?"

"Always."

Her tone turned a tad more serious. "Do you have a plan to hurt yourself?"

He almost smiled, thinking over how many ideas he had daily. "I always do."

"What is it?"

"I'm not telling you."

"Why?"

He looked at her, taking in her face for the first time. It was caked in makeup, covering up every blemish. Weren't therapists supposed to inspire self confidence? How could she expect to do that with a face full of makeup, hiding her natural flaws. In that moment, he decided he really hated this woman.

"If I decide to enact it, you'll stop me."

He had ended up sitting in the waiting room for another half hour while she spoke to Iroh. Probably telling him how to safety proof his house and informing him of his nephew's fucked up mental state. As if the psych ward wasn't clur enough already.

The drive back to the house had been long and awkward, similar to the rest of the evening. That night, Zuko couldn't sleep. He was to start school the next day, and his anxiety mounted with each passing moment. There was a reason he had stopped going in the first place. He was an idiot, and everybody agreed. He couldn't pass a math test to save his goddamn life, and science wasn't much better. He sucked at numbers, whereas Azula excelled. He cringed. School always made him think of his sister. She was always so perfect, the best at debate, math, and science, hell even gym class; she was amazing at everything Zuko wasn't. What was he good at? English, History, and French. All subjects his mother had encouraged, but his father scorned. In the end, Zuko ended up laying on the floor, trying to slow his racing heart and refusing to touch the medication he was prescribed.

At 7am Iroh came to wake him him, only to find his nephew already was up. He stared at the sunrise through his large bedroom window, table lamp still on, and bed still made. Breakfast was ready; he didn't eat.

A half hour later, Zuko sat in the passenger seat of his uncle's car.

Trees flew by as he stared out the window, vaguely listening to the shitty pop music on the radio. Classes started at 8am, but Iroh had insisted they go early to get his schedule sorted out. Zuko suspected it was more to make sure he actually went.

Iroh stopped the car outside a large, two story, brick building. It had a pair of ugly red double doors below a sign that read 'Main Office'. A few students hung around outside, but as a whole, it was deserted. "Here we are," Iroh said, unbuckling his seatbelt. He looked at his distressed nephew and sighed. "I'm sorry Zuko, I know you're unhappy, but you have to go to school."

Zuko was about to give an angry response when he looked at his uncle. The man seemed genuine in his words. "Whatever," he replied instead, letting his anger fall to the back burner as he unbuckled the seatbelt.

Together, they walked up the short cement path to the ugly building. Zuko's shoulders already ached with the weight of his backpack, full of binders, his laptop, and a pencil case. Iroh had refused to let him go without what he considered the essentials.

Inside the school, it was slightly less depressing. The main hall was large and had multiple black tables scattered around it. There we a few students sitting on their laptops. The office was to the left, next to a large trophy case. The case was full of pictures and awards, all of which went to sports teams, other than one. In the far right corner, there was a small trophy, awarded to a theatre group. He didn't get a chance to read any of the names before a voice drew his attention.

"Hello Iroh," a male voice said, Zuko turned to see an older man shaking hands with his uncle.

"Mr. Seng," his uncle greeted. "This is my nephew, Zuko," he pointed to Zuko as he walked over.

"Pleasure to meet you young man," Mr. Seng said, extending his hand. Zuko reluctantly shook it. "I am the principal of this school, and we're glad to have you here. If you'd just step into my office, I have your class schedule already prepared."

Zuko nodded and followed the man and his uncle, driving out whatever small talk the two men were sharing. It seemed his uncle knew everybody in town.

The office was small, covered in positive posters about achievement and success. It made him want to vomit. There were two chairs in front of a large desk, which Zuko and Iroh sat in. The principal sat on the other end of the wooden desk.

He opened a folder and removed a piece of paper from it. "Unfortunately, this far in the year, most electives are full," he said, handing it to Zuko. "There's only three left, I'll let you decide between them in a moment."

Zuko looked at the paper in front of him. The days were split into six classes, three in the morning, and three in the afternoon. Each class was an hour long, there was five minutes between blocks. Luckily, there was a forty minute lunch. He skimmed over the classes, only to reread them. "I think there's been a mistake," he said, cutting off whatever conversation the adults were sharing. "This says AP English and AP History..." the principle smiled.

"No mistake Zuko," god he hated the way the man said his name. It was so patronizing, like the way his father's colleges addressed him. "I checked your grades from your previous school. You were placed two grades above your peers in both courses, and you were still achieving a high grade in both classes. The staff and I decided that a challenge, such as AP courses, may be good for you."

"Good for me?!" anger flooded him. "Didn't anybody bother to ask me what I wanted?!"

"Nephew, please," Iroh said calmly. "You excel in those subjects. An AP course will be more interesting for you."

He looked between them. "Fine," he spat, "what choices do I have for electives?" he changed the subject.

The principal took the cue, "as I said, most are full. As of now, we have physical education, art, and theatre."

Great. Three classes he hated. After a moment, he let out an annoyed sigh. "Theatre," as least he would spend more time reading plays. It would be better than wanting to die in gym class, or showing off his shity skills in art.

"Wonderful!" the man said, obviously glad he avoided another outburst. God Zuko really hated this guy, stupid posters and all. Why were adults all so fucking fake? A few more minutes; and everything was set. Zuko would have AP English, Study Hall, and AP History before lunch, followed by Pre Calculus, Theatre, and Biology after lunch. He fucking hated high school.

"Your locker is 225, here is your combination," he said, handing Zuko a slip of paper with the numbers '22-02-19' written on it. "And here is a school map," he handed him another piece of paper. Zuko took both items, grumbling a thank you before following his uncle out of the room.

Walking out of the office, Iroh stopped him. "I'm reopening my shop today," he told him, Zuko nodded, vaguely remembering that Iroh owned a Tea Shop that he had closed while Zuko was settling in. "I'd prefer if you dropped by after school, instead of going straight home. It's only two blocks away."

"Fine," Zuko replied, energy disappearing. There was no point in fighting. Everything was fucking horrible and nothing would change that. All he wanted to do was sleep, or die. Preferably die.

Iroh smiled none the less, "here" he said, passing Zuko $15. "For lunch. Call me if you need anything."

He nodded and took the money, "thanks," he mumbled, shoving it into his back pocket.

"Have a good day Nephew," Iroh said, before leaving.

Zuko stood in the front entry. It was busier, although nobody paid any attention to him. He knew that would soon change. Rumors of a new kid travelled faster than wildfire in schools, especially a new kid like him. He looked mean, and he knew it. His scar sure as hell didn't help. Sighing, Zuko looked at the map and began the anxious walk to his locker, not quite ready to start this hell.

After five minutes of wandering, Zuko found his locker. It was in the middle of a hallway, which was getting busier and more packed as 8am drew closer. He looked at the paper with the combination before unlocking the locker. It was empty, thankfully. The principal said nothing about a lockermate, but he hoped there wouldn't be one. He wasn't good at sharing spaces. After a moment, he closed it. There was nothing he had brought that needed to be put in it, but at least he knew where it was.

Next, he had to find his class. AP English, room 2014, upstairs. He followed the map to the nearest set of stairs and walked up them. It was crowded and horrible. Students filled the hallway, standing in the way and talking. As before, most people ignored him, but it seemed he caught the eye of a few. Some girls made eye contact with him before turning away and whispering. Zuko felt his anxiety mounting once again; they were talking about him and he knew it. Fuck, he really hated being the center of attention, which would be what the entire day was, if not the rest of the year. At least at his old school, everybody knew not to mess with him. Even then, it had been out of self preservation and fear for his reaction. He could throw a punch, and was not afraid to do it first. After a few more minutes, he found his class.

The teacher sat at her desk. She was an young woman, probably in her mid 20s. Awkwardly, Zuko walked in, a few students turned to look at him before going back to their conversations. The teacher looked up at him and smiled, "Oh! Hello!," she stood up and walked around her desk, "you must be Zuko! NIce to meet you, I'm Mrs. Sato." Zuko shook her hand, he had to admit, she was pretty. Her hair was black and curly, while her eyes were bright green. Regardless of how pretty she may be, Zuko's heart still beat faster than a drum. His breath a quick and shallow. He tried desperately to get it under control before people noticed. "Well," Mrs. Sato began, "I hope you like English! We just started reading The Crucible, have you ever read it?" he shook his head. "Wonderful!" she reached over her desk and grabbed a book. "Here," she told him, "I'll send you down to the library with a reading list tomorrow, but for now you can borrow one of my spare copies."

"Thanks," he said quietly, taking the book from her.

"We have no seating plan in here, but the students can be very defensive over where they sit." He nodded, remembering his former school as the same. "The back is usually pretty empty, so feel free to take a seat anywhere back there."

Again he nodded, and went to the very back of the classroom. He ignored the curious looks of his classmates as he took a seat by the window, and others filed in.

Five minutes later, the bell rang and everybody went quiet.

Mrs. Sato stood in front of the class while everybody took their seats. As she had said, very few people sat in the back row. "Good morning class!" she said, smiling as the students chorused back to her. "We have a new student today, his name is Zuko, everybody please make him feel welcome." Everybody turned to look at him, and he suddenly felt even more self conscious than he already did. He knew they were looking at his long sleeve sweater, overgrown hair, and most of all, his scar. "Now now," Mrs. Sato said, drawing attention back to her, "no need to stare. Please open your books to where we left off yesterday. Who would like to be Abigail?"

The rest of the class continued in much the same fashion, volunteers read each part, as if it were a real play. Zuko actually found it interesting, it was a play written about the Salem Witch Trials. He was supposed to finish the scene that night for homework, and catch up on the few scenes he missed, and he thought he may actually do it.

His brief moment of contentment however, was soon crashed. The bell rang and everybody filed out of the room, rushing to their next period. Mrs. Sato let him keep her copy of the play until she could get a list of books together for him, so he found himself once again in front of his locker, throwing the book into it, along with whatever he didn't think he'd need right away. The hallway was crowded, and more people were staring at him. They weren't even trying to hide it. He slammed his locker closed, causing anybody watching him to quickly look away. Why did he have to be the center of attention? God, he was so fucking ugly. Did they all have to look? He readjusted his bag and was about to walk away when something drew his attention.

There was a boy standing a bit down the hallway, talking to a group of people. He had an unlit cigarette in his mouth, and a pack in his hand. As anxious as Zuko was, he really needed a smoke. Stealing himself, he walked over the to boy.

"Hey," he said when he was within earshot. The boy looked at him, flicking his black hair out of his face in the process.

"Do I know you?" he asked, looking Zuko up and down before his eyes settled on his scar. "I guess I don't, you're the new kid, huh?" he asked, holding out his hand. "The name's Jet."

Zuko shook his hand, ignoring how tight the grip was. "Zuko. Guess I've already earned myself a reputation." He knew this game. It was power play, dominance. This Jet kid was testing him, seeing how well he held up, some rumors must have already been spreading.

Jet laughed, "damn right, kid with a fucked face shows up, we all hear about it," Zuko bit the inside of his mouth, refusing to give. He would not seem weak, and he would not let anybody know how much that comment hurt.

"Well, care to let the new kid buy a smoke off you?" he asked, pointing to the pack. Oh the things he put up with for a smoke.

He smirked, "a smoker too? I'm starting to like you," He passed him a cigarette from the box. "Don't worry, first one's free," he winked, and Zuko tried not to cringe at how unnatural the action looked.

"Thanks dude," he said, attempting to sound nonchalant. Making friends had never been a skill he excelled at, hence the reason he had no friends. But then again, being a fucking freak didn't exactly help with that.

Ignoring Jet's smirk, he rushed off the his second period class.


Hope you liked it! Next chapter, he meets Aang!