[[Good god, have you ever... I have never... well, anyway, this should be right now, for real for real.]]
Most students at Leeview High saw an ordinary school when they looked at the building's bland brick edifice and faded metal signage. For most students, the school's name evoked tortuously boring lectures, uninspired teachers, and the factory-like churning out of a public education. Most students also saw the place where they met their friends day after day; the warm, moist embryo of their adult personalities and cultural niches. Banal teenage lives ebbed and flowed with the synthetic sound of the school bell as classes began and ended, began and ended, lunch and homeroom and class again.
For some, high school was a bastion of hope in a dreary, anti-intellectual world. Some excelled at academics in hopes of a better life at some moderate-to-very prestigious university, where better heads prevailed.
When Alexander Black looked at Leeview High, he mostly saw a business opportunity.
Originally hailing from London, England, Alex had relocated to this New York suburb not three weeks prior. Though it was the middle of the school year, today was his first day at Leeview, and he kept thinking about unloading the forty tabs of acid, brought all the way from England, tucked in the inner breast pocket of his pristine olive green military-style jacket. He didn't look much like the hooligan he really was, but that was all part of the business model. Look smart, act nice, get away with murder.
For this auspicious day, he'd chosen a conservative pair of jeans and a chocolate brown button-down, both which fit his slender body expertly. His sandy blonde hair was combed neatly and tucked behind his ears, and a tasteful hint of expensive cologne preceded him. The only outward indication of Alex's deep-down inner maniac was a tasteful, thin, silver nose ring glittering from his septum. He was early, and slightly nervous. He had some connections to the underground in New York from his mates at home, but he'd met none of them in person yet. Essentially, he was alone in this rather large town. Luckily, Alex was charming and socially adept enough that he would have at least a dozen new friends by the end of the week. And that was the plan, that was his mission: help the Crew take over stateside, one gullible American at a time.
Alex sauntered right in the front door of the school with his head held high and his gaze level. Nobody issued him a second glance. Groups of students clustered in the hallways, chattering and laughing and screaming and creating your typical teenage din. Alex inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly, scanning the clusters of people for a familiar face, any one of the handful of Crew he'd "met" on Facebook. To the left, in an alcove under the stairs, a crowd of fifteen or so all garbed in black and faintly reeking of pot (Alex made a mental note- future customers there); a dozen feet from them were a group of boys in jeans and sweatshirts looking altogether too "normal"; to the left, around some lockers, a group of girls of varying size and shape, all passing around colorful Japanese graphic novels, some of them sporting cat ear headbands, false fox tails, or both; and then he saw them in the corner: A clean-looking group all dressed in preppy, trendy, expensive clothing, all trying very hard to look nonchalant.
These were his people, the elite, the cool, the partiers, the kids that all the other kids thought they wanted to be. Alex recognized one boy from Facebook, who was a self-styled stoner, wearing one of those ridiculous Bob Marley tee shirts and with his hair partially dreaded.
"What's good, mate?" Alex called in his thick, chavvy English drawl as he approached the other boy for a hand slap. "Nice to finally meet you."
"Yeah, yeah man, good to meet you to. Welcome to America, bro."
"Fanks. You're Brian, righ'? From Facebook?" As Alex spoke, some of the girls in the group came to attention, intrigued by his exotic pattern of speech. Alex noticed and flashed one of them a smile. "How you doin', dahlin'?"