Day 1: Beginnings

[a/n: All the word prompts are going to be the title because I'm a lazy high-school teenager; and I apologize for the colloquial mistakes, etc.]

October 1st 2001
Wells-Next-the-Sea, England

Something about the lunch room of Gresham's Prep School was inherently intimidating. Oliver Tannat was no exception to the rule. His olive green eyes scanned the place; he found his younger sister, Jordan, sitting with a pack of giggling first-year girls. Ryan, the one in the sixth form, barely had time to wish him luck that morning before being yanked off by the other football junkies.

Then, there was Oliver: 5'10'', skinny, second-year who loved acting to death and hated Faulkner with a burning passion. His siblings had easily adapted to the move: Kilcullen, Ireland to Wells-Next-the-Sea, England in a mere matter of weeks. He'd walked the loop of town square probably ten thousand times since the Tannat family had settle into their East End brownstone. Of course, his father insisted on the prep school - something about impressions and appearances because his father could be that shallow.

In short, Oliver had never felt so alone in all his sixteen years of existence.

Losing hope fast, Oliver cast a last glance around the room. Now, his gaze fell on a girl towards the back corner. She'd been in his first period chemistry class. Her name was... Noel? Something like that. Anyway, the girl was kneeling on her chair, one hand pressed to her waist and the other motioning to him. Like out of some horribly high-schooly-stupid romance movie, Oliver balanced his try on one hand and pointed to himself. Noel rolled her eyes and exaggeratedly pointed to the empty chair opposite her. Feeling stuck, Oliver obliged, endowed with the distinct feeling that he was following his mum's orders.

Silently, he sat in said chair, which was next to a sun-streaked-brunette girl with her nose buried in a thick, beaten looking book. Rectangular wire frames sat low on her nose. For some reason, Oliver didn't think she needed them entirely.

"So, new kid," Noel began, twirling a length of her wavy, chocolate brown locks through her fingers. "You're going to sit with us from now on, okay?"

Oliver gaped at her, then mumbled: "Why me?"

"Because you have no friends," The other girl answered without even looking up from the novel. "And Emmy here thinks you seem interesting,"

"I'm sorry, but your names are?"

"I'm Emanuel Cleaver, and she's Eowyn Swancott," Emanuel grinned. "And you're Oliver Tannat,"

"Call us whatever you want," Eowyn said. "However, if I hear 'Wyn Wyn' or 'Owen' come out of your mouth, I reserve the right to kill you," Oliver raised an eyebrow.

"How about Wynnie? Does that appease you?" he asked dryly.

"That's peachy," Eowyn smirked, then finally turned to look at Oliver. "The queen approves,"

Emanuel was studying Oliver intently as he and Eowyn talked. He noticed, of course - how could anyone ignore her unnerving yellow stare. Her eyes were actually hazel, but up close the green didn't morph into brown correctly, leaving a weird dirty-gold color, instead.

"Emanuel's quite a mouthful..." Oliver started, picking apart his lunch. The girl in question giggled. He didn't want to call her 'Ema' - it was too normal for him. And his mum's name was Emma.

"Tell me something special about yourself, Oliver," Emanuel requested, her expression telling him he didn't have a choice.

"Umm... I'm Irish,"

"Boring," Eowyn chirpped. Emanuel shot her a glare.

"Well, I play the trumpet," Emanuel motioned for Oliver to keep going. He swallowed. "I want to be an actor," Emanuel's eyes lit up at this. "You?"

"I sing opera and my dad's an American - in the marines, actually," was her answer. Eowyn kept quiet, totally invested in her book.

"Would you hate me if I called you 'marine brat'?" Oliver tested, chewing his cheek.

"That's very original, Tannat," The girl leaned forward. "I like it,"

There was a pleasant lull in the conversation. The trio ate for a while; Emanuel humming, Eowyn reading and Oliver wondering what had just happened. Suddenly, Oliver felt something heavy push on his head. Glancing up, he saw Eowyn standing, her book resting on his dark hair. A questioning expression passed over his features.

"What?"

"I'm gonna call you 'theater freak'. Non-negotiable," She told him before taking a bite out of an apple and walking off, book open like a hymnal in church. Oliver then turned to Emanuel, who was shaking her head, Catching his eyes, she smirked.

"You'll get used to it, Tannat... eventually,"

END

Ta-da! Hope you enjoyed and I would love feedback.
Best,
Carie Lea