Diplomat High

Chapter 1 - First Day

Look at you, y'n, all prepared for your first day at Diplomat High with your backpack and books tucked tightly to your chest. It was nothing but a normal school, wasn't it? Yet why did you feel so strange?

You'd been to high school before, basically across the planet. And now you attended this school, seemingly out of nowhere, a chance of pure luck that your parents encouraged. They'd rented you an apartment nearby as they were off... doing whatever "happily" married parents do. And now you were here, your junior year of high school, at Diplomat High.

You walked to school and entered the building, already caught off guard by the immense size, expensive decor, and the bustle of several students. Everyone around appeared too pretentious and out of your league, and they probably were. Maybe it'd be better to focus on school rather than making friends.

"Oh, fresh blood?"

You gasp and swivel around to see a towering, grinning man with a tall, black top hat on and a dark beard. He didn't look high school aged at all. "Excuse me, who are you? Are you a teacher?"

He laughs. "Heavens no. I'm Abraham Lincoln."

"What? Abraham Lincoln?" But isn't he--

"I know what you're thinking, 'isn't he supposed to be dead?' Well, yes, I am."

It's like he read your mind. "How on earth are you talking to me then?" You gape.

"I'm a ghost, and you happen to be one of the few people who can see me. It's lovely to finally have company after all these years, y/n."

You could hardly believe what you were hearing and seeing. Were you dreaming? No, rather a nightmare. "How do you know my name?"

"It's my job to know you, y/n. Along with that, I want to help you around since you already look like a weirdo."

You furrow your brow. "What do you mean?"

He leans in to whisper to you. "Well, everyone's staring at the person who's been standing here talking to thin air."

In horror, you turn to see classmates eyeing you and whispering as they pass by. You clench your jaw and place on a polite smile as you continue down the hallway. The ghost of Abraham Lincoln decides to follow you.

"What do you want with me?" you mutter.

"To help you. Navigating this school isn't easy. It's filled of powerful, intimidating, alluring, and attractive, political students. And you, you're just... nobody."

"Gee, thanks for rubbing it in. And why would you want to help me? What are you getting out of this?"

"Oh, I've always been in it for a good show." His face fell. "That's why I died at one."

You pause, a little sympathetic at his despondency, but he quickly recovers with a laugh. "But yes, in conclusion, I'm lonely, and I'd like to help make sure you don't screw everything up and end up inciting a nuclear war, or even worse, an afterschool fight!"

You press your lips together. "Okay, I guess you could be helpful. But I mean, I've been to high school before, I just transferred here for this year. I think I can manage."

"You underestimate Diplomat High, my dear y/n. And to that, I don't fault you. Ignorance comes in many forms. I mean, most of America is still convinced I wasn't racist." He let out a chuckle and clapped you on the shoulder. "Don't tell that that, though."

You furrow your brow at him. "I'm just supposed to ignore that?"

"Yeah? Everyone does. I thought you were cool." He huffs. "But anyway, you should go to the counselors office to pick up your final schedule."