Dismissed ⤯ Tom Holland

2 | The School Upon The Hill

Y/N

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"Location arrival in 5 minutes," I spoke into my watch, "Francis Academy for the Gifted."

Clearing my throat, I switched off the microphone, and turned to stare out the car window. The itchy collar of my uniform scratched at my neck, and I shifted uncomfortably in the maroon, polyester skirt.

Edinburgh seemed solemn this morning, the sky murky and covered in clouds. Brian, the agency's chauffeur, sat stiffly in front of the steering wheel, his focus stuck on the road in front of him.

I unzipped my backpack, and pulled out the mission report issued to me yesterday. According to the sheet, it was a fully-funded operation, where I would be going to actual classes and staying in the dorms. I dropped out of highschool years ago to enlist in the BIC, so going to a college was nothing other than unusual.

Especially since I'm a 21 year old, pretending to be a 19 year old girl named Eliza Williams.

"Brian," I asked, shoving the file back into my bag, "any advice for me?"

We had started to pull up in front of the school, it's towering brick structure looming over us. It looked like it came straight out of a thriller, the kind of place children went to if they were unbehaved. Instead, it was a private college for the rich.

"Blend in," the man said promptly, "I understand this is your first Undercover Assignment?"

"Affirmative."

"I'd start by smiling," he corrected, glancing at me through his rear-view mirror, "you look too much like an agent with that frown on your face."

I raised the corner of my lips, a badly shaped smile, but better than what I had before. After 7 years of perfecting my emotionless expression, I forgot how to properly smile.

"Thank you," I said, popping open the car door, and climbing outside.

After retrieving my suitcase from the trunk, I took a moment to stand outside the building to observe. The bushes in front looked well-kept, but the building itself seemed to be decaying with age. The once red bricks were fading to a grey concrete, and vines had grown thier way through some of the cracks and holes.

It looked like a falling apart country manor to me, but to someone wealthy, it probably looked like the perfect place for a college to stand.

But, having grown up in a middle-class family, I didn't see it from the rich point of view.

Grabbing my suitcase handle, I dragged it behind me and into the school, the sound of college student conversations surrounding me. The inside of the school was decorated in neo-european style, a chandelier hanging from the inside, and hand painted streaks running across the columns. This inside, however, was darker than outside, because of the candle-light seeming light bulbs.

"Eliza Williams," I enunciated to the woman at the front desk, "I'm new here."

She looked up at me, her grey hair pinned back neatly into a bun. Small, wire glasses sat at the very top of her nose, and she squinted her eyes to look at me.

"Right, yes," she said, her voice shaky, "do you have a form of identification??"

I grabbed my passport from my pocket, and slid it across the desk. The woman compared me to the photo, before nodding her head and sliding it back.

"You know you're a semester late," she said, "you have a lot of catching up to do."

"Affirmi-" I began, before snapping the words back, "yes. Yes, Ma'am."

Not even 5 minutes into the school, and I almost let my lingo get the best of me. I needed to be more careful further on, because the thief could be anyone here at the school. But I doubted it was the lady in front of me, she didn't seem like the type to pull off a robbery.

"You start classes tomorrow," she said, before coughing, "here's your schedule and your dorm number."

"Thank you."

I picked the things she gave me off the table, and hurried away from the desk. I saw a few people glance my way, but it wasn't surprising. I would be confused if someone showed up to a private school in the middle of the semester.

However, that person was me, and I wanted to keep a low profile.

The dorms were attached to another part of the building, which seemed to have been added recently. I had to walk through a small bridge-like walkway to reach the other building, and it certainly seemed a lot cleaner. The decoration was the same though, much to my distaste.

Since there were no elevators, I dragged my suitcase up 4 flights of stairs before reaching my dorm room. I was supposed to share a room with another freshman, and the number read 406 on the schedule.

I found the room easily, but it was the furthest away from the stairs and next to the windows. The sound of the wheels rolling against the wooden floors was loud enough to wake a bear, which made this job a hell of a lot harder.

Sneaking around would be hard.

Once I reached the room, I pushed open the door and pulled my bags in behind me.

"Oh, you must be Eliza," a girl said, "the new girl?"

She had curly brown hair, and was laying splayed out over her bed. Her uniform was still on, and a book was lying on top of her stomach.

"Hello," I said, before realizing I seemed too formal, "hey."

"Well then," she smiled, sitting up, "welcome to Francis."