Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater.

Author's Note: I've been wanting to write a high school AU for a while, and when I saw some fanart by the incredibly talented Tumblr user burge, I totally fell in love with the idea of bad boy Soul and good girl Maka; a rebel-meets-daddy's-girl, slacker vs. prom queen kind of thing. I guess I have a soft spot for cliches.

Now if only I could write a Soul Eater Musical...

They have their first encounter when they are enrolling for ninth grade.

He sees a girl from the corner of his eye, a short, skinny, stereotypical schoolgirl. Her hair is tied up in pigtails like she's still stuck in kindergarten and she's got the pleated skirt/ironed shirt combo, but there is one thing that looks terribly out of place; a pair of combat boots that look too big for her feet and squeak something terrible on the newly polished linoleum tiles.

She glances around the room and gets ushered to the first line of nervous-looking students whose last names start with A through D. She seems to be the only one who isn't wringing their hands; the smile on her lips stretches like a slice of melon across her face, and after a couple seconds she's honest to God shaking hands with the kid in front of her. She fills out her papers quickly and goes to wait in line for her student ID picture.

This is when she sees him.

He's waiting too. She's close to attempting a friendly grin, but he looks away before she can get in a "hello". She gets the hint and stays quiet. That is, until she starts chatting with the dark-haired girl behind her, introducing herself as Maka and getting a polite "I'm Tsubaki" in return.

Soul doesn't smile for his picture. His card is printed out, he pockets it, and is about to leave when a school administrator with a crazed grin like he's eaten one too many packets of Fun Dip pops up in front of him.

"Where are you going, mister? You wouldn't want to miss the after-registration mixer, would you?"

After a moment of protest, he directs him to another room (by jabbing him between the shoulder blades with his clipboard), which is apparently the gym.

Paper streamers and punch bowls and pop music and everything that Soul hates is here, along with a couple hundred of his new classmates. They mingle and eat finger sandwiches and sway awkwardly to the beat of the new hit single by whoever-the-hell-cares. There are adults next to every exit, and Soul gives a not-so-quiet exclamation of "son of a bitch" when he realizes that they're trying to corral the students into interacting with each other. They're trapped like goldfish in a tiny bowl, all smushed together for no reason other than to "make friends".

He sits in the bleachers and tries to look like he doesn't want to rip his hair out, since there are teachers already observing this year's picks of fresh meat and he doesn't want to get on their radar before school even begins. He sees Maka handing out drinks to a pair of girls. She gets Tsubaki familiarized with them, and they all laugh together over some hilarious joke. He watches them until his attention is brought to a group of snickering boys a couple rows ahead of him.

One points at the two girls. "Hot damn," he says, rubbing his chest. "Didn't think there'd be any tits here, but I sure was wrong. And look at the ass on that one," he says, mouth comically dropping open as he gapes at Tsubaki.

Another boy gives a low whistle. "Wow, she's gorgeous. But who's that flat chest next to her?"

Soul notes with mirth that the boy's hair is only a couple shades darker than robin's egg blue, and he isn't exactly the most quiet as Tsubaki and the aforementioned look over at him immediately. "Shit, is that who I think it is?" He leaps over the bleachers. "Oi, Maka!"

"Black Star?"

"It's been a while, kid! Where've you been this summer?"

"Oh, I… Nowhere."

"Missed ya, dude. Good thing we're going to the same school, eh?"

"Yeah." Maka beams at her friend and they give each other a short hug. Black Star pats her back like he doesn't want to seem too emotional, but she grips him in a bone-crushing embrace that he soon returns.

Soul watches this whole encounter, up to the part where Black Star demands loudly that Maka introduce him to "this lovely lady". Tsubaki blushes redder than a firetruck and Maka looks annoyed that he's hitting on her new friend.

"I'll go get us some refreshments," she says, steering her away from them.

Black Star's friend hits him in the shoulder. "What's your deal, man? You and that chick banging or what?"

Soul finds this a little questionable as the majority of the kids here are barely fourteen, but even fourteen year olds want to seem mature and cool because they know what sex is, so he just rolls his eyes.

The questioned stops looking for Tsubaki and gives his buddy a stare so deep it's awkward even for Soul, who's not remotely sitting close to them. "Me and her grew up together. I wouldn't put a finger on that girl. And neither would you. In fact, don't even look at her. Got it?"

"Jeez, yeah, okay, I hear you." He shrugs, but still looks intimidated by Black Star, who's only about five foot two, not counting the couple inches that his, uh, voluminous hairstyle adds on.

Suddenly this whole thing seems very funny to Soul. Watching other students and their problems unfold in front of them. Arguments. He's just a shadow behind them, lurking, listening.

But then he isn't a shadow anymore.

"Hey, who's this clown?"

The small chuckle that he thought had been only to himself is actually audible, and Black Star spins around to squint at him.

"Something funny, punk?"

"No."

He squints harder, drawing together blue eyebrows over dark green irises like pond lilies. "You're new, aren't you? Never seen you around here before. What grade you in?"

"This is freshman orientation. What grade do you think?"

"Don't be a smartass. I'm Black Star," he continues, "the star of the school and the one who's gonna surpass God." He jabs a thumb to a boy next to him. "This is Kilik."

Kilik gives a friendly guy-nod. "What's your name? You play anything?"

"Soul. No."

"Shibusen's got baseball, soccer, track, swimming, basketball, tennis, football, you name it. You could start. Me and Star are on the football team. Actually, all of the teams. We could set you up."

Soul shrugs. "Sorry. It's not my thing."

"You look like you could be good. You sure?"

"Are sports that big of a deal here?"

Black Star, offended, puffs up like a small bird fluffing its feathers, (how dare this newbie insult the greatest hobby that mankind has to offer?) but Kilik laughs. "Actually, yeah. It's the most we've got going for us. There aren't many other extracurricular activities."

"Except drama and the music programs." Black Star snickers, and Soul flinches. "You wanna join the marching band, Sal? Go pick up a tuba or a french horn? Maybe a flute?"

"Soul," Soul says through gritted teeth. "And no thanks."

"If you want to be anyone here, this is the place to be in. Not the mention the girls. They love us."

Mr. Evans, who hasn't had a lot of experience with the opposite sex, shrugs even harder. Girls don't really interest him right now, and sports interest him even less. This is going to be one fun year.

"So what do you like to do?"

"I don't know."

Black Star is holding in chortles, but Kilik just copies one of Soul's shrugs (which now seem to be a signature thing of his). "No pressure, man. Just think about it."

Maka comes back with the drinks, looking pleased as punch, which is a coincidence because that's exactly what she's carrying. More like balancing though, as she's holding five or so plastic cups without any help.

The boys take them eagerly, and she blinks before giving the last one to Soul. "Hi. I'm Maka." She holds out a hand.

"I know."

Her delicate features melt into a quizzical frown.

"Blue Bird here talks really loud," he adds hastily. "And your... name tag..." He gestures to the white square on the front of her shirt that presents her as Maka Albarn of the Plaid and Pigtails.

His probably says something like Soul Evans: Stuttering Fool. Seriously Uncool.

Her laugh is like the sound of summertime; reminders of grass, clouds, sunshine, a cool breeze. Soft and happy, like much-awaited bubblegum popsicles from that ice cream truck with the overplayed jingle that blares for miles around on a loop until the hot weather subsides.

For a second, a feeling of hope starts to blossom inside of him. Maybe it won't be so bad here. These people aren't terrible. He could let Black Star take him under his wing and turn him into a football hero, he could get people to like him, he could finally fit in. And Maka seems nice. There's something about her that's just… warm. He feels content with her presence, something that he's not used to. Soul is not a people person. Never has been. Maka's different, though. He wants to hear that laugh again.

"Black Star's like my brother. If he bothers you, just tell me and I'll kick his butt." She watches him gulp his mixture of orange sherbet and ginger ale and fruit juice and crush the cup against his forehead. "He may not look it, but he means well. Don't take him too seriously."

"You seem to really know what's going on around here."

"I should." Maka sighs. "My dad's the vice principal here. He's got a lot of responsibilities, you know? Being second in command is a big job. But since our actual principal, the number one, the big kahuna, yada yada, doesn't really… show his face a lot, my dad assumed the position and does basically everything for him. You've probably seen him jumping around, though. Red hair. Overbearing. Friendliness that's just on the brink of creepy?"

Soul remembers the man that brought him in here. "Yeah. I met him."

"Ugh. I'm sorry." She straightens up. "So. You excited for school? Freshman year's supposed to be the most important, you know."

Honestly, the thought of school with all of its teachers and homework and rules and students makes Soul's stomach churn, but he musters a small smile, and Maka grins back knowingly. "Not a fan of the whole public education scene?"

He's relieved that she doesn't flinch at the sight of his irregularly shaped teeth. She doesn't stare, instead keeping her eyes trained on his, but doesn't do it out of politeness like the many others. She just doesn't seem to notice. He wonders how many times she's been face-to-face with albino demon spawn.

"I went to a private school," he says apologetically, like it's his fault that his parents are so goddamn pretentious.

"You didn't strike me as the type." She feigns thought, pressing a finger to her lips. "I bet you'll like it here more."

"I think so too."

Her smile makes him wish he'd worn something other than a plain white tee and some three day old jeans, done something else with his hair to make it look less like it belongs to a yeti.

Yeah, he's definitely going to like it here.

And then the only thing that could even possibly ruin this happens.

Someone (probably one of the jocks with big feet tripping over double-knotted Nike sneakers) bumps into his back, pushing him into Maka and propelling his drink out of his grasp and onto Maka's very clean and very white shirt. Carbonated cranberry-raspberry colors her blouse and speckles her face with red. Liquid runs down her arm like sticky sweet blood that's too clear and fruity-smelling to confirm that there's been a punctured artery or stabbed organs.

Soul's hands are stained with the stuff, and he looks like a suspect caught red-handed at a murder scene.

The group gets silent, and at that very moment, Soul bursts out laughing. No one joins in, so it's just his voice ringing through the air, loud and harsh and mean. He doesn't even know why he's laughing, but he isn't stopping either, because what the hell is he supposed to say if he just suddenly drops dead quiet? It's his bizarre laughter, not the act, that attracts the attention from the rest of the room. His chest suddenly feels too tight, like his lungs are refusing to take in air.

Maka stands covered in punch, pigtails dripping. She doesn't look fazed, but glances around for a napkin.

Soul's chuckles reverberate. He expects her to laugh with him, expects to hear the rewarding sugary giggles pouring out of her mouth. Maybe if he keeps laughing, she'll pick up on it too.

But she doesn't, and instead others do. Black Star's friends sound like a bunch of howler monkeys, the popular girls with lip gloss and tight clothes titter from their place by the speakers, and the surrounding students stare, not sure whether to stifle their laughs or stay there, shocked.

Maka sees the here-and-there snigger and whispers into ears and her nails bite into her hands. She swallows hard, and her gaze finds Soul's just as the rest of the gym erupts into an uproar. There's hurt in her eyes, shining like mirrors that reflect Soul's own horrified face as he realizes what he's done. Fingers point in her direction, pictures are snapped, and she turns on her heel and flees, combat boots squeaking all the way to the door, where a teacher does nothing but look on in amusement.

Black Star starts after her. "Maka!"

She sniffles into her sleeve, which only drags more stuff onto her face, and runs out.

He returns to Soul. "You're gonna regret that," he growls before going after her once more.

Perfectly on time, the vice principal, Maka's father, storms in, clipboard in hand. His face matches his traffic light-red tresses, and seems to be turning darker by the second. "You! What the hell did you do to my daughter, you little octopus head?" He shakes his shoulders violently, almost making his knees buckle underneath him. "I'm keeping my eye on you," he checks Soul's name tag, "Evans."

Everyone's looking at him now.

Scowling? No. But they aren't watching in awe or adoration. They're wondering what had just happened, and wait a minute, who is this kid? Hey, isn't he kind of a jerk for laughing at that girl after spilling stuff on her? Why doesn't he say he's sorry?

Why doesn't he?

He wants to hear her laugh. He wants it all to be a joke, so he can help her get cleaned up and maybe share a few more smiles and use this unfortunate incident as a way to make friends, but instead he just stands there like a guffawing asshole, not helping, not apologizing.

And there isn't any way to change what the whole freshman class had witnessed.

Saying sorry won't help Maka, it'll just award him a slap across the face and a teary-eyed "how could you?"

He blew it. His one chance to make a good impression with potential BFFs has been demolished just like poor Maka's self-esteem. He's the klutzy jerk who doesn't know how to say a five letter word. Who wants to be friends with someone like that?

So there is only one way to make this better. If not for Maka, for him.

He grins. Lets out a short laugh. Makes eye contact with a couple students to tell them "yes, I did that on purpose" and "yes, I just made her cry". Meanders out of the room with his hands in his pockets and a smirk on his face, not aware that he would be spending his whole high school career in that very same position.