A/N: Hey peeps! This idea has been eating at me for awhile and I just had to write it down. I know it's a clumsy first chapter, but I wanted to make Jean a bit different from how everyone else depicts him-after all, who's to say it's the right depiction? Anywho, please read and review! :)

Disclaimer: Ok, guys, I obviously don't own Les Miserables, but I also have no claims to any of the other poetry written by Emily Dickinson, Hugo, Poe, or whoever else I choose to quote. Kinda obvious.

"Be like a bird, who, halting in his flight on a limb too slight, yet sings, knowing he has wings." -Victor Hugo.

Jehan sighed as he sat in the school's garden and flitted through the pages of his favorite anthology book, its creased pages stocked full with poems and stories from the best of the best-Victor Hugo, Emily Dickinson, Shakespeare, even a few from the eccentric Edgar Allen Poe, etc.

He stopped at his current favorite poem by Emily Dickinson.

If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain

.-Emily Dickinson

If that wasn't something to live by, he didn't know what was. He felt a smile play at his lips as he read over the familiar text, but winced before he could actually break into a grin. He brought his hand up to feel the cut on his lower lip, then brought it down again to see if any blood from the cut had gotten onto his fingers-it had, proving it hadn't dried yet.

He groaned. He'd gotten so lost in his poetry book he'd almost forgotten why he'd sought refuge in it in the first place.

He figured he should be used to it now-the bullying, that is-but he couldn't just submit and let Montparnasse's little gang have the satisfaction of knowing he'd finally given up.

Every time 'Parnasse or one of his drone groupies made a snide remark or sneered at his fashion sense, his long braided hair, or especially if they said something about his friends, he always ended up going on the attack, no matter how hard he tried to ignore them.

He wouldn't hit anyone-no, never. Jehan couldn't understand how anyone could purposely hurt another person. Rather, he'd always be ready with a small quip or a muttered comeback that always seemed to tick off one of the gang members, earning him nothing except a string of curses aimed at him-fag! Shithead! Fuckass!-and a new bruise or cut to his growing collection.

To the untrained eye, Jehan looked weak and feeble-this was partially true, you couldn't say much for him in a fight-however, he was certainly not weak at heart. He was a mouse that could roar like a lion when provoked.

Sadly, a mouse is still a mouse, and against a menacing predator, it doesn't stand a chance. Jehan's injuries were proof of this.

This most recent one was from earlier that day in fourth period Science. He hated Science. He'd had the misfortune of being seated next to Brujon, one of Parnasse's little-well, not so little-followers for a week-long group project.

Brujon had inevitably made Jehan do all the work. (Then again, it's not like he could've helped if he'd wanted to.) Still, with nothing to do for the rest of the period, he decided to entertain himself by pestering Jehan, who was working diligently on the project.

Jehan had managed to ignore Brujon for majority of the class period, but he was like a buzzing fly-getting louder and more annoying by the second.

"Hey Dick!" Brujon prodded. He breaking into a series of rough cackles. "How's the project going, Dick?"

Really? He couldn't even come up with a better insult?

When Jehan didn't respond, Brujon spoke again.

Jehan remembered vaguely wondering if Brujon was high as the hefty teen broke into a fit of seriously creepy giggles. "You're a Pussy!"

That's when Jehan rolled his eyes and muttered, "Make up your mind."

Brujon immediately flushed bright pink in anger and embarrassment, and Jehan had watched Brujon's fists curl into balls as he'd thought: Here we go again.

Needless to say, that was the story of how Jehan ended up with a nasty gash on his lip and a bruise forming on his jaw. Jehan found it mind-boggling how stupid these thugs were-they reacted to even the smallest thing with fierce violence.

Still, Jehan couldn't find it in his heart to hate them. After all, he knew they probably had their reasons, however unreasonable they were.

"Hello?"

Jehan was jolted out of his thoughts by the voice. Confused, he looked up into the eyes of a dark, scruffy-haired girl about his age.

She stared at him curiously and hesitantly, like she wanted to say something, then with a tinge of concern when she noticed the wounds on his face. She didn't say anything though, and instead continued to study his face with her piercing brown eyes.

Then he realized he'd seen her before. She was in his third period Language Arts class; he always her saw sitting at the very back of the class, melting into the shadow of the corner and going unnoticed by everyone. Everyone except him, that is.

He suddenly realized he hadn't replied and quickly choked out, "Oh, h-hi!"

She smiled lightly.

"Hey, sorry to bother you, but, um, this is…" She looked down at her feet as if slightly embarrassed, "This is my tree."

Jehan blinked a few times. He looked up at the tree, then at the school that he had left from for fifth period lunch break-he usually ate in the cafeteria, but today he had desperately needed to sort his thoughts, and had wandered into the school's garden. He looked back at the girl, not really understanding what she meant.

"Beg your pardon?"

So...Tell me what you think? X)