one.
It all starts on a calm Tuesday.
(Months later she thinks she should have marked this date down on her wall calendar above her desk.)
She spots him down the hall and can't get her books into her locker fast enough. She's almost done sorting and swapping for the first half of her day. One pull of a too tight notebook causes everything inside to come tumbling out.
Crap.
"Need a hand there, Swan?"
Double crap.
"I'm fine, Killian."
She bends down to pick up the books and papers and everything else that came flying out because looking at him sometimes makes her feel like she's in a cliché young adult novel.
Her life is not a cliché young adult novel.
"I insist."
And before she can protest he's crouched down next to her. He's shuffling the papers together into a haphazard pile and all she can think about is the sent of his musk mixed with the soap she knows he buys.
(David had to take her grocery shopping with them one day and she saw him pick it out and since then she hasn't been able to get it out of her mind.)
She grabs them from his grip and avoids eye contact at all cost because I will not be a cliché young adult novel but it's high school and hormones and everything's always out of whack nowadays.
"Thank you."
The words come out like more of a mumble. She shoves the papers and books back into her locker. It's a problem she'll deal with later, because being late for lunch is more acceptable than being late for first period.
"It was the honorable thing to do."
Scoffing, she rolls her eyes. Of course, of course he'd turn his charm on her. She's glad for the locker door momentarily blocking him from her as she composes herself and wills away the blush creeping up her neck.
"Honorable? What does Killian Jones know about honor?"
The locker door closes between them with an audible slam, and she realizes the hallways are slowly emptying.
"Having dear Dave for a best mate gives way for his influence from time to time."
It takes everything in her not to roll her eyes at that comment. So she turns to her locker and double checks the combination lock to preset the first two numbers.
"Speaking of brothers. Didn't mine tell you never to bother me?"
"I'd hardly call this being a bother."
"Then what would you call this?"
She dares a glance in his direction because what else does she have to lose at this moment. He's already eaten up five minutes of her time and at this point she'll have to hope Ruby had used Mary Margaret's notes as a back up.
"Friendly conversation."
She wants to wipe away the smirk that appears on his face because no she is not having friendly conversation with Killian Jones in front of her locker.
"That would require us to be friends in the first place."
"You wound me, Swan." He places a hand over his heart, the look on his face completely over the top. "And here I thought you and I shared a bond."
"My brother doesn't count as a bond."
The warning bell rings. She has exactly five minutes to walk to the other side of the school to make it on time for her first period. She could make it—if Killian would just stop wasting her time right now.
"That's my cue to leave."
"Afraid you'll turn into a pumpkin at the second bell?"
It's the second time this morning she rolls her eyes—and at him. She adjusts the straps on her backpack as she talks.
"That's the carriage. If you're trying to call me Cinderella, you'd probably want to make reference to my wardrobe or me losing a shoe."
"Apologies, love. Fairytales were never my strong suit."
"Goodbye, Killian."
She pushes past him and begins to power walk down the hall because it's bad enough that she has to hear his accent every time he's over to hang out with David or for dinner.
(Ruth's taken to inviting him over a lot lately.)
Storybrooke High was the one place she thought she could avoid him. Here she thought she could be rid of him and his accent and his face and his blue eyes and his scent and everything else that came with the Killian Jones package.
Except her brother happens to be best friends with him.
And he happens to sit on the opposite end of the lunch table with them.
(Because her best friend, Mary Margaret happens to be dating David, and heaven forbid the two of them are apart during lunch.)
Let's not forget Gold's chemistry class, either.
Or every other class they happen to have together.
(Because Storybrooke High has a senior class of eighty and fewer teachers than that—and that's a gross overestimation at best.)
Her life isn't a cliché young adult novel. Nope. Furthest thing from it.
She makes it past the threshold of the double doors when feels his hand on her forearm, pulling her to a stop.
(Damn it all if she doesn't feel chills run down her spine at the contact.)
"Swan, wait."
She turns around at the sound of his voice. Is that sincerity she heard? She narrows her eyes at him. Something's up. When isn't something up?
"I'm late, Killian. What is it?"
"Well…" He hesitates. She raises a brow. "With the homecoming dance fast approaching, I'd been meaning to ask…"
There goes her heart. What a little traitor! And here she was, shouting from the rooftops that no, she will not react to that charm and accent and those blue eyes and here her hormones go and do just that.
"Ask what?" Her voice leaves her like a whisper.
"If Ruby happened to be looking for someone to accompany her?"
The bell rings at that instant. Whatever Emma felt up until then quickly goes away. She doesn't even respond to that question. How exactly do you respond to that?
"I'm late for class."
It's true. She is. However nice and understanding Miss French is does not mean that Emma wants to take advantage of that. So she just shakes her head and walks away because she actually can't believe that happened.
(Actually, she can. It's not the first time someone asks her for Ruby. It's just the first time that it's him.)
"Swan?"
She doesn't dare look back as she pushes through two doors and runs upstairs.
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