'Yes Mistress'
Authors Note-My first story in the Swan/Queen community!
Leaving everything behind that she knows, her home in New York. 16 year old Emma and her mother Mary Margaret ,venture to a small town called Storybrooke. Joining a new school, meeting new people and in particular one very cold teacher who goes by the famous nickname, 'The Evil Queen,' what scandals, twists and turns lie ahead for the famous Swan/Queen?
…
Sitting back in the car with the window open, Emma let the brisk wind touch her face as she took in the strange foreign surroundings of her new home, countless pine trees and small corner shop's in the cloudy, sunless sky.
Another town, another house, another school, she thought, stealing a glance at her mother, Mary-Margaret, who sat beside her, driving their beat up, ancient little car. Her daily facade was usually warm and welcoming, but not today. Her soft features, skin as white as snow, were hardened and cloaked perhaps even more, by her long shawl of coal black hair. She just sat there, emotionless, staring onwards through the weather-worn window screen.
I knew she blamed me for what happened. It's always my fault. Maybe I got mixed up with the wrong crowd, maybe I made some awful decisions.
She already ached for the erratic music of New York – the sirens, the honking cabs, the perpetual pitter-patter of commuters and the click, click clicking of tourist camera's. Sighing, and slinking further into the car seat, Emma winced as she saw a sign ahead stating proudly 'Welcome to Storybrooke. Population, 3,051.'
They passed a small cafe, a school and a large building that was most likely the library, with a big clock in its centre, gleaming back at her, the hands informing the two new residents of Storybrooke that it was just after 12pm upon their arrival.
Her mother smiled and said, 'ah here we go.'
Pulling to a halt, they arrived at the local sheriff's station. Mary-Margaret pulled up the clutch and said, 'I'll be right back.'
Nodding, a bored Emma looked on as her mother left the car, strolling casually into the station. Leaning forward, she squinted through the glass. She could just make out the faint silhouette of a man, but it was too dark inside to discern any of his features. A few seconds passed, she heard the bright bubbling laugh of mother and then she was beside her again, opening the car door and beaming her first real smile of the day.
'Its just up the road,' said Mary-Margaret.
They drove slow, counting the houses down before pulling up to the ugliest house Emma had ever seen. It was pink, tatty-looking, wooden and was probably falling apart on the inside. In the garden, the 'for rent' sign was still standing, lopsided. They were lucky to have found it at all, her mother securing a job at the local school as a teacher.
Emma sighed, feeling defeated, as they both got out, grabbing a brown box each from the back seat.
A few curious bystanders gawked in their direction, gossiping about the new neighbours from across the street as an old lady with half-moon spectacles greeted them on the porch warmly, saying, "welcome, you must be Mary-Margaret and Emma?"
Emma nodded, unhappy as her mother said, "yep, that's us."
The old lady politely smiled and said, "feel free to call me Granny, everyone does."
It smelt like old people, Emma noted before lowering the box onto the floor. She knew the scent well, something you could never quite put your finger on but identified as elderly. Mary-Margaret was already praising the house, but Emma was barely listening. It was quaint but cluttered. The rooms were hideously pink, like the outside, with wooden floorboards adorned with dark cerise carpets. The living room could have been open and inviting, but was overruled by an immense sofa with a patchwork quilt and three knitted cushions. The kitchen adjoined it so they were almost one large room instead of two individual spaces. It also had that aged look about it, with rustic pans hanging from the ceiling and a copper teapot perched delicately in the corner surrounded by its repulsive miniature children in cup-form. A worn oak table stood proudly in its centre with a bunch of pink roses (big surprise there, Emma sneered to herself) imprisoned in a glass vase.
Granny suddenly appeared at Emma's side, breaking her free of her reverie "how old are you again dear?"
'Um...I'm sixteen,' answered Emma, feeling a little overwhelmed by the coloured walls.
That's good. You will be in the same year as my granddaughter, Ruby."
Nodding, and grimacing awkwardly, Emma chose to ignore Granny and grab another box from the car. She was aware of her mothers disapproval, she knew she was being rude, but paid no mind.
'Don't mind her,' she heard Mary-Margaret say apologetically, 'she's in that awkward teenage stage.'
Granny laughed and said, "its understandable. I must be off anyway, I have to tend to the cafe...which reminds me, its just down the road. You and Emma should pop in sometime for pancakes?'
Mary-Margaret thanked Granny and watched her exit the house. She began to open the few boxes they brought with them, sighing wistfully. She lifted up a heavy hardcover black book and lingered over it, before opening to the first page, admiring a happy, joyful baby Emma cradled in her arms as her husband looked on with a doting smile.
She didn't hear Emma returning from the car. She was too caught up in the past.
'What's that?'
'Just some old memories, 'she replied, and then flashed her daughter an excited grin ' but that's enough of that. How about you go upstairs and check out your room. It's the one at the back."
Emma tutted and rolled her eyes, already out the door and ascending the stairs, exploring the rest of the horrid little house. Climbing the creaky wooden floorboards of the narrow staircase, she came first to a box-shaped bathroom. It had an ordinary white bath in the corner that stood out against the dark brown ceramic tiles under her feet, patterned with giant roses. Beneath a small square mirror stood an equally white sink and toilet and peppering the dainty windowsill was an array of little cacti plants of all shapes and sizes. The pink textured wall paper matched the rest of the décor, which clung at every available surface. She scowled, disorientated by the mass of a colour that had, about half an hour ago, never bothered her, but had instantly become her least favourite colour ever!
She left to explore the rest of her new home, opening the two remaining doors. The first one was her mothers bedroom. It had a large mirror sitting upon a desk in front of the window adjoined with a backless pink fabric chair. There was a queen sized double bed, pristine and already made up. The sheets were tightly fitted, not a single crease in the multicoloured patchwork bedding of pink and white roses. It was made of metal and had an almost clinical look, with its railings on the headboard.
Emma turned to exit to the remaining room at the back of the house. She opened it and felt her stomach whoop with disappointment. It was rather bare, with a working desk backed up to an open window with billowing floral curtains. A standard double bed took up a great deal of space, with plain sheets and two deflated pillows in matching cases. A bedside cabinet perched on its right, with a dusty looking lamp, Emma sat down and reached to switch it on, wincing as the mattress squeaked under her weight.
'Well this is shit,' she mumbled.
…
She began unpacking the very few items she had come with her from New York. Mary-Margaret had brought them upstairs and had offered to help but Emma had simply slammed the door in her face. She heard her mother attempt a chuckle, as though what had passed between them had been playful. Emma heard her the hurt in her voice, and felt it pulsate through the door but she didn't care. She wanted to be by herself.
She tried her best to fill the room. She set her clothes on the desk, knowing she would have to ask about a cupboard to put them in. She slung her childhood boardgames under the bed. Monopoly peaked up at her and she gave it a hard kick and heard it hit the wall with an ungrateful clunk. She set out a silver framed picture of the time her Dad had taken her to the beach for the day, last year.
She smiled fondly, thinking back. It was terrible. Her Dad had taken the picture himself so half his arm was in the image, and at the exact time as he was pulling a dorky face, Emma had dropped the ice cream she had been holding down her shirt and had been caught mid-laugh. It was a good time. When her parents were happy and together. And she was happy too. Now it was just one big mess...and Emma didn't know who she was supposed to blame. So she blamed everyone.
Throwing the magazine her mother had picked up at the petrol stop on the bed, Emma gave into her growling stomach and left her room to see what was for dinner.
The rich smell of garlic bubbled through the house and Emma followed it with her nose, into the kitchen where she found her mother busy over the gas cooker. She glanced at the clock on the wall, frowning as a fluffy kitten with bright blue eyes stared back at her from its centre. 8.15PM. Where had the day gone?
'Jimminy Crickets!' Her mother cursed, bringing back her newly burnt finger from the hob.
Emma looked over and said, 'you ok?'
Mary-Margaret looked both surprised and pleased by her concern, 'yeah sweetheart,' she said, before dishing up a bowl of spaghetti pasta with bolognaise sauce and garlic bread.
It appeared to be the most conversation they had all evening. There was the sound of clinking cutlery against plates and the clock ticking away. Emma could feel her mother's aching. She knew how much Mary-Margaret wanted to speak but it was how best to approach the situation. Every time she opened her mouth Emma would grimace and sink her face deeper into her plate , so her nose was almost touching it.
Eventually the silence became too unbearable and the words suddenly spilled from her mothers mouth.
'Look, Emma...I didn't want to move either you know? 'she said, setting her fork down on the table, 'leaving behind our home and my job. Our friends. Its been hard on both of us.'
'Yeah right.' Emma's reply was sharp and cold.
'We didn't have a choice. I know its hard on you but this has to work for us now.'
Emma said nothing. Her pasta looked like gloop on her plate all of a sudden, and the thought of even a mouthful left her stomach thumping uneasily.
Mary-Margaret attempted a different approach. 'So, are you excited about starting school tomorrow?'
'I suppose,' answered Emma through gritted teeth. It was safe to say, the evening ended on a dud note after that with both mother and daughter exiting to their separate rooms in a stony stillness.
…
'Emma, get up now or we are going to be late!'
A groggy dishevelled mess of a teenager poked her head out from beneath her blanket and rolled over with a grunt to nestle back into her nest to sleep.
A few seconds later, her mother threw open the door saying in a panicked tone, 'get up you have 20 minutes. You're running late.'
She blinded Emma as she pulled open the curtains and unlatched the window, letting a cool breeze in to envelop the room. The bright golden sunshine slid across the floor, beaming inside. Emma grabbed the blanket and threw it farther over her head, groaning.
'Its too early.'
Mary-Margaret laughed lightly and grabbed at the sheet, pulling it off her daughter with a smile of triumph. She forced Emma to sit up and delighted in her responding glare.
'I hate you,' Emma hissed, stomping out of the bed and into the bathroom to brush her teeth.
'I love you too' she heard her mother call back happily.
Emma looked upon herself in the mirror after splashing cold water up into her pores. She had young features, enhanced by her high cheekbones in a rounded face. Her eyes were a light blue, almost ultramarine, with flecks of brown in their centre. She was pale, having taken Mary-Margarets skin tone and her long blonde hair lapped over her shoulders, dishevelled from an uneasy nights sleep.
She quickly fixed her make-up, applying only a little here and there, before hurrying into the bedroom to glower at the uniform her mother had left on the bed.
Emma never had to wear a uniform before and she was so used to wearing her skinny jeans that the idea of the black pencil skirt, white polo shirt and black blazer utterly repulsed her.
'Mom!' She cried loudly, 'you can't be serious? I'm supposed to wear this?'
'Yes! Get it on! You have ten minutes now,' came Mary-Margaret's muffled reply.
She pulled up her black tights first and began rolling her skirt up from the top to her thighs to make it shorter. No way would she go in with a knee length skirt. She made quick work of pulling the polo shirt over her head and fixing her tie in a loose awkward knot. She noted the emblem of the school on her blazer as she tugged it across her shoulders – a little red apple crest sewn onto the front of her left breast with the words 'Storybrooke' etched below.
Her mother shouted again, "DON'T MAKE ME COME UP THERE YOUNG LADY!"
'I'm coming. Jesus, give me a chance!' Emma barked, descending the stairs and marching out the door with a slam, skulking over to her mother who was waiting for her by the car, jangling her keys.
…
It was busy. Several yellow school buses were pulling up outside, and permitting masses of teenagers, of all shapes and sizes onto the grounds. Storybrooke High looked formidable with its towering white walls, encasing a hundred little windows.
Emma felt like the centre of attention. A million pairs of eyes seemed to be staring back at her from all directions as they parked and got out. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she flicked her hair over her shoulder, tugged at her school bag and marched towards the school with her mother following pursuit, all the while twittering on.
'Right, no trouble, you hear?'
'Yes Mom.'
'Try and make friends.'
'Yes Mom.'
'And focus on your studies. This is an important year for you and I -'
'Mom!' Emma wheeled around, feeling something inside her twisting with a kind of rage, "please shut up and lets go in already.'
Nodding disapprovingly, Mary-Margaret took the lead. The hallways were crammed and the place seemed all the more daunting as the bell clanged and every kid escaped into their designated classrooms.
Mary Margaret just said, 'right, now where is the Head teachers office?'
Going down the now empty hallways, their shoes click clacked against the grey tiled floor. Feeling lost, they were just about to give up and find a teacher when a deep sounding low male voice said, "ah you must be Mary Margaret I presume, dearie?"
They turned to find a well dressed man in a grey suit standing before them. He wore a red tie and had an usually gaunt face with a crooked tipped nose. His greasy hair reached just to his pointed chin and draped past his ears.
Mary Margaret held out her hand, ready to shake his and with a warm greeting she said, "hello you must be the Headmaster, Mr Gold?"
He smiled, making his thin lips almost disappear as they stretched. Instantaneously Emma didn't like this man. She felt almost like he were examining her, looking her up and down. She squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze. He added, 'why yes, its a pleasure to meet you. And this is the famous Miss Swan?' He gripped Mary-Margaret's hand, gently shaking it.
Emma just nodded her head, as he said, 'please follow me.'
He began limping, aided by his cane. Emma gazed at him curiously, wondering how he'd injured his leg.
'I cant wait to meet my class,' Mary-Margaret gushed.
She would be teaching the primary kids,which she loved. Emma couldn't understand why, with all the noise, them picking their noses and then trying to get hugs with their sticky hands. Little kids were disgusting!
'They are something,' chuckled Mr Gold, 'and I am sure you will fit right in.'
He indicated with his wooden cane pointing to a classroom, that this, was one of the stops, Mary Margaret beamed as she opened the door. Excited voices boomed out, and the scraping of chairs could be heard, with pencils being dropped and squealing arguments brewing. Emma glanced in to see a class of twenty small children, suddenly focused and smiling, saying in unison, 'welcome Miss Blanchard.'
Mary-Margaret turned instantly soft, saying, 'Good morning class!'
'Your schedule is on your desk and good luck, if you need anything,' Mr Gold exclaimed sincerely, 'then please, don't hesitate to come and find me.'
Emma looked at her mother, pleading, as she realised she was going to be left alone with this creep.
Mary-Margaret seemed oblivious. She just smiled and said, 'have a good day, my love.'
The door closed and they were truly alone with one another. There was a pause of uncertainty and then they carried on, in silence. They walked quietly together, Emma trying desperately to match Mr Gold's snail slowness when suddenly, his stick was in front of her, shoving her back. She stopped, just managing not to trip up and glared up at him.
Mr Gold's eyes were dark, almost black, and they stared down at her in a seething rage that didn't register on any other part of his face. He looked doll-like and Emma was terrified.
Deliberately licking his lips, he leant in and said in a hushed voice, 'you wont fool me Miss Swan. We have a good reputation here at this school, and I won't have you tarnish, it do you hear me? I'm warning you here and now. Any funny business my dear, and you will have wished you never came to StoryBrooke.'
Emma felt her breath stagger but she managed to get a hold of her nerves and was about to open her mouth to retort when Mr Gold stepped back, face brighter again.
'Here is your classroom,' he said, his voice changed, charming once more, 'make sure to attend all of your classes Miss Swan. Have a good day.'
And with that, he was hobbling off again, leaving Emma standing there with her mouth wide open.
Who the hell does he think he is? She thought bitterly.
She watched him round the hallways end, took a few nervous deep breaths and opened the door, dreading all the curious look she would get from her peers, who looked to be a large group of twenty five to thirty students.
The door squeaked and she awkwardly stepped in. Feeling like a deer in caught in headlights, she was overwhelmed suddenly by a fresh, husky feminine voice.
'Ah I presume you are Miss Swan. Welcome. I'm Miss Mills.'
Emma turned her head to the right of the classroom. Sitting behind a light oak desk was a beautiful, brunette, hair short and flicked out just past her ears with hazel brown eyes flashing in amusement. She could feel her hard gaze and felt her stomach leap uncomfortably. The woman stood and walked around the desk, all the better for Emma to look at her properly. She was tall, wearing a fitted grey dress with a black belt that sat under her chest, enhancing her full bosom. Her black heels were perhaps inappropriate for a teacher but she wore them well and strode in them with such confidence that Emma didn't think she would ever be able to see her without them again.
She smiled, showing the whites of her teeth and said, 'I won't bite, I promise. Isn't that right class?'
The class laughed at her remark which lightened the mood. Emma relaxed a bit as she heard low whispers and chattering between her peers. She didn't know why she was blushing, she never blushed, but she suddenly felt very nervous under the watch of this woman.
Miss Mills smiled sympathetically and made a gesture with her hand saying, 'Emma there is your seat at the back of the class.'
Two boys high-fived one another as they realised she would sit opposite one of them. Nodding, she strode to the back and sunk down in her plastic chair. Her desk was made for two and next to her sat her partner.
Emma half smiled at the girl, who looked very cheerful. She had thick eyeliner on and her hair was in a messy bun, bouncing with thick brown curls. She licked her lips, and Emma noted the deep shade of red lipstick, accompanied by a warm smile and a whisper.
"I'm Ruby.'
Nodding, she felt her own name leave her lips, 'Emma.'
She didn't know if she would fit in, she honestly just wanted to be left alone but she didn't have a choice. She looked to her side and stared in horror at guy with a great shaggy beard.
A beard? He looks old enough to be at university.'
He winked at her and his friend punched him playfully in the arm.
Emma just rolled her eyes and Ruby snorted saying, 'he's a jackass. Just ignore him.' She leant over the table and said, 'she's not interested Killian, and to be honest she's way out of your league.'
The class erupted with laughs which, Miss Mills, known by her colleagues and friends as Regina, found entertaining, arching an eyebrow to a now, crismson-faced Emma.
She smirked. There was something about this girl that she liked but couldn't quite put her finger on it. She took in her golden blond hair, soft white skin and now blushing red cheeks.
'Mr Jones,' she said in a calm, clear tone so all of the class could hear her, 'I would appreciate it if you kept your flirtations out of my classroom from now on in.'
He laughed and said quietly, 'yes, Miss Mills.'
Regina stared across at him and spoke in a higher tone. 'Sorry, can you say that again I didn't hear you?'
'Yes Miss Mills,' said Killian as he sat up straighter in his chair.
She smiled and sat down in her chair to the now quiet classroom. She glanced over at her perfect row of red apples that sat on her desk organised neatly and gently tweaked one before saying. 'Now where were we? Ah yes, 'The Colour Purple'. What themes are in this book?' She pointed to the left side to the room, 'Belle?'
Belle beamed. A true blond with a slight Australian accent. Emma could see her upright position and noted she looked like a right good-goody and a 'Miss-know-it-all.'
'Well there's religion?' answered Belle.
'Yes there is religion. Elaborate?'
'Well um...she specifically talks about God. She imagines God as an old white man. But being abused all her life by men, she begins to see him being genderless and raceless.'
Emma drifted out for the rest of the class. She stared out of the window to her right, watching the birds fly past as she put her elbow on the desk and her hand under her chin. She felt far away, miles away even, missing her home in New York...and her Father.
If she would have looked up, she would have seen a pair of hazel eyes, boring deeply into her.
Ruby next to her nudged her with her pencil. Emma smirked, broken out of her trance as she stared down at a stick-man drawing on the desk of Miss Mills throwing an apple at Killian with the words 'Your like a bitch in heat. Knock it off' coming out of her mouth in a big bubble.
Maybe Ruby wasn't so bad. She wrote on the paper, 'fancy a smoke after this?'
Emma had tried smoking once before and wasn't too keen, but eager to make a friend wrote back 'sure.'
Finally the bell rang for break. Curious eyes watched Emma stand up and walk, making her way out with Ruby talking quietly. Regina took a deep breath, admiring her legs and how that short skirt hugged against her body. Very short' she mused to herself, smirking as she played with a pen between her fingers.
Ruby was the one but last to leave, Emma was about to walk out when a sweet voice said, 'Emma?'
Emma looked back to Miss Mills and nodded saying, 'yeah?'
Regina looked at her, crossing her legs over one another and turning in her chair.
'Here's a spare copy of 'The Colour Purple.' Please read it.'
Emma unsure, leant forward and took the book. 'Thanks, but reading isn't really my thing.'
Regina, chuckled and replied authoritatively. 'In my class dear, you don't have a choice. I want you to have read it by next class.'
Emma stared down at her teacher, irritation bubbling up inside her. Hazel eyes gazed back into blue...a singular moment of fixation before the young student turned away to open the door.
'Have a good day Miss Swan,' she heard quietly behind her.
Regina leant back in her chair, pleased with herself and amused by this strange new girl. She stared at the now closed door before turning away to look at Emma's empty chair.
'Yes, 'she murmured, 'it's sure going to get very interesting around here.'
Authors Note-There you go guys tell me what you think, interested, can't wait to find out what happens next? Click that review button!
Also I am still craving a spaghetti bolognaise.