A/N: Hello! Welcome to Sociology of Swan Queen! This first chapter is kind of an experiment to see how people react/feel about the story. I have written several chapters in order to see how invested I am as an author, and I have decided to publish it with the hope that you the reader will be as well! Please leave any feedback you may have in the comments! I would also like to point out, as I did in the summary, that Regina's age has been lowered to keep any sort of distractions out of the story. You will read about her qualifications in this chapter. Emma's age may also seem off for some of you in college (like myself). Anyway! I hope you enjoy these characters as I have recreated them here! xx
"Your name… What is your name? Last name starts with an 's'… Swan! Emma Swan!"
I stared at my professor, Dr. Mills, as she struggled to recall my name. To say I was shocked was an understatement- not that she forgot my name, oh no, but rather that she knew it at all.
The funny part about her recalling my name is that I've never met her before. No face-to-face communication, no e-mails back and forth- in fact, despite her name being quite popular on campus, I had never even heard of her until today when she sauntered into class and pulled up her fancy Power Point. It's the first day of the fall semester of my sophomore year of college, and I'm sitting in a 300-person lecture hall that is at max capacity. I stare at Dr. Mills for several seconds longer as my brain struggles to piece together how in the world this woman could know my name.
"That is your name, isn't it?" she stares at me hopefully and I cringe when I realize it's probably been far longer than I thought. I feel a blush rising, creeping up my neck and coloring my cheeks. I squirm under her inquisitive gaze.
"Yes," I finally manage. "Yes I'm Emma Swan." She beams at me and I can't help but smile in return.
"And what is your question, Ms. Swan?" I flush again.
"Well, um, I was just going to say that I think sociologists critique the essentialist perspective so much because sociology is supposed to be about history and context and social changes, and essentialists think that's irrelevant, that everything about who we are as people is rooted in our DNA and is unwavering." Her eyes stay locked with mine and she nods along with me as I speak, a smile gradually spreading across her face.
"Very good, Ms. Swan. I like where you're going with that!" And as quickly as her gaze focused on me, that's how quickly it was gone.
She saunters away, with an air of confidence that I think only an extremely attractive and extremely accomplished twenty-something woman can have. Her black leather heels, pencil skirt, and blouse positively scream, "I AM EDUCATED AND IMPORTANT", and her rapid-fire lecture consistently overwhelms me as I struggle to keep up.
Dr. Mills, Regina Mills, seems to me like a woman who is already overqualified for this job. After our first quiz (on the first day of class, no less), she took the time to let us get to know her a little. Her fiery personality told me more than her spiel of all her accomplishments, but the list was impressive anyway. The textbook sitting on my desk (if you can even call this little piece of wood attached to my chair a desk) has her name boldly printed on the front, as she is the author. It is the second of her two books, the first being published two years prior to my entry into this class.
She goes by a number of names, evidently (Dr. R, Mills, Dr. Mills, Professor Mills), and will answer to any combination of them. She teaches sociology courses, which is what she has her Ph. D in, and her name is very well known on campus. I can certainly see why. Academic credentials set aside, she is heart stoppingly beautiful. She has a slim figure, but not in a way that she's lacking curves. She has dark hair that falls just below her shoulders, and she seems to have this habit of keeping her side swept bangs tucked behind her ear. She's a perfectionist in every sense of the word, and she's a damn good teacher.
By the time the lecture ends, I realize I've spent more time analyzing her than the words coming out of her mouth, and I quickly pack up my things and merge into the giant herd of people filing out the door. On my way out, I catch her eye. She smiles at me, winks, and then turns her attention back to the student in front of her. It bothers me that that smile sits in my head for the rest of the day.
When I get home that night, she has already sent the entire class an e-mail with a reminder for the next class's assigned reading. It strikes me as a bit anal, but I remind myself that she's probably being considerate. I pause, staring at the e-mail, recalling the way she sauntered across the classroom and teased students and made jokes. It occurs to me that, looking at her, she seems so polished and proper, but she's really quirky and goofy.
When it dawns on me that I've been thinking far too long about this woman, and that I have the most ridiculous smile on my face, I shake my head and start the reading.
The next class, I attempt to find a seat closer to the front. I don't necessarily know if what I really need is to be closer to this enchanting and intimidating human being, but I make a valiant effort anyway. At least this time, I am successful in commandeering a seat that is both on the end and in the second row of seats from the front. When she sees me sit down, she saunters (that is the only word I could ever use to describe her walk) over to me.
"Ms. Swan, I see you're from Boston like myself." It takes me a moment to figure out what she's talking about. I remember, suddenly, writing on the comment card we have to turn in at the end of every class that I was from Boston. I flush as I also remember a response I had written that included my sexuality. In my defense, I didn't think she would actually read them. Or remember mine.
"Yes ma'am, born and raised."
Ma'am? I cringe at myself and sigh heavily. She wrinkles her nose a little and I can see her attention moving away from me. I panic and quickly blurt out, "Um why did you move here then?" she turns back to me and I (internally) sigh with relief. The mega watt smile on her face makes my heart skip a beat.
"To teach, of course. I did grad school here as well and got my Ph. D." I suddenly remember her saying that in class Tuesday and, once again, sigh internally. Now she thinks I don't give a damn.
"Yeah, I remember you mentioning that Tuesday. I meant, you know, why here? Of all places?" she shrugs and smiles at me before resting a hand on my shoulder and moving up the steps to the rows behind me. I feel star struck, like I've just had a brush with fame. My fingers ghost over to my shoulder and I wonder at the tingling feeling I'm experiencing.
We begin class with a quiz and, as I finish each question, I glance up and watch her as she takes a mental head count of who isn't finished yet. She's nodding to herself and I can see her fingers moving, counting something unknown to me in her head. I feel the telltale signs of a full-blown crush blossoming in my stomach as I get the tingles all over again.
God, Emma, just from watching her observe her class? Fuck, get a grip.
"And we're finishing our quiz in five…" she holds her hand up and finishes the countdown in silence. "Okay everybody lets pass those to your left until you get to the end of the row and then move them on down. Quickly not neatly, please. Quick, not neat."
She paces the front of the class as the notecards trickle down in the direction she requests. When she gets to my section, it is to my utter mortification that I realize I am holding a stack of at least 75 notecards in my hand and she is waiting for me to hand them to her. Her hand outstretched, she looks at me curiously as I slowly hand them over, blushing and apologizing. She smirks at me and then her fluffy poodle skirt bounces away to the next section to collect their notecards much faster than my section.