Sasuke Uchiha. Son of Fugaku and Mikoto Uchiha. Teacher. Prodigy.
The bane of my existence.
Now, I'll be the first to admit that I've always had a sore spot when it came to french teachers, but there was something about him that particularly irked me.
French teachers have always bothered me, especially if they were male. It's not that I'm sexist, but I hate it that to every girl in my school, if he speaks french, then he's hot. It doesn't even matter what he looks like. Which is stupid, because we once had this really ugly french teacher, but that didn't stop all of the girls swooning over him.
And then there's the fact that I don't even need to take french class. I was born and raised in France until I was ten years old. But apparently, the esteemed faculty of Kohona High decided that I needed to be in a french speaking environment for at least half an hour or I would go insane, which is total nonsense. Sure, when I first moved to America, I answered people in french. But isn't it expected that I would have a bit of trouble adjusting to my new life style? No, apparently, it meant I was nuts.
They told me that if I had someone, like maybe my parents, to talk to at home that spoke french, then I wouldn't have to take the course. But, Whoops! Since my parents are dead, thus making them unable to make conversation, I get my healthy dose of french culture in room 402, learning what I could already do at three years old.
But let's not get off topic. I have had recent trouble getting out my frustrations about Uchiha-sensei-teme, because every time I begin to rant on how much I hate him, the person I'm talking to has the need to remind me that it is technically my fault that he works here.
I hate it that they're right.
In many ways, I guess it was my fault, but if our old french teacher wasn't so competitive, this never would have happened. As soon as he heard that I already knew how to speak french, he began to question me everyday with these boring questions that didn't faze me at all. So I, being the good student I was, pointed out a few mistakes he had made in the homework. He took this as me trying to prove I was better than him. I said that I was just looking out for the education of my fellow classmates.
From then on, it was war between us. And as we approached the second semester, I made my final attack and he raised his white flag. In other words, he ran to the principal, saying that he was quitting and that I should teach the class. Since I was just that brilliant.
And I did teach the class. For the rest of the semester anyway.
That's when he showed up. He was a last minute replacement, that I suspect Tsunade-sama picked out of a dumpster.
Uchiha Sasuke was a 'genius'. Although he had yet to prove this to me personally, that's what he was called. He started college when he was fourteen, having skipped three grades. He was twenty one now, having spent his post-college days as a teaching assistant and traveling to France.
A lot of the girls in my class thanked me, seeing as their automatic hottie was only four years older then us. Well, them. I'm a year older than every senior here.
And not only was the Uchiha prodigy young, he was every girl's dream. Tall, dark and handsome.
When all the girls saw him, they had only one thought going threw their brain. Yum.
And even though I get straight As on my report card, I still can't find my main source of anger for him. Our first meeting was normal, I guess.
Picture it, if you will. A boring little class room with a white board covering one wall. A bunch of desks in a U-shaped pattern faced it and the desk in front of said board. Girls and boys alike filled the sad excuses for desks, while a dark haired man sat upon a larger desk, one that was obviously superior to the others.
Our ravishing young teacher was introducing himself (in french, of course), while everyone listened with rapt attention. Well, everyone but our lone protagonist, who was doing her dreaded science homework. (French class is more like study hall for me anyway. The grade is only based on the tests and quizzes anyway, so why should I listen.)
Then, the teacher said a phrase which immediately confused the students who were engrossed with his fancy french words. They all, in turn, looked to the beautiful star of our tale to translate, being the only one who understood the sentence besides the speaker.
Our lovely heroine rolled her eyes and begin to gift the stupid little children with an explanation, ("You guys have being taking french for six years and can't even tell that he's saying-") when the teacher hit her head with a magazine before she could finish her sentence.
"Ne parlez pas d'anglais dans cette classe." was the only reason she got for his actions.
The brilliant goddess sighed and looked to a pretty blonde girl in the front of the class. "Ino-cochon, présentez-vous" she said.
The blonde was instantly thrilled and stood up to give a proper introduction, the class moving on.
And that was it, basically. But it's been a month since then, and I can't stand him even more than I could a week ago. What in the world could he have done in the last week that has got me riled up so bad?
Oh yeah. I remember now.
He stole my first kiss.