A/N- Right well, this is a totally new prologue. I was really dissatisfied with the soccer prologue, especially since it seemed so contrived and soccer has nothing to do with the story. Besides, getting hit with a soccer ball is rather common, if my reviews are any indication. How many people can say they've been hit with a- well, you'll see.

Anyway, I hope this is better, let me know. Also, tell me what you all think of Will and Mitra, and the plot, and my writing style. I'd really like some suggestions on improvement. Also, Mitra is based on Sara Rue's character on the ABC show "Less Than Perfect", and if there were ever a Sherlock Holmes movie to be made, I'd have Johnny Depp star in it, so Will is based on him. Anyway, enjoy!

Prologue

On an unusually mild day in late September, I would have loved to have been in the park, chatting with friends and eating a hot pretzel. Alas, but it seems that good days like these only ever happen on weekdays, when there are classes that need attending. So it was that on this perfect autumn day I was in a special senior's colloquium that met every other week. It was unbelievably boring, and the main point was for all of us to describe how our experiences at the university had changed our character.

Well, at least they really knew how to simultaneously waste everyone's time and achieve absolutely nothing.

My section consisted of ten people, an unusually small class size at our large university. I didn't know everyone there, but my friend and roommate, Vicky Johnson, a super feminist with a frown perpetually fixed on her face, was sitting next to me and keeping me company.

"…I mean, can you believe it? This renowned artist was actually suggesting that women aren't as smart as men, that there was some sort of genetic deficiency. So I wrote an irate letter to him and I sent it to The Post, but I'm not sure if they'll accept it, I sent it kind of late…"

I kept nodding and gazing out the window. The sun was shining, not a cloud was in sight, and the fallen, colorful leaves made the grounds look picturesque, like something you'd see in a brochure. I sighed longingly and turned around when the door opened.

Technically the senior advisors had to reside over these colloquiums, but they were smart, (hence them being professors), and instead sent their aides in their place. So it was that Frank the T.A., Dr. Kirschoff's aide in physical chemistry, came through the door.

Frank the T.A. was a very clean person, like the dad on "Leave it to Beaver". Every strand of hair was perfectly in place, his tie was never swung over his shoulder, and his back was as rigid as hardwood. He was also very intransigent and therefore easily disturbed.

This is important because it explains what he did when he entered.

He slammed the door behind him, stopped and took a deep breath, then stomped over to his desk at the front of the room. He smoothed down his hair, took out a few books from his bag, and then an angry expression passed over his features. We heard him mutter a few profane words in conjunction with one Will Hamilton, whoever he was. Then, in a fit of uncontrollable rage, he threw down his pencil. We all watched as it bounced on the eraser end and curved gracefully through the air in slow motion, flipping into a perfect arc and coming closer and closer to me…

"You're lucky it wasn't point first," Vicky said to me ten minutes later in front of the ladies bathroom. "And you're lucky it didn't hit your eye."

"Yeah, now I jud have a bleeding node," I retorted, holding a tissue to my face.

"Hey, don't get mad at me. It's that Frank," she said darkly. "You know Dr. Kirschoff only has him as an aide because he's a man? That lousy chauvinist-"

"Okay, Vicky, can we focud on me?"

"Look, Mitra, this isn't my fault, all right? You could have, you know, ducked. You had time."

I sighed and applied a fresh tissue to my nose. "I gued. Who'd thid Will Hamildon anyway?"

She shrugged. "He lives on the floor above us. Some people say he's a druggie, others think he's a genius, but, honestly, he's probably just a misogynist pig, like all men."

"Oh. Yeah, I can feel the pain coming in now, okay." I squeezed my eyes as they began to water.

The door next to us, which had been slightly ajar, opened then, and a tall figure wearing a lab apron, goggles, and a surgical mask appeared next to us.

"Erm, do you mind keeping it down?" He said in a deep, urbane British accent, which was slightly muffled on account of the mask. "We're working with sensitive equipment in the biochem lab here and your vibrations a-"

"Yeah fine," Vicky interrupted. "How many women are in that class, I'd like to know. Do I at least have permission to use the bathroom, mister man? Or do I have to ask pretty boy's professor?"

"I had no idea oversized goggles were considered attractive," the man said dryly when she had gone into the restroom.

"Vicky'd nod alwayd like thid," I said, but paused. "Well, okay, dad id a lie."

He focused on me and, though his goggles and my watering eyes obscured his eyes, it felt as though he were cutting right through me. "It's Mitra, isn't it?" He pulled down the mask as I nodded. "I couldn't help overhearing your conversation just now and I think I should apologize to you."

"Do me?" I asked, surprised.

"Er, to you, yes. You see, I had a bit of a row with Frank the T.A. this morning in physical chemistry. He wouldn't agree with me on the derivation of Schrödinger's wave equation and Kirschoff did. I think that's why he was in a bit of a temper in your class."

I slowly replied, "Okay, uh, um." That's when realization hit me. "Oh, you're Will Hamildon!"

"Hamilton, yeah." He nodded. "A tree that is unbending is easily broken."

"Huh?"

"I was referring to Frank."

"Whad doed he have do do wid a dree?"

"No, you see it's Lao Tzu, the Chinese…never mind. Are you really hurt?"

"Whad, you mean did?" I pointed to my nose and smiled genially. "No, no, I'm okay."

"Erm, right. Well, I have to go now, so, er, see you later." And with that he was gone.

Vicky appeared a few seconds later and glared at the biochemistry lab. "You know how few women are majoring in biochem throughout the country? And it's all because of egocentric male bast-"

"Here," Will said, emerging through the door again, this time with an icepack in his hand. "Don't worry, it's not contaminated, we put it in the other fridge." He turned to Vicky. "And don't say that all men are bastards, it's really overused. Try an original argument for a change." He shut the door in our faces and we walked off, my nose feeling some relief and Vicky fuming about our modern male-dominated society.

R&R please!