A/N: I started YET ANOTHER new story because apparently I have severe commitment issues and an unending well of bad ideas.

This story should be significantly lighter-hearted than anything else I've written so far, although there might be some angst thrown in later because of who I am as a person.

Title taken from "Permanent Sunlight," by No Devotion, which you can go listen to on YouTube by adding /watch?v=kPshx-3AFKo to the end of the URL. I strongly recommend listening to it with headphones because speakers really do not do it justice.

Emma Swan, as uneducated as she is, knows three things to be true:

1. Regina Mills has perfect grades, perfect hair, a perfect boyfriend, and a perfect life.

2. Despite the aforementioned perfections, Regina Mills is also a colossal bitch.

3. Fortunately, this seeming hatred for everyone and everything does not extend to Emma Swan. Unfortunately, if Regina Mills ever deigned to recognize Emma's existence, it probably would.

Normally, Emma spends about as much time thinking about Regina as Regina spends thinking about her—that is to say, none. But on the way to the principal's office, Emma had passed by Regina verbally eviscerating an unfortunate freshman who had been careless enough to not watch where he was going, consequently spilling Regina's coffee all over the shirt Emma is sure is worth more than the entirety of her own wardrobe twice over. So now that she is seated before Mr. Gold and enduring his latest disappointed speech, featuring his disappointed face and disappointed voice, Emma is thinking about nothing in particular, in that vague, wandering thoughts sort of way, which is what allows Regina Mills to float through her head, somewhere between trying to remember what leftovers will be for dinner tonight and whether or not she finished the history project due tomorrow. (She's pretty sure she didn't.)

Emma is in the middle of half-listening to Mr. Gold monologue away and idly wondering whether she would get sent home early if she intentionally stapled her hand with the stapler sitting on his desk when she hears something that catches her attention in a manner not unlike being told she has just won the lottery, if "lottery" were secretly some sort of code word for "worst possible experience of one's lifetime." Emma abruptly stops picking at her nails to stare incredulously at Mr. Gold's gratingly condescending smile, but before she can open her mouth to object, he is already twisting his face into a facsimile of understanding and steamrolling over her.

"Unfortunately, Miss Swan, I am quite serious this time. Your habitual tardiness and truancy mean that your grades have floundered nearly to the point of no return. The only way I see you coming back from this is regularly scheduled tutoring sessions, effective immediately."

Before she can stop herself, Emma finds her arms defiantly crossing in front of her, seemingly of their own accord. "I think I'll take the expulsion, thanks," she says as dryly as she can manage.

Mr. Gold's grimace doesn't waver for an instant. "As I'm sure you're well aware, it's quite difficult to be expelled from a public school, Miss Swan."

Damn, he's right. If none of the stupid stunts she's pulled so far have landed her in expulsion territory, there's no way she'll get expelled for shitty grades. Emma racks her brain furiously for alternative solutions, brightening when she realizes that although he may not have the authority to expel her, she certainly has the authority to expel herself. "Fine, I'll just drop out," she says, already halfway to the door before the sound of Mr. Gold clearing his throat behind her causes her to stop and heave an exaggerated sigh. "What now?" she groans, reluctantly turning to face him again.

When Mr. Gold's eyes take on a dangerous glint, she is reminded of all the rumors about the principal that circulate in hushed whispers among the student body, which, coincidentally, are also all the reasons she really probably shouldn't antagonize him. (To be fair, she's pretty certain that at least 70% of the rumors are false; there's no way Mr. Gold ate that kid's hand, and he almost definitely wasn't involved in the woodshop accident that led to the detachment in the first place.) "Have a seat, please, Miss Swan," he says, and Emma has the distinct feeling of staring into the eyes of something reptilian and very dangerous.

Emma decides that exasperating Mr. Gold probably isn't worth finding out if there's any truth behind the Crocodile moniker and complies.

"Now, although you could technically drop out, I would hate to see that happen." Emma is almost touched by his seeming concern before he continues speaking and lays any such feelings to rest. "You see, the school receives funding based on how many students are registered, and if you were to drop out, we would lose some of that funding. I'm sure you wouldn't want to be the reason that your peers didn't get new bleachers installed on the football field, would you?"

They stare at each other in silence for a moment before he throws down his trump card, saccharine smile stretching so far that she can see his gold tooth. "But by all means, if you wish to throw away your future, we only require a form signed by your parents."

He has her there. Emma knows it, and she knows that he knows it, too. Just like he doesn't want to lose his school's funding, there's no way her foster parents would risk losing the monthly government check by letting her drop out.

Emma clenches her teeth to keep from punching him in his stupid, smarmy face. "Weekly tutoring sessions, you said?" she grits out.

Mr. Gold leans back in his chair, relaxed in the way that one can be only after having won a decisive victory. "Belle, could you send her in, please?" he says into the intercom.

Emma hears the door open behind her.

"Miss Swan, I'd like to introduce you to your new tutor: Miss Regina Mills."

Fuck.

A/N: This chapter was fairly short because it was really only meant to serve as an introduction. Future chapters should be significantly longer.

I'm over on tumblr under ishipitlikeups, if you fancy following me.