Sean McElhinney leaned his chair back, pushing carefully against the ground as to make the front two legs leave the ground without actually being in danger of tipping the whole thing over. Pretending to stretch, he glanced nonchalantly at the desks around him. Those who hadn't yet received their midterm calculus test results were white-knuckling their desks or bouncing their leg. Those who had received their results were turning various shades of red — although from shame or from crossness, Sean did not know.
What he did know, however, was that he'd received a 95 as his mark. Pointedly, he set the exam down on his desk with the note facing up, clearly visible.
Shooting a glance over his shoulder, he gave an inquisitive tilt of his head to Ryan. Ryan gave him a dirty look, crossing his arms over his paper.
"Well?"
"I got a goddamn C- on the thing," Ryan sighed, his cheeks turning ruddy. "Piss off."
"Ouch," Sean tried to wince, nudging his exam even closer towards the center of his desk.
"Bite me, Sean," Ryan grimaced. At that, Sean dropped the pretense of sympathy, grinning openly.
"What part was it? The one that did you in, that is," Sean pressed him, wiggling his eyebrows conspiratorially. Ryan moved to whack him, but Sean moved his chair back to its original position, laughing. "Oh, I'll bet it was the solids of rotation bit on the calculator portion—"
"If you don't shut up about integrals and volume or whatever, I'm going to be sick all over your stupid test."
"Were I a betting man, Mr. McElhinney, I would reckon your friend is being serious about the being-sick-all-over-your-exam business."
Ryan flushed, moving to cover ever more of his exam, and Sean flinched, surprised.
The two boys stared wordlessly at their uncharacteristically casual classmate. An extraordinarily reserved individual, Artemis Fowl II's version of casual did not align with most people's. Nevertheless, casual was the word that best described his posture. He was resting his chin on his hand, perching his elbow upon the desk. His face, usually guarded and impenetrable, was relaxed. Although not committed enough to his and Ryan's spat to have his expression described as curious, Sean narrowed his eyes slightly, Artemis' gaze had a note of… amusement. Sean straightened in his seat, rubbing nonexistent wrinkles out of his trousers. Yes, he decided, forcing himself not to wrinkle his nose. Fowl practically had a twinkle in his eye.
"We… were just talking about the test," Sean quickly offered, faltering slightly.
"Sean was talking about the test," Ryan stressed. Sean exhaled through his nose, giving Ryan a look. Ryan ignored him.
"I'd gathered. You were being rather loud about it."
"Is that your excuse for nosiness?" Sean jutted out his chin. "It was a private conversation. But I guess I do have to ask, Fowl — does it seriously take Ryan bombing the midterm for you to act halfway sociable —"
"I didn't bomb the thing," Ryan interjected, holding up his hands in protest. "It was a C, you prick."
"C minus," Sean said under his breath, rolling his eyes. Ryan scowled, smacking Sean upside the head.
Losing interest, Artemis turned his attention away from Sean and Ryan, opening his phone. "My disposition has nothing to do with anything that transpired inside this school, I can assure you."
Sean froze, ignoring Ryan's persistent flicks to his shoulder. He'd already bored Fowl. Wracking his brain, he tried to think of something of interest to say.
Triumphantly, he opened his mouth. "So you don't care about school, then?"
Almost immediately, he cringed.
Artemis didn't miss a beat, however, never pausing from his task of tapping away at his smartphone. "Now that's a rather uncharitable interpretation of what I said."
Sean supposed he had to stick to his guns. "You're the one who implied it."
"If that will make you happy, then I suppose you may continue believing that. All that I meant to imply was that these exercises in memorization matter far less than you'd like to believe, Mr. McElhinney, particularly considering that you're one of the few who thrive in that structure."
"One of the few?" Sean's ears perked up at that. "Are you telling me that you fai-"
In a fluid movement, Artemis discretely flipped the corner of his paper up, revealing the neatly written "100" at the top. Noticing that Sean deflated at the sight of the grade, Artemis shot him an almost toothy grin. His canines peaked out slightly, glinting.
"A valiant effort, Mr. McElhinney."
With that, Artemis went back to typing. Flushing, Sean ignored the sound of Ryan snorting in derision behind him.
"Is Mr. 95 embarrassed?" Ryan leaned over his desk in order to whisper in Sean's ear, cooing. Sean gritted his teeth, shrinking in his seat.
He flipped his test over, concealing the mark at the top.
Saint Bartleby's was one of the few institutions in Ireland that still had class rankings, despite all the studies showing the practice's impact upon both student self-esteem and performance. Sean McElhinney's primary school had also been one of the few schools that still ranked students by performance each term, and he'd quite enjoyed the practice until he had graduated to Saint Bart's.
Sean was bright. He naturally had a knack for memorization. He was neither left nor right brained — his teachers spoke highly of his ability across departments. Sean was used to school being a game that was very easy to be the best at, and as such, he'd never had to struggle to be recognized as special.
What he wasn't, though, was a genius.
On his first day of secondary school at Saint Bart's, he'd been seated next to Artemis Fowl II. He hadn't thought much of the other boy other than he was the most sullen child he'd ever seen, and Artemis did nothing to challenge Sean's perception of him. The quarter had flown by, and when he'd run to check the class ranking on the last day of the grading period, his eyes had flown to the first place. He'd stared, furrowing his brow.
Slowly, his eyes dropped down the list, not quite processing what he was seeing.
Sean McElhinney, second in the grade. His eyes ticked back upwards. Artemis Fowl II, first in the grade.
Sean had told himself it was by a mere margin, but in second place he would remain for the next three years.
He remembered reading a passage from Alice in Wonderland for English one night, the lines under his eyes deepening and a feeling of displeasure coiling around his gut as he slogged his way through the page.
("'Well, in our country,' said Alice, still panting a little, 'you'd generally get to somewhere else—if you run very fast for a long time, as we've been doing.'
'A slow sort of country!" said the Queen. 'Now, here, you see, it takes all the running you can do to keep in the same place. If you want to get somewhere else, you must run at least twice as fast as that!'")
He'd traced the words, eyes widening. Pushing the thing away from himself as though he'd been burned, Sean had felt tears of frustration and exhaustion prick at his eyes. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that it took all the running he could do just to stay in second place, behind Fowl — just like the Red Queen, he'd have to run twice as fast as his absolute best in order to dream of ever overtaking the other boy.
Sean McElhinney, second in the grade.
Gnashing his teeth, he flicked off his light, hearing his roommate stir slightly at the change in the environment.
He was going to bed, first place be damned.
The Saint Bartleby campus was covered in sprawling, vibrant greenery. In between the palatial stone buildings that made up the boarding school, the lush grass always managed to stay ahead of the groundskeeper's punishing landscaping schedule. If it were a nice day (which is to say, not pouring rain), one could spot groups of students sequestered off under the shade of the oak and willow trees that dotted the campus — despite Dean Guiney's emails about the matter, it was common to see some of the girls from Our Lady's School for Young Gentlewomen milling about amongst the Saint Bart's students.
Surveying the vast lawn before him, Sean lugged his canvas bag as he made his way to a spot where he could eat lunch in peace. He didn't have the time to shoot the breeze in the name of politeness; he had calculus review to do.
Ignoring the group of boys by the patch of rosy primulas near the underclassmen's dorms, he tramped across the lawn towards the more secluded portion of campus. It was a soft day, with the clouds coming down to drape along the surrounding hills. It was hard to describe to someone who'd never experienced the weather. Sean supposed it was a type of rain, yet the droplets in question seemed to hang suspended in the air, too heavy to be mere mist, too airy to be a fog. Stepping outside was deceptive, as you could easily mistake the wetness for crispness in the air. Still, you'd soon be righted of your mistake once you all of the sudden found yourself as soggy as if you'd been dunked in the lough.
Ignoring the chill that was setting in, Sean continued towards the willow that was beginning to peak through the dull haze of the afternoon air. It was his favorite — one of the Salix babylonicas. Its thin, drooping leaves reached the ground, creating a sanctum near the base of the tree where one was concealed from the gaze from most passerby. Gently, he parted the leaves to make an opening to step through, but he stepped back.
The babylonica apparently already had an occupant.
He found himself eye-to-eye with Fowl. The pale teen had been in the middle of jotting down notes upon a piece of paper, and Sean was able to spy the sight of weird, spidery symbols before Artemis swiftly closed the notebook.
Filing the strangeness of the incident away for future contemplation, Sean decided to get right to business. "You're in my study area."
Artemis quirked an eyebrow upwards, continuing to put his notes away. "Strange. I thought it belonged to the school."
"I pay tuition, so I'd say I have just as much a claim to it as the Dean does."
"I pay tuition as well," Artemis reminded him.
"Yeah, reduced. I know Guiney's scared shitless of you transferring —I heard from one of the teachers you were offered a scholarship package as an incentive for finishing your secondary education here."
"I'm the subject of gossip?" Artemis laughed, intrigued.
Sean looked at him, trying to gauge if the other boy was joking. "Oh, you have no idea how much gossip you're the subject of," he said dismissively, trying to carefully look at Artemis to discern any concern. If anything, the idea seemed positively hilarious to Artemis.
"You're not bothered?" he wheedled. "Come on, surely it bugs you a little."
Artemis hesitated. Sean, spurred on by getting a reaction, continued to press the matter. "Well, Declan was—"
"I don't believe there is a single thing in the rumor mill that could trouble me," Artemis decided. Swallowing a frown, Sean attempted to keep his expression under control. "In all likelihood, I've done far worse in far more imaginative ways."
Sean scrunched up his nose. "What?"
"Enjoy the willow, McElhinney," Artemis announced brightly, gathering his bags.
Parting the willow, Fowl stepped out onto campus, leaving Sean alone.
Shite, Sean thought glumly. For all his wits and wealth, Artemis Fowl II still fell neatly within the category of being one of the weird blokes at school. For Fowl to pitying him, Sean would have to be in a sorry state indeed.
Poking his head out through the curtain of leaves, he scanned the lawn. The wind blowing between the buildings almost made a moaning sound that reverberated low and deep about Saint Bartleby's. The soft day had morphed into a heady, fog adorned evening.
Despite the white haze over the campus, Fowl was nowhere in eyesight. The leaves on the willow shivered, and Sean felt a chill creep up his spine.
Kicking up clumps of dirt as he skulked back to the dorms, Sean didn't look back.