Emma had always thought of being an adolescent as growing up inside a shell: some funny-looking, nurturing kind of cocoon. Some broke out of it sooner than others and, by the time she was seventeen, she still felt she was awkwardly living into of hers. Some said being a teenager was never knowing what you really wanted: Emma believed it was wanting one thing really strongly and another the next, having a stubborn mind but changing it every so often, because you're still chiseling the angles of the new person you'll become.
All the things Emma had wanted during her adolescence had been with a passion hungrier than she had ever seen in adults. Though there's never more time for things than when you're young, her desires had known no patience. She remembered thinking, If he doesn't love me, I'll die, and meaning it, and when his lips had touched hers and she'd felt their wet eerie softness, disgust had filled her so full there was no longer room to even remember he had been something she wanted.
Emma's parents sometimes made jokes about their daughter being unknowable. She felt it was ridiculous to expect her to know herself, when she was like an ever-changing tropical weather, sunny one moment and shooting thunderbolts the next. Sitting in front of her bedroom mirror on a Monday morning, her eyes set solemnly on her own reflection, she marveled that so few physical changes had come upon her this summer. Not that her limbs hadn't taken the golden-brown shade they usually did: Storybrooke summers weren't the hottest but tanning always took easily to Emma. But apart from that and the fact that her blond braids were a few inches longer, she found she looked exactly the same as the sixteen-year-old who had completed her junior year.
So much happening beneath the surface and not enough above it. That was as good a summary for high school as Emma could come up with.
It was on that Monday, second of September, that Emma was to begin her final year of high school. Though she felt like she should be nostalgic – for the sake of all those flics that purported these were the best days of her life – there wasn't much she would miss from Storybrooke High. Her English teacher, Miss Blanchard, was one thing; maybe the only one. Surely, there had been nice moments, in the past three years. A few inappropriate jokes in class that had made her feel mischievous, routine lunches with friends, acting friendship almost as much as romance, to try and desperately make reality fit with what high school was supposed to be like.
Emma knew, from every book she'd ever read, that high school was supposed to be great. It was supposed to go on forever in your mind, to mark you for life. High school was supposed to be immortal.
"Three years down," she told herself, sighing at her young, unchanged reflection. "One to go."
And, of course, there was no reason why that last year should make a difference. You came to accept the gap between your expectations and the unexciting reality. So that morning, Emma got dressed as usual, had a bowl of oatmeal for breakfast she drank down with orange juice after her parents had left for work, then she walked to the bus stop and absolutely all of it felt the very same as it had, for the past three ordinary years.
It had never felt least to Emma as if things would ever significantly change than today.
…
That they started with two hours of history was enough for Emma to drag her feet through the halls. It wasn't the subject she was reluctant about so much as the teacher – throughout her high school years, the man who had been in charge of teaching them about the Pilgrims, the American revolution, the Civil War and etcetera was Professor Rumpelstiltskin. Emma disliked him because of his condescending attitude towards struggling pupils and because of an inexplicable conviction that he was deeply malevolent – she caught it on him sometimes, a shine in his eyes when he gave one of her comrades a humiliating lecture, a twitch in his lips that wasn't exactly a smile. As for himself, he disliked her not because her grades weren't pristine, Emma knew, but because he could sense her accurate judgement of his character.
That morning, nothing indicated his class wouldn't go precisely as usual. The students were austerely silent in their seats while he made his way to the blackboard, carrying the same leather case he had for the past three years. "Morning everyone," he said without looking at any of them. "Today, we greet a few pupils who are new to the establishment."
Right, the newbies. Emma didn't pay much mind to the fresh faces to be seen in the classroom. She'd been happy to hurriedly catch up with the girlfriends she hadn't seen all summer, Belle, Ruby, Zelena. Familiar people were like a comfort zone. Emma didn't much like to get out of it.
"We've got Graham Humbert from New Jersey," the teacher said, with such weariness he might have skipped this introduction altogether and spared the newcomers a great deal of awkwardness. "Killian Jones from Northern Ireland. And –"
The sound of the opening door interrupted the rest of his words. A whisper of startle came over the class. No one dared to be late with Professor Rumpelstiltskin, let alone to interrupt him, however unintentionally. Many of Emma's classmates looked behind their shoulders to catch a glimpse of the newcomer, but Emma was too focused on the look of rare surprise on her teacher's face.
Finally, Professor Rumpelstiltskin recovered his habitual, scornful semi-smile. "Last but not least," he said. "Miss Regina Mills."
The hairs in Emma's neck stiffened for some reason. It could have just been the pleased superiority in her teacher's eyes, but she knew it wasn't.
She could feel it, somehow, that there was something different, that there was something special, a racing in her pulse, an alertness in her senses, the very second that he spoke that name, Re-gi-na.
"Tomorrow, Miss Mills," the teacher resumed, "you'll do me the honor of arriving on time. There's no point in bothering to come at all, otherwise."
Emma expected an immediate, docile reply, Yes, sir, would have been what any other pupil would have answered. There was nothing but silence and so Emma finally craned her neck toward the door to check out the new arrival.
She was just finding an empty seat in the back, casual, even relaxed, as if there was absolutely nothing wrong. Long black hair contrasted with the untanned skin revealed by her sleeveless dress. Though her features were harmonious, Emma didn't find her beautiful – there was something too aggressive about her dark eyes, her very arched brows, the strong lines of her cheekbones. Her smile was red and wicked and wide.
"My apologies, Professor," she said after some time, enough time for Rumpelstiltskin's face to have furrowed with a deep frown. "It won't happen again."
The teacher called their attention back to the board and Emma found she had trouble looking away from the woman – not girl, she thought, but woman. Though Regina may not be older than seventeen, she looked, felt older than Emma, whose teenage-round face and blond braids suddenly felt juvenile. There was something about her, undefinable, that kept Emma from focusing on the Professor's class. That striking confidence, that red smile whose curve looked nearly insolent…
Regina.
The name flashed in Emma's mind, bright, blushing letters.
There was just something about it, about the girl, that felt alien from the dull world of high school. It had a taste of untamedness, of riot, of magic.
In truth, Emma's heart squeezed in an iron grip as she realized, there was a touch of immortality about it.
…
AN: I really enjoyed writing this chapter so I should be posting another one soon. I don't suppose that placing the Once Upon a Time characters in school is all that original (although I'll admit I've never read any fanfiction that did) but I really felt it'd be interesting to watch them all intermingle in the strange universe that is high school. You should probably look out for dark themes in the next chapters such as bullying. I also want this story to be about hope and intense relationships (here I'm thinking Queen/Emma though there might also be others). Well, I'd love to hear what you thought about it and where you want things to go. Please leave a comment and come back for a next chapter!