A/N: I don't own Big Time Rush. At All
A/N: The only reason why this is rated M is because of language and slight smut. Don't expect anything hot and heavy :P
A/N: This is an introduction. And I'm aware that my writing skills kind of suck. Please don't be rude. Constructive criticism is appreciated. No hate.
This woman was scary. No, that wasn't even the right word. With her stick-straight white blonde hair, piercing silver-blue eyes, 6 foot tall stature, and thick Scandinavian accent, Professor Annika Neilson was blood-curdling, horrifying, intimidating, chilling, and unnerving. And God forbid you get on her bad side. No one ever came out on top of one of Annika Neilson's stare-downs. It just wasn't done.
Until now. The entirety of Professor Neilson's Advanced Stage Performance class was holding their breath in anticipation, eyes glued to the new kid, who seemed to think he could hold his own against the professor. But he was a beginner. He didn't know what he was doing.
But Neilson didn't take that into consideration. When some cocky-ass little amateur walks into her classroom, thinking he doesn't need to listen to her, assumes that he already knows everything there is to know about stage choreography, she loses all rational thinking skills and patience she acquired over her numerous years as a teacher. Fuck rationality. Fuck patience. Annika Neilson took theater very, very seriously, and no living soul was going to make a mockery of her highly-praised course.
"Vad ger dig rätt att tro att du bara kan fjäderben in här som något höjdare och räknar med att veta rutin som jag anpassade coreographed själv? Du är i över huvudet, liten pojke." Her low tone was large, powerful, accentuated with clipped words and sarcasm that conveyed over the language barrier.
The new student rolled his eyes. Who did this bitch think she was? Just because she was supposedly the best choreographer at Julliard did not give her the divine right to belittle him. Even though he didn't exactly know what she said… "It's really not effective to yell at me in a different language. For all I know, you could be secretly complimenting my stunning good looks."
The seething professor stepped forward, staring the student directly in the eye, practically searing his soul with one look. His stance wavered a little bit under her gaze. "Go. Sit. Down." She ordered, voice lower than ever before. "Now."
Rolling his eyes, the tall brunette spun on his heel, adjusting his duffle bag on his shoulder. "Whatever. Like I need this class anyway. We all know that I'm the best performer on campus." He dropped his bag onto the hardwood flooring with a thud, sliding down the smooth wall into a sitting position and glancing at the male beside him. "Do you know what she even said?" He whispered lowly, brushing his hair out of his face.
The brunette jumped in shock, turning to face him. His face flushed tomato-red as he ran a hand through his short hair. "Um. Basically, she said that you have no right to walk in here, expecting to know a routine that she created herself. And she added that you're in way over your head. Then she called you a little boy." His eyes darted around the room during the translation, looking anywhere but his eyes.
He hadn't been expecting that. "You know Norwegian?"
Her head jerked. "It was actually Swedish. And my grandmother's from Sweden, a-and I spent a lot of time over-over at her house when I kid, so…I guess I just picked up some key words." He stuttered, fiddling with the rubber Batman bracelet that encased his wrist.
"What's your name?"
The shy acting major turned his head so all he could see was the back of his neck. "L-look. I don't socialize with people. And I really don't want to start now. Sorry."
"Do you even know who I am?"
His head bobbed up and down. "Of course I do. You're the assistant dean's son. James Diamond, future Broadway star. The entire campus knows who you are."
James ran a hand through his hair, sighing loudly in frustration. He couldn't explain the intrigue he felt for this guy, and it was annoying him to no end. "I don't really think it's fair that you know my name, but I don't get to know yours."
"I don't understand why you care." He replied softly, reaching for his notebook and pen.
"I don't exactly get it either." He mumbled to himself, spreading his legs and stretching.
From the front of the room, Professor Neilson clapped her hands together loudly, commanding attention from all the students in the room. "Amateurs, I'm ending class early today. Mr. Diamond had ruined my mood for the rest of the day. Class will begin tomorrow at 3:45 PM sharp. Don't be late." Shooting a glare at the cocky brunette, Neilson turned on her heel, gathered her things, and stalked out of the room.
The boy beside James began gathering his things, quickly and silently. "Please just tell me your name. What's the big deal about that?" James pleaded, rising to his feet.
The brown-eyed guy sighed heavily. "Logan." He whispered, practically running out of the room.
James smiled, reaching down to pick up his bag. Swinging it over his shoulder, he sauntered out of the room, slowly merging into the heavy flow of students hurrying to their next class.
Logan.