Mr. Hatake will be forever one of my favourite teachers. It is not because he is a good teacher. He is not. He is always late to class, he has little passion for the subject he teaches, and he seldom takes his eyes off of his book, which, it is speculated, contains pornography. So, no, that is not why he is my favourite teacher.

It is because he assigned Hinata as my partner on our first book report.

Truthfully, it was surprising that Hinata was even in my English class, seeing as she was an honors student and I was practically failing out of school. I guess that it made sense though. In junior high, I was top of my English class, so the school forced me to take the advanced route in senior high, instead of remedial, like most of my other classes.

But that day, I knew none of this. It was a day like any other day. I did not even lift my head from my desk as Mr. Hatake read off the names for partners. They slipped through my mind like silk. Sakura… Shino. Shikamaru… Sasuke…

"Gaara, Hinata."

I smiled a bit, my face hidden by the top of my desk. I had ended up with someone not only incredibly clever, but also timid enough that I could probably get her to do most of the work. This would be easy.

Mr. Hatake put away his list and picked up his book, and there was a scuffling sound as students moved to find their partners. I stayed put.

"Um…" A soft voice came from above my head. "Gaara, right?" I nodded my head minutely. "Um, I-I'm Hinata. Your partner?"

I lifted my head and rested my chin on my folded arms. "I know."

"S-so, shall we b-begin reading?"

I sighed. "I would really rather not."

She ducked her head nervously, pressing her lips together. "B-but, well, we have to."

With a dramatic sight, I rummaged through my bag and pulled out the battered copy of A Tale of Two Cities that we had received the previous day in class. Well, it hadn't been battered the day before. Hinata eyed it critically, but said nothing. Pulling out her own book, she began to read silently. I put my head back down on my desk.

As much as I might like Hinata herself, I really hated people like her. Always so soft-spoken and gentle, blindly accepting everything, too timid to try to change things. Acting content would do nothing to make her so. It was fruitless and futile, and it bothered me to no end.

I really hated people like her.

Two days later, I still hadn't opened A Tale of Two Cities. I stared at the book in front of me as if trying to burn a hole through its cover with my eyes. My arms were crossed tightly across my chest in the universal gesture of leave-me-alone-I hate-you-all. I did not open my book. I did not even pick it up. Next to me, Hinata read intently and with a look of utmost concentration on her face. I turned from her, staring straight ahead. At the front of the class, Mr. Hatake ignored us all, lost in his own book, so there was no one to make me read.

The bell rang jarringly, shattering the silence of the somber classroom. Shoving my book into my bag, I swept out of the classroom and down the hall.

The rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully, rolling by in a haze of indifference, but when suppertime came, something out of the usual happened.

Hinata came to sit at my table.

I always sit in the corner of the cafeteria for my meals, next to the window. I face away from the rest of the students, but their reflections in the windowpane, like the shadows on the cave wall, give a shifting transient view of the chaotic world I face away from. In this stilted view, I could make out Hinata's silhouette as she stood timidly behind me, holding her tray of food.

"Um… Gaara?" Her soft voice was barely audible over the din of the cafeteria. "I-I was wondering if I m-m-might sit here?" In contrast to her clear voice when she was declaiming or answering questions in class, Hinata stuttered horribly whenever she spoke to other students, particularly boys.

"Fine," I muttered. She seated herself tentatively at the table, leaving one empty chair between us. Folding her hands in her lap, she bowed her head slightly for a moment, then began to eat. I picked at my food, sliding around my plate with the tines of my fork. We sat like this in awkward silence for a few minutes before she finally broke it with her timid voice.

"I-I noticed in class t-today…well, the p-past few days…" she began, then broke off. She busied herself with her napkin for a moment, then started again. "Y-you d-d-didn't read th-the book." I shrugged. "you d-don't like it?"

"I have read it before," I replied disinterestedly. "In junior high."

"A-and you didn't e-enjoy it enough t-to read it again?" She paused. "B-because I have read it before t-too. T-twice, actually. B-but I—I love it."

I shrug. "I never liked it particularly. The plot is too… and it just doesn't follow."

"H-how do you mean that?" She sounded genuinely interested, and was stuttering less than usual.

"It's just that… then ending. It does not really make sense to me. I mean, humans are primarily narcissistic, self-serving creatures. Even those who do supposedly selfless acts—if you ask them, they'll say it is for 'the good feeling they get inside.' Everything we do is about self. Even love—if it exists at all—is a combination ofour lust and the good feeling a person gives us. So Carton's noble sacrifice is unrealistic—the only reason he might save Charles is so that he might see Lucie happy, and that will never happen if he—Sydney Carton—has died." I am surprised that Hinata has gotten me to give such a long speech.

"But," she softly persisted. "Carton l-loves Lucie. R-real love."

"'Real love?' I don't believe that it exists."

"Oh," she says. "I-I suppose not." For some reason, she looks disappointed.