The Interstate Jefferson Math Tournament - a tumblerfull of Asians, a sprinkling of Caucasians. Laptops balanced on laps, spectacles perched on quivering noses, freckles and acne generously represented, ironed khakis and staid-hued polo shirts. The usual suspects.
Rhett Butler tried to remind himself why he had attended. He was to fulfil the honorary role of prize-distributor to these ivory-tower highschoolers. Their IQs might be (and probably were) above 160, but they were fools, all of them. He'd like to see little Miss Fruitfly-Cloner or young Master Maths-Olympiad building a business empire by hook and crook.
But it looks nice, dear, Mother had said in her sweet, coaxing voice. It'll be pleasant to see your name in the papers for something er, rather proper, for once - Mr Rhett Butler awarding the prizes to so-and-so for the Interstate Jefferson Math Tournament. And a nice little photograph - you do photograph well, dear. It'll be charming, it'll do wonders for your reputation.
But then he noticed her.
"Miss O'Hara. A pleasure to see you once again."
She wore no makeup, her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, emphasizing the squareness of her jaw, her florid Irish features and the darkness of her brows against her disconcertingly pale skin. Without her charm, her feminine tricks of allure, she wasn't in the least bit pretty.
With her resolute eyes and the determined set of that unsculpted chin, she was beautiful.
She had a catlike smile. A dueller's smile above a shining rapier blade or a marksman's smile over a loaded pistol. "Surely you won't pretend that you were not astonished to see me, Mr Butler."
"If it would please you to have me pretend, I would do so. I will commence. Miss O'Hara, you are as a hothouse flower among these er, shrubs, a dove amongst ravens-"
"Now Mr Butler, really-"
"You would not have me compose a paean to your pulchritude? Or would it please you better to have me single out those singularly uncomely damsels who accompany you, and contrast their lack of charms with your superfluity?"
"You are making fun of me," she said petulantly. "Really, you are quite the rudest man I have ever met." She pouted prettily and suddenly she was lovely once again, heartstoppingly lovely - eyelashes fluttering, dimples dancing, all flags flying and guns blazing. He heard a few worshipful sighs from behind him.
He smiled. "You are getting late, Miss O'Hara. Your devotees will be heartbroken."
With a sigh, she shifted her laptop bag from one shoulder to the other, and strode down the aisle. Strode - he had only ever seen her saunter, swaying her hips as she walked.
But perhaps, he reflected, as he watched her suddenly unremarkable figure disappear into the throng, some things were too important to be taken as lightly as she did coquetting.
Maths.
The girl had spunk.
000
Ashley gave her shoulders a friendly squeeze. "We won," he repeated happily and inanely for the fifteen-thousandth time. The tournament had ended half and hour before and they were celebrating in the clean, mindless anonymity of a pizza parlor. It was heaven after the stress of the last three hours. Scarlett felt a migraine coming on. At the moment, she was prepared to never, never look at an equation again. That was how drained she felt.
Scarlett punched him, though she was secretly delighted that he'd touched her. Hah! Take that Melanie Mealy-Mouthed Hamilton! "Try to sound more sophisticated, douchebag."
"Just a little something for our transcripts," Nikhil said happily.
Scarlett chortled. "Four years of bagging major mathematics prizes and you still want more 'little somethings'? Grow up, kid!"
"It never hurts," Nikhil maintained primly. "After all, you're targeting MIT, Scarlett..."
Scarlett giggled. "Don't let my friends know that. They think my sole ambition in life is to be a Victoria's Secret Angel."
Ashley was leaning forwards on his elbows, looking at her. "Then why are they your friends, Scarlett?"
Why indeed.
"Because they're hot," she replied airily, unthinkingly. "Now eat the rest of your pizza like a good little boy or Scarlett O'Hara'll have to spank you. Oh wait - that wouldn't be a punishment would it?"
"No," Ashley replied dryly, imitating Stuart. "It'd be a wet dream come true."
A/N: Review replies:
(): Nigeria acceded to the Mine Ban Treaty on 27 September 2001 and it entered into force on 1 March 2002. It has been more active regionally and internationally on the issue since that time. Nigeria submitted its initial Article 7 report almost two years late, on 22 June 2004. It has not yet adopted any legal national implementation measures. After initially indicating it had no antipersonnel mines, even for training purposes, Nigeria declared a stock of 3,364 mines, all of which will be retained. A massive explosion at an ammunition transit depot in Lagos in January 2002 created a significant UXO problem.
Since I haven't mentioned the date in which this piece is set, I think I'm justified in using the phrase 'Nigerian landmines'. Scarlett never ran circles around men? Fascinating. What about Ashley? Frank? The Tarleton twins, when she was fourteen? Charlie? 'Setting your cap for a man', as Scarlett was wont to do, can be called 'running circles around men'. And how exactly is the chapter 'disturbing'?
