Disclaimer: Uh... how about NO?

iii. prodigy

He publicly acknowledges her for the first time when they're receiving their test results for an English essay. Mr Barnes, the brusque middle-aged English teacher, reads out their names and the corresponding grades from a sheet of paper.

(Lockwood just keeps reading his book while his classmates stress over their bad grades.)

(Hey, it's a good book.)

Then, her name is called. Mr Barnes squints at the paper and calls out, "Lucy Carlyle - one hundred percent."

Lockwood pauses, his eyes stopping on the word equilibrium. His gaze darts to the right, vaguely aware of tumultuous whispers springing up. Not possible, he tells himself. Not. Possible.

Now, despite what you might hear, English in twelfth Grade is not by any means an easy subject, especially not at Combe Carey High, where the students are taught by Mr Barnes, who has been nationally recognised for his exceptionally sophisticated course outline and challenging subject material. Only the best excel in his class, and Lockwood, philologist that he is, always has been the very best.

(Nobody else has even gotten close to his one hundred percent average.)

The bottom line being that it is virtually impossible (and probably indelible) for Lucy Carlyle, a new student, unaccustomed to Barnes's courses and teaching requirements, to have gotten one hundred percent. (If her demeanour in class was earnest, anyway. Lockwood swears it borders on apathy.)

The aforementioned teenager seems to enjoy the confusion. Lucy Carlyle leans back in her seat, her typically blank face wearing the beginnings of a smirk. Her lips twitch upwards smugly for a moment before her face goes back to impeccably smooth, like a porcelain doll's. It's like she's teasing them, like she knows what the rest of the class is thinking of her.

It's not hard, to be honest. Everybody is prating on to each other about how the hell did she do that?

(Nobody has an answer.)

Lockwood barely listens when his name is called, or when the inevitable 'one hundred percent' are given. His gaze flickers to Lucy, as she casually looks around, her dark oculars sweeping around the room in a victory lap. She catches his eye and raises a brow daringly.

(A challenge.)

(Lockwood realises he's staring.)

He cedes to her, his cheeks turning vaguely rufescent, and looks back down at his book, but his mind is whirling and he can't read a thing.

He sits in class with her every day, she's in his peripheral vision most of the time, and yet all he's managed to see is… boredom. Lethargy.

Not once was there any indication she was capable of producing any work belletristic enough to please their petty teacher. Lockwood turns a page even though he hasn't read a word, rapt with marvel at how a new student could show up his spotless record.

(There's not little resentment and jealousy attached to the wonder, but to him, it's all the same.)

It's the beginning of his, ah… fascination with the oxymoron that is Lucy Carlyle.

I know, I know. It's not my best writing, but I had NO free time all week. I was literally doing homework from directly after school until past ten in the night. _ I hope this won't have to go on hiatus, it might be a possibility... a very small one, don't worry.

This chapter turned out to be prodigy, because it caught my eye and fit perfectly.

Next chapter: raiment

Review Replies:

skydancerfyremagyk: Thank you! I agree, we need more fiction. :) Sorry about the delay, schoolwork was horrible. *shudders*

Mayflowers123: Thank you, and I'm thinking of adding most grown-ups as teachers etc. And yes, I'm very excited for Book 3!

Anonymous (guest): Wow, I totally missed that! Now plotting to somehow make that fact part of this fanfic... *scratches head* Hope you like this chapter!

Guest (no. 2): Thank you! I hope you enjoy this! But WHY does everybody except me come up with hilarious names for ships? :)

Bonne chance pour l'école et pour vos devoirs!

Review, s'il vous plaît. (OwO)