A/N: Sorry it's been so long since I last updated! I took a trip to the great South! Too bad they had record low temperatures and I brought t-shirts and shorts... but anyway. Here is the next chapter! They're going to school! Don't you just love going to school? *cue moans and groans* But back to the fun stuff. Reading fan fiction!
"Brilliant," I mutter, staring blankly at my schedule. The dress-code approved skirt I'm wearing itches at my knees, and the distinct urge to find some jeans instead is almost overpowering. I'd told Ma that it was fine, I could really just wear some of Jaspert's old dress slacks, but she insisted. She may not have minded sewing me a few skirts, but I certainly did.
The bleached white paper wrinkles in the grip of my fist. First day at a new school. Nothing to worry about.
It's not like I haven't done this before.
I force my fingers to relax so I can get a good look at the small black font. The first few lines are of no importance to me: name, address, grade level, GPA transfer, et cetera. Below that, my schedule. Now all I have to do is figure out where the Contemporary Issues classroom is in the next three minutes, and I'll be just fine.
I've just left the main office, and that's at the front of campus. If I remember correctly from the small map in the information packet the came in the mail, the history and social studies building is just across the courtyard and to the left. There's no time to linger here, so I take a fast pace out the doors, pulling my coat around my body tightly and cursing my thin, knee-high socks for not being pants.
"Hey, Sharp!" calls a familiar voice, and as I turn around I realize that it's Newkirk. He looks right toasty in thick khakis and a leather jacket. As he pulls up next to me, he matches my pace. It looks as though he's been running. "Sorry, I couldn't remember your first name just now. Where're you headed?" he asks.
"Uh–Contemporary Issues. Professor Wallace," I say after double-checking.
Newkirk frowns. "Then you are going in completely the wrong direction. History building's that way." He points to my left at a stout brick building. "It's a bugger that they're not labelled, but once you get used to it you'll never get lost again."
I change directions quickly. "But until then I'll be wandering around like a chicken with its head cut off," I mutter, my breath fogging in the cold air.
The boy chuckles. "An amusing mental picture." I scowl and punch him in the arm lightly, and then smile. "Come on, Sharp, you punch like a girl."
"Surprising, that," I muse drily. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"
"Of course, but I'm notorious for being late to class. You, on the other hand, should get going. My bet is that you've got ten seconds to get to your classroom before the bell rings. Off with you now!" Newkirk laughs, and then breaks into a sprint for somewhere else. I would figure out where he's going, but I'm running the last six feet to the door. I only hope there aren't many different rooms in this building.
An obnoxious buzzing noise that I assume is the bell goes off just as I find the door with the name "Wallace" printed on it. I curse under my breath and pull on the knob.
"Mr. Fitzroy, if that's you, you can just take yourself to the office immediately. That's five tardies in three weeks." The wiry man behind a desk, staring at a computer screen, looks up at me. "Oh, my apologies. And you are?"
I blink. "Deryn. Deryn Sharp." I dry my sweaty palms on my skirt and add quickly, "I'm a new student."
The professor's eyes narrow. "Indeed. Please take a seat. Your schedule does say Contemporary Issues, yes?" I breath a mental sigh of relief. At least I didn't show up at the wrong class. "Oh, and Miss Sharp? Try not to make tardiness a habit, if you please."
I nod hurriedly, though only to show him I was listening. I don't care if his first impression of me was of showing up late to class.
The only empty seats are in the back corner, which I don't mind. I take my seat quietly and pull out a notebook and pencil. After a few minutes I digress to doodling birds and trees on the paper. It's really more of a current events class than anything, and only interesting to pay half-attention to.
"And does anyone know what happened in Austria last Friday?" There is a short pause, and I continue to sketch. The professor sighs. "No one? Then I shall inform you. Friday night at approximately eleven forty-five, the Archduke and his wife were murdered in their sleep. Poison. Following that, riots broke out in all the major cities of the country, and now it is in an official state of civil war. The rebels call themselves The Federation for Equality. They leaked a statement to the press on Saturday on their purpose and goals, which we will be reading as soon as I can get the full document. As for the situation in Austria, thus far we have no idea how many people are injured, captured, or dead."
His tone, originally disappointed, is now laced with sadness.
A boy sitting in the third row pipes up. "What about the prince? My sister is obsessed with him. She literally keeps every issue of Teen Magazine with him in it."
The professor sighs again, now back to the dispirited old man he was when I walked in the door. "He fled the country."
"Should go to the U.S." another kid muses. "Seems like a good idea. Have you seen all the girls over there? Blisters, what I wouldn't give for a trip over there."
My pencil halts in it's path across my notebook. I can hardly believe what I'm hearing. We've just been told that war has broken out in a country not so far away and that people have died, and all they care about is American girls? My grip on my pencil tightens, and I hear it crack before I force myself to calm down.
"No, I heard he snuck across the border to Switzerland. From there, either he went to France–or came here!" The boy snickers. "You think your sister has a crush on the guy, Matt? You should see mine. Alice practically faints whenever she hears the lad's name. All she could talk about last month was the article about him in that stupid magazine!"
I swallow hard and try to tune them out. They're not worth my time. Instead, I retreat into my thoughts. In all honesty, I've never really liked Teen Mag. I prefer Science News or National Geographic, regardless of how lame that sounds. My singular friend at my last school, Hannah, loved it, and forced me to read one Q&A with the guy. He sounded like a pompous jerk, boasting about his wealth. Either the prince or the writer of the article went on at length about how he was single for now, but really wished the right girl would come into his life–someone pretty girl who didn't have a brain and would follow him around like a puppy dog, no doubt.
Not that I don't feel for the guy–trust me, I know what it's like to lose a parent, and I can only imagine how terrible two of them would be. I just think that maybe he needed something to pull him back down to earth, though something less traumatic would be much preferable.
Blisters. So long as he isn't my problem.
After forty-seven minutes of Contemporary Issues, the bell rings again, and I'm pushed out into the short hallway. I pull out my schedule, now wrinkled from being in the pocket of my jacket.
"Hey there," says the boy that was sitting in the third row. It takes me a moment to realize he's talking to me. "So you're new, huh? Mind if I walk you to class?"
I blink at him. He's got pale skin, jet black hair, and sharp eyes the color of ice–although I've been thinking about green eyes since Friday, they are captivating–, and I can't help but notice that his muscles are well defined even under the navy blazer. I have to tear my eyes away and look at the next class on the paper. "Assuming you know where the fencing gym is, then I'd love someone to walk with."
The boy grins wide. "You fence? Nice." We slip into an easy pace, walking close to each other.
"Haven't touched a sword in my life, honestly," I admit. "But it seemed like a better option than regular gym class." I shrug, brushing a stray piece of hair behind my ear. As my hand drops back to my side, it brushes his. I can feel blood rushing to my cheek and curse myself for acting like a ninny.
"Good choice," he says as if he didn't notice. "Took gym my first year here, and I almost fell asleep playing volleyball once. The barking thing hit me square in the face and nearly broke my nose. Now I fence, too, but I don't have class until the end of the day. I'm team captain, so I hope to see you on the competition team soon."
I swallow. Of course.
"I'm Matt, by the way. You said you were Deryn, right?" We take a right toward a massive building that I assume holds the two gyms, cardio room, and weight room.
"Yeah."
"Where'd you transfer from?" Matt asks, alternating between glances at me and the path ahead of us. "We don't get many mid-semester new students, especially not girls."
"Glasgow, actually. My mom got a job in London and–uh–couldn't leave me behind. So here I am," I tell him, avoiding his gaze.
"Hmm. Never met a girl from Glasgow before. Tell me, are all of you so good looking?" He asks, waggling his eyebrows.
I stumble, almost falling over in surprise. I don't know when the last time a boy my age called me good looking was. "Ah–I wouldn't know. I didn't really pay attention to them."
The door to the gyms is looming closer. "Wait. Please don't say you have a boyfriend." He turns a pleading face on me. I laugh awkwardly.
"No, I don't."
We're standing at the door now, and his puts a hand on my shoulder to stop me from fleeing inside and looks me straight in the eye. "Then maybe you want to go to a party with me on Friday."
I take a deep breath. "Yeah. I'd like that."
The smile on Matt's lips doubles in size. "Great. I'll meet you in the courtyard at nine."
"See you there."
"Have you ever fenced before?"
"No," I tell the fencing instructor frankly.
"Then why are you in my class?"
"Because it's on my schedule, and I love a new adventure." I cringe a little at my sarcastic tone. It won't do me any good to get on the bad side of a giant with a sword.
He gives me an angry glare, and then turns to the other kid–he's new, too, which doesn't match up with what Matt said at all. The boy looks very familiar, but I can't place the reddish hair and green eyes.
"And you?"
"Uh." He swallows. "N–not a day in my life, sir." His accent sounds strange.
The beefy man sighs. "Well, that's brilliant. The two of you can be partners, then. Off with you! Gear's in the bins in the closet. Choose wisely, because they're yours for the rest of the year."
The other new kid and I walk to a faded wooden door that is scored with slash marks. I pull it open and beckon him inside.
"Do I know you? You look barking familiar." I follow him into a large closet after finding the light switch. A dingy light flickers on and leaves shadows in all the corners. There are a multitude of blue cloth bins filled with what I assume is fencing equipment. I shrug and pull a hard mesh mask out of one.
"Not that one," the boy informs me. "See how it is dented on the face? That will ruin your line of vision. Here, have this one." He hands over a mask with a smooth surface that looks almost new. There's a similar one in his other hand.
"Didn't you say you'd never fenced before?"
"I did say that. Yes. Uh–I am Alek. I mean I'm Ryan. My name is Ryan, but I go by Alek," he explains too quickly, eyes darting around. I don't believe him for a second, but I don't care that much, either.
"Whatever. Got any more tips on gear? Please tell me I can get out of this skirt."
Alek looks visibly relieved. "You will have to wear a protective suit, so yes." He goes down the line of bins and chooses a few of everything, handing some to me and keeping the rest. "These ones."
"Thanks. Why aren't there any swords in here?" I ask, searching for them.
"They are called rapiers," Alek says, rather stiffly. "Not swords. And they are on a rack in the instructors office; I saw them when I walked in."
He rubs his palms on his dark khakis, eyebrows furrowed over startling green eyes. Suddenly, I remember where he's from. "I served you coffee!" I exclaim, pointing a finger at him. I can't believe that I hadn't realized it before, because he's been on my mind since–or, at least, until I met Matt. "That's where I know you!"
"No you didn't," he lies.
"Yes I did. You ordered coffee, and I had no idea where it was because Friday was my first day; I didn't even know if we sold it! And I know your name is Alek because I wrote it on your cup."
If anything, he's almost panicky now. "Yes. That was me. But–listen. I–uh–wasn't really supposed to be there, so–"
"Yeah, sure, I get it. It's cool. Come on, we've got to go learn how to sword-fight. Fence, if you prefer," I add with a wink.
We change into the gear in our respective locker rooms–the girls' little more than a repurposed supply closet–and join the rest of the class. The metallic clang of blades colliding fills the gym, but Alek and I aren't given one. The human giant, Mr. Wrathbone, shows us the basics of stance and commands us to stand with perfect form for the rest of class. I spend most of it mumbling about gym being more fun and much less painful. My arm aches after five minutes.
"This isn't bad at all," Alek says, trying to lift my spirits. "Volger once had me stand for three–" He stops speaking abruptly. "Never mind."
I don't reply.
"You're putting too much weight on your front foot," he instructs, almost as though he can't help it. "It needs to be even, with your feet at a right angle."
"You sure do know a lot about this fencing business for someone who hasn't fenced 'a day in his life', you know that?" I accuse, tired of the boy already. Nonetheless, I shift my weight back a squick.
"I lied, alright?" he hisses, tilting his head to see if anyone heard him. "And do not ask why, please. I can not tell you, so trust me when I say that I have my reasons."
I take a deep, steadying breath and focus on the ache in my arm instead of the anger in my chest. "Fine. Can you at least tell me how long you have been fencing?"
His arm droops ever so slightly, and he gives me a look of utter bewilderment. "I began when I was young."
"Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" I say, exasperated. Spending the rest of term as this boy's fencing partner isn't shaping up to be very entertaining. Frustrating, if anything.
I may not have a barking haughty prince to deal with, but this boy may be just as difficult.
A/N: Teehee. You see what I did there. Please review!