Chapter Three: In All Good Conscience...
Dr. Archie Hopper's office had a warm, trusting feeling to it. He was the school guidance councilor, who usually received frequent visits from a certain trouble-making Killian Jones. Dust floated daintily about the air and comforting beams of sunlight wafted in through the blinds. It lie cramped and cluttered with dilapidated books stacked up high, oddly shaped lamps that were of no need, and all sorts of odds ad ends gave the cozy little office space a nice, lived in feeling.
Then Killian Jones opened the door.
Everything seemed to shrivel up and disintegrate into a pathetic pool of Jell-O at the sight of his scruffy appearance. Cold, cynical vibrations radiated from him like an eclipse, and with broad shoulders and a forceful stride, Killian's presence overpowered all others.
So, it was no surprise that a cloud passed before the sun as Mr. Jones got settled in his place leaning up against the bookcase, an amused smirk playing across the canvas of his rugged features.
Dr. Hopper tried to put on a brave disposition, but the sweat trickling down his temples suggested a poorly sold bluff.
"Why don't you sit down, Killian?" Archie offered coolly.
Killian rolled his eyes, still off balance from his run-in with the new girl, Emma. Or, 'Emma. Emma Swan,' as she had so crudely put it. She was inexplicable. One girl out of the thousand that went to Storybrooke High that he couldn't see straight through. 'Worth further investigation' he jotted down in his little mental black book.
Dr. Hopper cleared his throat. "It has been brought to my attention that teachers haven't seen much of you these past... I don't know... about four years... Oh wait! That's right! That means for as long as you've been a student here, the marijuana in the boys' bathroom and the girls you hang out with in the janitor's closet are tied at number one on your list of priorities instead of lets say... I'm just going to throw something out there... School! Killian, school!" He let the words sink in. "What do you want to do with your life? Because now it seems that the answer to that is a whole lot of nothing, kid. Do you want to be fixing cars or working at a McDonald's for the rest of your life? Do you want to live in your car, barely making enough money to live a bearable life? Huh? Or maybe one day you'd like to make something of yourself. Go off to college. Get a steady job. Support yourself. Have a suitable way of living. Settle down. Have a family of your own."
There was a silence as Dr. Hopper's words cut in deep.
"Your only shot at that good life, kid," he continued, "is if you start now. You're bright. You've got some smarts that you're afraid to use right now, but soon your opportunity is going to pass you by, and you won't be able to harness all the potential you've got in there.
"So," his voice became abruptly official and businesslike, "by order of Principal Gold, I have the task of assigning you a tutor, to graduate and possibly, hopefully, if you work your hardest, get straight B's down the pipe." He stood drawing their meeting to a close. "I'm rooting for you, kid," closed with an assuring nod.
"Wait," Killian said on his way out the door, sensing something was amiss. "Who is my new tutor? Mary something-or-other? Friends with Diner Girl, Red or Ruby or whoever?"
"Not quite," Archie replied apologetically. "She arrived here today actually. Her name is Emma Swan. She's in Mr. Booth's first period, taking AP, like you." How on earth Killian Jones managed to get into AP, one would never know. But he was there, with a D-, not quite failing - yet. "I reached out to him and asked if you had any peers that were doing well. Surprisingly, he pointed me in the direction of Miss Swan. He thought that tutoring you might give her a feel for what's been covered so far during the year." Killian almost couldn't believe his luck. "Mr. Booth thinks very highly of her, Killian," Dr. Hopper sensed Killian's thoughts drifting, "and you and I both know that doesn't happen very often. She's smart and determined," Archie smirked at the last adjective; she'd have to be darn right stubborn - stubborn as Hell to get through to Killian Jones.
"How many schools has she been to?" Killian asked nonchalantly, hoping Dr. Hopper would let something slip about the mysterious girl.
"Five in the last year," he answered mildly, not realizing the confidential information that he'd just let slip.
"When do we start?" Killian asked subtly sarcastic.
Suddenly prompt and official, "At 3:45 afterschool," said Archie, decreeing The Powerful Gold's hold on him and everyone else affiliated with Storybrooke High, excepting Regina's mother of course - the notorious Cora, a hardball businesswoman who dabbled in politics (as dirty as they come) as well.
"Don't be late!" Archie asserted as a smug Killian stepped out the door, a sly smile creeping up on his face. He knew more about Emma Swan than any student there, though be it very little information. And he planned to use that to his advantage.
The final bell rang, announcing the end of school. Emma scurried out of Government, slinging her old, threadbare backpack over her shoulder, and practically sprinting down the hallway past the Valentine's Day Dance posters, into the bustling parking lot where she was sure Penny would be waiting. But she wasn't. Ten minutes ticked by. Then fifteen. Then twenty. A little more than irked, Emma whipped out her rusted dinosaur of a phone, punching in her foster mother's number. She paced back and forth as she waiting for someone to pick up on the other line.
"Emma!" Penny greeted her foster daughter warmly. Emma did not return the favor.
"Where are you?" Emma urged.
"Oh, Sweetie!" she gasped. "I'm so sorry! I completely blanked. Aurora got in a fight... again. She's been having outbursts like these ever since Phil died. I had to meet with all of her teachers, her counselor, the dean, the principal and the head of high school, all of them talking about her unstable mental health-" Emma heard one excuse after another rattling out of Penny's mouth. "I know I'm your mother and -"
This is where Emma exploded. "You are not my mother!" she screamed into the speaker. "You will never be my mother! No one is my mother! And Pete isn't my father and Aurora isn't my sister and neither is Ella! None of you are my family! You forgot about me! Just like everyone else has forgotten! I have no one! And somehow that's always an excuse - "no one wanted her, no one cared, so why should we?" You haven't even had me a full month yet! How can you expect to know what's best for me and what I want if you don't even know me? That's what a mother does! I've never had one but I at least know that much. A mother is someone who loves you no matter what, no matter how many screw-ups you have, but every time I've done something worth regretting, they send me back to an orphanage someplace far away. And I expect that's what you'll do too. You're just like all the others." She panted for a moment, catching her breath, both women silent until Emma added indignantly, "I'll be walking home." And then with the click of a button, her mother was gone from her presence.
Fuming, she leaned against a bike rack in the now vacant parking lot. She was wearing plenty of layers, but she could still see her breath mingling with the cold February air. She didn't want to walk home. It wasn't the walking that presented the problem, though, but rather where she was walking to. Where she lived and the definition of a home are two separate things. A home is where you feel welcome, loved, cared for. The Longworth homestead was a prison with slightly better food. Slightly. The only comfort she had was her foster sister, Aurora. It was nice to have someone more messed up (or at least more openly messed up) than her. Emma didn't know the particulars, but from the snippets of hushed, worried conversations she'd eavesdropped on, Aurora was all rainbows and unicorns like Mary Margaret and Ms. French, but when her boyfriend died a few months back she wigged out and started heading in the direction of train wreck. Aurora's malicious attitude towards all things, be they alive or dead, and the ripped tights and excessive eyeliner were extraordinarily cohesive with her deductions. Emma was almost hoping they could find some common ground and help each other through whatever bullshit, but Aurora shot her down before a whole sentence came out of her mouth. Emma understood. If she'd been approached like that, she would have reacted exactly the same. But nevertheless, Emma wanted to know the whole story from Aurora, because she knew better than anyone that sometimes people don't bother seeking the truth. Sometimes the truth is far worse than any fiction. Tallahassee was a story she'd never told. Emma would rather face ridicule for something that wasn't true than for something that was. That's the thing about loneliness, there's no hand there to pull you away from the edge.
Emma thought about all these things: Aurora, home, family, Florida, and she was getting dangerously close to remembering and not being able to stop. But there was a light at the end of the dark tunnel that came in the form of Ms. French's melodious voice over the intercom, literally calling her name. Literally:
"Will Emma Swan please report to the main office. I repeat will Miss Emma Swan please report the main office. Thank you."
Emma, in no real hurry, trudged up the front steps and meandered down the hall to where Ms. French was sitting just as before, another radiant smile on her face.
"Hello Emma!" Ms. French exclaimed joyously. Emma didn't know it wasn't possible for someone to have that much enthusiasm.
"Hi," Emma responded flatly.
"Well, down to business, shall we," Ms. French replied, feathers slightly ruffled. "First and foremost, Mr. Booth sends his deepest apologies for not including you in his decision, and sincerely hopes that he isn't wrong about assigning you this task."
"What are you talking about?" Emma asked, trying to mask her terror.
"Dr. Hopper asked him to recommend a tutor, and he recommended you. That's great flattery coming from Mr. Booth. Anyway, there's a student in AP English who is close to failing, and with graduation only in a couple of months..." Ms. French trailed off, leaving Emma to insinuate the rest.
"I'll do it," she consented. Tutoring meant something to occupy her time, instead of walking down memory lane. Plus, she couldn't let Mr. Booth down, the first person to believe in her. She would do it. No matter what.
Emma found her way to the library, Ms. French timidly directing her to an out-of-the-way table in the farthest back reaches of the building where none other than the nefarious Killian Jones was sitting, a smug smirk across his face as he saw her reaction.
"Why, I do believe we've met before, Miss Swan." Her mouth dropped open. "You're late."