Target To Save

Chapter 1 Part 3

The bell rang, and Ivalin's fingers twitched. Her head pounded. Every chair that scraped the tile floor, every scream a student made, the scraping of the pencils on paper, the flipping of pages pounded in Ivalin's head. There was nothing to focus on, no enemy to wait for, no target to kill.

Her enhanced hearing worked against her, and any remaining pride she had when she made it to Dame Blanche and when she received that first basic mercy shattered. It hurt, her skin burned for the itchy clothy, the lights were bright, and they seemed to flicker but no one had noticed.

A kid, the one with the large glasses and bigger sweater tucked himself into the desk next to Ivalin. He glanced at her then slouched even farther into the chair. Ivalin ducked her head and dug into her backpack, cursing her lack of basic social skills. She was made to infiltrate high-class parties, not highschool.

Scottsburrow finally sauntered in, his eyes shifted from person to person, never landing at anyone, his smile was glossy, and his nose was stuck in the air. He winked at Ivalin, flashing a grin at the boy next to her and slid into a seat, his feet blocking the row. The sweater boy bit his lip, quickly tapping the table quietly twice, and Scottsburrow relaxed into the chair. The bell rang once again, and Ivalin rubbed her head, trying to get rid of the splitting headache that kept on creeping up. A teacher walked in, her gray hair in a tight bun, her heels barely touching the floor.

"Good Morning Students. For our new student, Ms. Vills, my name is Ms. Inglertin. Welcome to my class." Her eyes swept over the students and landed on Ivalin who stared at the teacher, not bothering to respond. Ms. Inglertin curtly nodded , "Now then, take out your homework."

The room filled with the rustling of paper as students brought out their homework, and passed them to the front, their whispers discarded in the air. Ivalin sat still.

Grabbing the papers, Ms. Inglertin organized them and set them on her desk. "Now then, on today's agenda we'll be talking about persuasion. Every essay you write is a point of persuasion. Every time you talk that's a moment of convincing someone of your ideals. Every book you read is trying to convince you of their own ideas."

Ms. Inglertin started to write something on the board in neat cursive. "There will be an essay on persuasion due on Thursday. There will be class time to work on it."

The class was not enthusiastic about the work: their heads drooped, they closed their eyes, they placed their heads on their hands. Annoyance buzzed around Ivalin, but she straightened her back. Her eyes gleamed, her smile had too many teeth in it. The theme of the essay buzzed in her mind, and her mind quickly slipped into work mode. Her movements became silent, and she explored her ideas on the paper.

"You will have thirty minutes to start brain-storming. Starting now." Ms. Inglertin glared at the students for a second, and then glided over to Ivalin, her lips pressed tightly together. "Ms. Vills, you haven't read the book, but I expect you to write a readable paper. Am I clear?"

"Yes ma'am." Ivalin avoided her gaze, and stared at a crack in the desk.

"People in high places pushed to get you in this class. I have high hopes. Don't disappoint me." She walked away, her heels clicking against the tile.

Ivalin bit her lip and nodded. Her pencil tapped the paper, and the thesis, how long it would take for her to fail, and the consequences and effect of her crash" crossed through her mind. She pushed it away, her pulse racing, and she readied herself for the kill. She sketched an outline, drafting up her perfect paper. The pencil engraving the paper, tattooing her ideas onto the pages. There was no part of her that couldn't finish this.

A perfectly written essay about the art of persuasion would be perfectly placed on Ms. Inglertin's tidy desk on Thursday.

Ms. Inglertin sat at her desk, only looking up to glare at the students who dared to break the silence to speak to their friends. Ivalin watched her for a second before ducking her head and starting to write.