Update in the same week? Whaaaaaaat? Actually, I have quite a few chapters already written, but I want to have them lined up. I'm having so much fun writing this story, and I hope you guys are enjoying it too (lol, who am I talking to. Nobody reads this).
Warning: Google translate French (ew)
Much Love, Krissy
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8th Grade:
"Can anyone tell me what age you remember your past lives, if you've had them?" our Health teacher asks. My hand shoots up.
"Ms. Reama?" She asks, pointing at me. My hand drops, and I grin at her.
"After you turn eighteen. Specifically, it's the day and time that your last life or lives ended. In rare cases, you remember before you turn eighteen, which usually happens in cases where they died before turning eighteen," say. She smiles at me.
"Very good. Now, who knows the general number of lives a person has lived during this era?" she asks, looking away from me and looking around the class. I know the answer to this one too, but she doesn't usually pick me twice in a row. John looks at me and I mouth three at him. He nods and we both look back at the teacher. There's giggling in the back of the classroom, and I glance toward it over my shoulder. There are two girls there, laughing their asses off.
"Ms. Malore?" Our teacher asks. One of the girls looks up, giving a deer-caught-in-headlights look.
"Um...seven?" she asks, voice two octaves higher than usual. Our teacher clicks her tongue.
"Idiots complets (Complete idiots)," I mutter. John covers a laugh with a fake cough, but I can see him hiding his grin in his hair.
"As I thought, you were not paying attention. Could anyone remind Ms. Malore of the answer?" Mrs. Stewer asks. The room is silent for several moments. I nudge John, and he looks at me. I motion with my head, and he quickly shakes his. I take his hand and give it a squeeze, giving him a reassuring smile. He looks back at the teacher and swallows, before raising his hand. She looks pleasantly surprised by his offering of an answer, and points at him.
"Yes, Mr. Laurens?" she asks. I give his hand another squeeze.
"Usually it's three or four, but the most common is three," he says, voice shaking ever so slightly. Mrs. Stewer grins at him and nods.
"Yes, Mr. Laurens. That is correct. Well done," she says. John brightens and turns to look at me.
"It's just because he got fed the answers, the dumbass," I hear muttered behind me. I turn my head to the side ever so slightly, eyes still on Mrs. Stewer.
"What was that, cul grossier (rude ass)?" I mutter lowly. John gives me that "leave it alone" look. He doesn't want to get in trouble...Again. I know how much the other kids piss him off. It pisses me off too. I won't stand for it.
"What did you say?" The kid - I now recognize him as Isaac - growls. Despite the intelligent sounding name, he's a complete idiot and loves to pick on John.
"I said you were being a cul grossier, you morceau de poubelle (piece of trash)," I growl back. The bell rings, and John and I start gathering our things.
"What did you just call me you immigrant bitch?!" Isaac screams, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking my head down, smacking it on the table. My ears ring and my vision is blurry, but I still see the moment John punches him in the jaw. I can hear screaming, but John is quickly taking up my field of vision, brushing hair out of my face. The ringing in my ears is still there, but I can hear him talking to me.
"Hey, hey. Look at me. Anastasia, look at me," he says, holding my face. I blink sluggishly for a moment, wondering if I have a concussion.
"Take her to the nurse immediately," Mrs. Stewer says. I can see John moving, and then I'm being lifted.
"We'll get everything, just get her taken care of," I hear Lydia say. The ringing is dying down, and my vision straightens out.
"Quel morceau de merde (What a piece of shit)," I mutter. John laughs a little and looks down at me.
"Are you ok?" he asks. I shrug and wave one hand, the other looping around his neck.
"Ehhh, oui, je pense (yes, I think)," I say. He raises an eyebrow at me. Right. I'm speaking French. He only knows what I've taught him.
"Sorry, I switch back to my native tongue when I get disoriented or I'm tired," I say, my accent heavier than usual. He nods and keeps carrying me in silence until we reach the nurse's office.
"Mr. Laurens, back again I see. What is it...Why do you have Ms. Reama in your arms?" Nurse Agatha asks. John sets me in a chair carefully.
"Another student bashed her head into the table," he says. The nurse looks at where he's hiding his arm behind his back.
"And I'm going to guess you punched him, Mr. Laurens?" she asks. He nods slowly. Nurse Agatha sighs and rolls her chair over to me. A light is shined in my eyes, and then she runs her finger back and forth in front of me.
"She has a minor concussion, but should be alright to go back to class. You, on the other hand, need to have your hand looked at," she says, looking back at John. She stands up as he holds out his hand for her to look at. I can see it bruising already. She mutters something before going over to the small fridge where she keeps the ice packs. John sits next to me, thanking her quietly when she hands him an ice pack. He holds it on his hand, and I reach out to put my hand on top of it.
"Merci, mon cher (thank you, my dear) John," I say softly. He smiles at me.
"Tu es la bienvenue, ma bien-aimée (you are welcome, my beloved) Anastasia," he says, stumbling over the words some. I laugh a little, then lean on him. The nurse's room door bursts open, and we both jump.
"Oh my god, Ana are you okay? I can't believe Isaac did that to you!" Lydia cries, dropping mine and John's bags by the door before she's rushing over to me. I raise a hand slightly.
"Calme, calme," I say gently. She takes a deep breath and nods.
"I'm fine, mon amie," I say, offering her a comforting smile. She looks over me for several seconds, as if she thinks I'm lying to her, before smiling at me.
"Okay. I was worried about you," she says, patting my knee. I put a hand on top of hers and smile.
"Do not worry about me, mon amie. I'm tougher than I look," I say, patting her hand. She laughs.
"Oh, believe me, I know," she says. She awkwardly looks at John.
"So, uh...How's your hand?" she asks, pointing at it. He lifts the ice pack and the three of us wince at the purplish knuckles.
"Ow," Lydia mutters. I reach over and hold his hand, running my fingers softly over the cold knuckles. He flinches slightly, and I mutter an apology.
"I should head to class before I'm late. I'll let the teacher know what happened, Ana," Lydia says, standing up. I look at her and nod, smiling at her. She leaves the nurse's office, and I'm left with John.
"You didn't have to punch him you know. You really shouldn't have," I say softly. He sighs.
"Ana, he called you an immigrant b-" he cuts himself off as he glances at the nurse. "And I couldn't just let him slam your head into a table like that without repercussions. No one is going to hurt you if I have anything to say about it." I look up at him and smile a little.
"You're a true gem, John Laurens. Thank you...Thank you for caring about me so much," I say, wrapping my arms around him in a hug. He chuckles and returns the hug, which we only hold for a few seconds.
"Are we ok to go back to class, mademoiselle?" I ask the nurse, standing up to get my bag. She looks up at me, then at John.
"Let me wrap up your knuckles, and I'll give you two a pass and you can head back," she says, rolling her chair over to John. He moves the ice and allows her to wrap up his knuckles while I watch. The bell rings as she finishes, and she rolls back over to her desk and writes on some slips of paper. She hands them to me while John pulls his bag onto his shoulders.
"Merci, madame," I say with a smile. She smiles back at me.
"How do you say you're welcome?" she asks. I laugh.
"De rien," I answer. She chuckles.
"De rien," she says, butchering it. I appreciate the gesture anyway. I lift my hand in a wave and follow John out of the nurse's office. He offers me his arm and I giggle, looping my arm through it as he leads me to my classroom. I hand him one of the slips and take a step toward my classroom.
"Hey, you're forgetting something," he says cheekily, grabbing my arm. I look over my shoulder and roll my eyes at him. Ever since I told him about "la bise" he has demanded that it be our standard greeting and goodbye. I lean toward him and kiss both of his cheeks, then lean away, and he's grinning like he won the lottery. I giggle and shake my head at him.
"Bye John," I say quietly as I open the door. He starts walking down the hall and looks over his shoulder.
"Au revoir, Ana."
(A/N - "La bise" is the term for the French cheek kisses, which are a greeting that sort of replace hugs, according to my two minute Google research)
P.S. In case it wasn't obvious, I'm not a nurse. I don't know how concussions work or anything else. So, yeah. Anyway, hope you enjoyed, kids. Don't own John Laurens, or any other Hamilton characters. Byeeee.