This isn't one of my favorite chapters, but I wanted/needed to put it in. It takes inspiration from a fic on Archive of Our Own, which is actually what triggered the idea for this entire freaking book. So, yeah. Kinda a filler chapter so I have an even 50 chapters, but anyway.
Warning: Google translate French (ew)
Much Love, Krissy
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Sophomore Year:
Ah yes, Algebra II, my least favorite class. Well, maybe not my least favorite. Physical education is worse. At least this teacher is nice to me. It's not that I'm necessarily bad at the class - I've had an A- all year. For me, it's simply not my strong suit. But, in all fairness, it isn't John's either. My mom usually has to help us after school. My writing scrawls across the pages of my notebook as I copy the notes from the board. John says my writing is very neat and cutesy, but it's just cursive. I sigh softly and stare blankly at the board. I write faster than she can speak. It seems to be an attribute I kept from my past life - or, I'm assuming so. Finally, pages from our textbooks are assigned as homework, and we get started. The room is quiet, other than the scratching of pencils, crinkling of paper, and occasional squeaky chair. I have two pieces of paper out. One for homework, and one for communicating with John, who's sitting next to me. I scribble my note to him and tap my pencil lightly against my desk twice.
I'm so bored
He looks over and reads what I've written, smiling slightly. He writes on his second paper as well.
Maybe do the assignment then
I roll my eyes at him and shoot back my response.
I suck at math and I could finish this in fifteen minutes
He smirks slightly and starts writing again. Before he finishes, I notice whispers from in front of us. I'm about 90% sure they're gossiping about John. They do this a lot, and I know it bothers him. It pisses me off. We can always tell they're talking about him, but can't tell what they're saying. I'm nudged with the eraser of a pencil, and I look back at John. He motions to his paper.
Leave it. They aren't worth it
I purse my lips in a thin line, giving him a concerned look. He just shakes his head. A few minutes later, I see him jump slightly from the corner of my eye. I look over. One of the football douches, Liam, has a very sharp pencil, and he's poking the back of John's neck, which is exposed from him having it in a ponytail. Another football douche, Carter, is smirking as he watches his friend irritate John.
"Could you stop?" John growls quietly. Both other boys chuckle tauntingly.
"What are you going to do about it?" Carter chortles. The two haven't noticed me watching the exchange - I don't think John has either - and continue to poke John with the pencil. When Liam pulls it away from John's neck slightly, I make my move. I snatch the pencil from his hand and snap it in half.
"He asked you to stop," I hiss, sending a death glare at him. Liam gives me a look. No one ever understands why I hang out with John, but still treat me the same...Not counting the Isaac incident in eighth grade. I put the broken pencil on Carter's desk and turn back around, glancing at John. He gives me a grateful half smile, and I return it. Less than five minutes later, John yelps, attracting the attention of the entire room. I look up, seeing John on his feet and glaring down at Liam.
"What the hell?! You pulled my hair! What are we, five?" he cries. Liam just smirks at him, knowing very well that John can't do anything about it without getting in trouble. Not here, at least.
"You don't have any proof," he says smugly. I lay another sharp glare on him, but he seems unphased. Or maybe he just doesn't notice.
"Mr. Laurens, sit down. Mr. Jacobs, don't taunt him," our teacher says firmly. I put a hand on John's arm and shake my head slightly. He sighs and turns back around, sitting in his seat. For the rest of the class, which is only about ten minutes, I glare over my shoulder at Liam, daring him to do something else to John. He doesn't. Finally, the bell rings and we pack up and leave the classroom.
"I've gotta stop at my locker, you wanna come with?" I ask, looping my arm around his. He smiles slightly and nods, so we hurry to the sophomore hallway. I rummage around to get my Chemistry textbook and leave my English and Algebra textbooks in my locker.
"Hey, Laurens!" We both turn at the sound of the voice, and my lips curl in disgust. Here come Liam and Carter. I close my locker and loop my arm through John's again, tugging him in the other direction.
"Let's go before they start something," I mutter. Before we can go far, there's another guy in front of us. Oh, even better, it's Cameron. The guy who has a major crush on me but is a huge dick about it. I stop, my arm tightening around John's.
"Bojor, Anastasia," Cameron says, butchering one of the simplest French words there is. I stand up a little straighter, even though I'm still only as tall as the bottom of his chin.
"Cela semble mauvais (This looks bad)," I mutter, looking around. There are other students in the hall still, but everyone is heading to class. This looks like a fight waiting to happen.
"Just leave us alone, Liam," John snaps, keeping me close to him. He knows he doesn't have to protect me, but I know he likes to. Liam chuckles maliciously.
"Come on, princess," he taunts, "you were just itching to fight me in the classroom. Here I am." John tries to take an aggressive step toward him, but I hold on tight to his arm and hold him back. He looks down at me.
"Non, they are not worth it," I hiss. Liam chuckles again.
"That's right. Your master is calling." And that word...Master. It triggers something inside me, evoking pure, unbridled rage. I jump off John's arm and lung at Liam. Everyone is so shocked that there isn't even an attempt to stop me as I punch him square in the nose. He stumbles backwards, hands over his nose.
"Va te faire foutre! (Fuck you!) Don't you ever say that to him again!" I yell, French accent prominent as I point a finger at him. Carter takes a step toward me, but John pulls me back to him and holds onto me.
"Ms. Reama! Office, now!" a teacher yells. It's Mr. Hilt. Of course it is. The one teacher that doesn't like me. John pulls me in the direction of the office, and the bell rings. I don't care. When we reach an empty hallway, John stops and turns to face me.
"Ana, what the hell was that?" he exclaims. I blink a few times, trying to remember what happened.
"He called me your master and I felt this...sauvage rage," I say. He raises a confused eyebrow, and I clear my throat.
"Wild. Wild rage," I translate. He gives me a concerned look, and I purse my lips.
"Do you think it has something to do with a past life you had? Maybe you were a slave or an abolitionist in a past life?" he asks. I nod slowly. It makes sense, at least to me. Then he's hugging me, and I don't pay attention to my thoughts. I hug back, wincing as I flex my hand. He pulls back and holds out his hand. I hesitantly put the bruising one in his. He looks over my knuckles for a moment, before lifting them up and placing a few soft kisses on them, something I tend to do when he has bruised knuckles.
"Nothing I haven't seen before. I think you'll live," he says, grinning at me. I smile back at him, tilting my head.
"Oh super. J'étais si inquiet (Oh good. I was so worried)," I say sarcastically. He chuckles, then starts pulling me along.
"Come on, rebel. You still have to go to the office," he says. I sigh.
"The things I do for you, John Laurens," I say. He puts an arm around me and smiles.
"And I'm grateful for every single one."
So, yes. The school is full of assholes and Anastasia has officially punched someone. Not that she hasn't done that once or twice before, and she'll definitely do it again, but it will only be mentioned, not a chapter itself. Be excited for the next chapter, kiddies. Maybe. Idk. I had fun writing it, and it's pretty fluffy. We're bringing in another historic person~
Has anyone read this? Please let me know. Literally, please, someone comment literally anything so that I know writing this is worth it. Yeah. Do that. Byeeee.