This Soil ⌖ n.h. [slow updates]

chapter three

"Hello, Miss Saxton," a nearly teasing voice uttered from behind her as Helen made her way into the school, her books tucked loosely into her arms and held in front of her chest. She turned to see Malcolm, who was taking long, easy strides to catch up to her. Helen rolled her eyes.

"Hello, Mr. Brady," she replied as she fixed her gaze back in front of her, making little effort to hide the sound of disinterest in her voice.

"Lovely day we're having, is it not?" he offered, now beside her, matching her pace. He held his hands behind his back and nodded to a passerby whom had first acknowledged him.

Helen raised an eyebrow, glancing over to study him. "You intend to talk of the weather?" she asked incredulously.

Malcolm chuckled. "What is it you'd like to talk about, then?"

"Oh, nothing in particular," Helen provided. "I had just assumed you would be less dry and uncreative than the majority of people I know we've both encountered." Again, she fastened her gaze away from his. "My mistake."

Malcolm laughed, as he appeared to be fond of doing. "Why do you so seem to despise me?" he asked with genuine curiosity.

Helen whirled to face him completely, her grip on the books held in front of her tightening in her annoyance. He stopped as well, his posture relaxed and leaned to one side more than the other, and he wore an easy grin on his face. This simply fueled her fire.

"Because you are middling. Typical. Exactly what is expected," she answered curtly. "And I grow so tired of the mediocre." She swiveled on her heel and began to walk away, but his voice stopped her.

"If I were you, I wouldn't be so quick to judge." She looked back at Malcolm, and he continued. "Like it or not, I am one of the few people who understands your plight: being surrounded by cheap, oblivious people." He took the few steps required to meet her once more, and looked her in the eye. "Someday you're going to do something quite large and unapologetic, Miss Saxton. Whether it be writing a novel, leading a movement, or something else. And when you do, I would very much like to be there to see it."

Helen eyed Malcolm skeptically, retorting sardonically, "Are you attempting to offer me romance, Mr. Brady?"

Malcolm laughed, crossing his arms. "To a woman like you? I would never dream of it. I'm offering you friendship." He started to head his separate way, but stopped and turned to add, "A man who possessed the power to sweep you off your feet, I wouldn't want to encounter even on a day like today." As he sauntered away, he called back, "Enjoy the weather, Miss Saxton."

Helen shook her head as she headed to her first course for the day- a mandatory patriotism class started since the war had begun. As she continued on her way, she thought of many things, one of which was the conundrum that was Malcolm Brady, and the possibility that she had been wrong.

Down a couple of hallways and through a door, as soon as Helen slid into her seat, her current neighbor jabbed her in the ribs quite forcefully. Seeing as Mae, Helen's closest friend since childhood was a thin, bony girl, this hurt more than Helen would like to admit, and scowled at her cohort.

"Why do you injure me?" Helen hissed, her eyes trained on the front of the classroom, obediently awaiting the entrance of the teacher. Though she found many of the people participating drab, and the work mundane and unchallenging or pointless, when being completely honest with herself, Helen somewhat enjoyed school, and therefore had no interest in invoking the wrath of an instructor.

Low under her breath, Mae answered, "Kenneth O'Connor threw stones at my window last night."

Momentarily losing her dedication to staying out of trouble, Helen jerked to look at her friend. "Pardon?" she replied in shock.