Hearts of Ink (a TID fanfiction)

two

Will's eyes had appeared genuinely curious to me and the glance he had flashed me, followed me the next days. I had to admit that I was also curious of him. Moody but nonetheless beloved?

Thankfully I didn't have to introduce myself in every class. A couple of teachers just let it alone and eventually the students would perceive my american accent and realize that I wasn't just an ordinary new student from their country.

That's how it was with English Literature, the subject I had thought to be the most exciting in New York. I had settled in quite good in the last few days, had befriended a couple of students in different classes and was now excited for my first hour of English Literature in London.

I sat in the first row next to Sophie, for it had turned out that she worked just as hard for school as me and she agreed to my mantra 'first row equals more influx of information for the brain equals less work at home'. I was glad that Sophie functioned just like me. In New York there had only been few understanding people.

Sophie and I quietly chatted, just like the rest of the class, when the bell finally rang. Just as the teacher walked to the door, two boys slipped through it and with an apologizing smile they sat down in the second to last row. Typical guys, always in the back.

The boy on the right didn't have a familiar ring at all. He had Asian features and he had a pitchblack hair line and snow-white hair tips. Huh, what a strange choice of colours. He fiercly talked at his friend, probably because he didn't like to come late. Yeah, I could relate to that. For me, punctuality was the be-all and end-all.

I let my eyes swipe to the left and surprisedly registered that Black-White-Hair's friend was none other than William Herondale. Well, somehow I had already expected him to be in this class. Certainly because I had assumed that Sophie had talked the truth when she had said that Will was interested in literature.

Briefly before my look (still lingering on Will) could be classified as stalkerish, the teacher decided that it would be time to finally teach us something. She scribbled her name on the blackboard wherupon I quickly decided to simply call her Mrs. S. I wasn't one to pronounce complicated names. She turned around to face the students and stood confidently in front of us.

"Well. As you may have already guessed we study English Literature in this class. However I have decided to make it a bit more exciting this year. I personally love debates, that's why we will have one about general questions before starting with a new theme." She went to her desk to grab a pack of papers. She handed them to a pupil on the outermost table of the front row and motioned for him to pass them on.

"The rules are simple", she continued. "You have to act civilised and orderly, which means no shouting. If you talk, you have to bring up credible arguments and please have your opinion, don't steal another person's." Mrs. S clapped once. "As you can see, our first topic this year is literature from the late 19th century."

I looked down on the sheet of paper I held in my hands by now, and sure enough it was the first topic listed. Wow, what a coincidence, I thought. But this is certainly gonna be fun. Mrs. S scribbled again on the blackboard, this time in keywords. There were two questions:

Significance books for women 19th century?

Dickens or books with target audience women?

"Well then, my dear pupils, what do you have to say?" The smile on her face was clearly whimsical.
My hand was up in a matter of seconds. Oh yes, for this topic I had a lot to say. With raised eyebrows (she was probably surprised that the new girl was the first one to volunteer an answer) she motioned for me to go ahead.

"Books were very important for the women of the 19th century", I started. "It was a way of finally getting some knowledge as well. Through reading they were able to seal themselves off from men and finally have an opinion of their own. It was an important step for the female emancipation of the era." By now the marginal chitchat of inattentive students had ceased and everyone listened to me. The only noise in class was me, giving my opinion and building a solid argument. The others probably all thought that I was a nerd and backseat driver but that wouldn't stop me. I was keen for this topic.

"Dickens' stories and books are alright I guess and I mean, I enjoyed them when I read them but in comparison to books that were written for women-" A raspy and regrettably appealing voice interrupted me abruptly.

"Okay, I'm really sorry but I have to interrupt you before you say something that is totally not true. I can't just sit there quietly while you degrade Dickens' stories because of some silly books for women." The voice came from further back in the room and I turned around to glower at the person that dared to interrupt me so abruptly.

And yes, it was of course no one else than Will Herondale. How great. He looked good, was interested in the same type of literature but unfortunately he had a totally different opinion. Of course. A fire burned behind his blue eyes and threatened to engulf me.

"Dickens' books are without any doubt so much better", he spoke again. "I don't understand how you can't see that. You've got to be extremly blind." He lifted his right eyebrow, as if he wanted to provoke me farther. The fact that he looked wicked good while doing so, was ignored the moment that I snapped.
Oh, I would show him. I would fight this verbal battle.