If I am utterly bewitched by you

Chapter 1 || Eleanora Halls

“Wha-? We have a new student…? The teacher never told us anything, though…”

The loud chatter dimmed to a hushed but piercing whisper as a girl with soft brown hair and an impeccable looking uniform entered the classroom, quiet, like an owl gliding through the night.

Miss Berriel beamed at everyone. “We have a new student joining us today! Please, introduce yourself to your peers.”

Our new classmate scanned us warily and blinked a few times, as if to state ‘I’m confident and unwavering’.

Either way, though, I could tell she was quite nervous—by studying what was hidden underneath the poised facade; studying what cracked through her eyes. 

No matter how swiftly or sturdily she held herself, I’ve had the talent of reading people and their body language since intermediate. The girl was difficult to read, but I did catch a flicker of surprise when Mrs Berriel asked her for an introduction.

Obviously, she wasn’t expecting the request, so I half expected her to say—

“…I’m from the Windsor household.” 

Okayyy, I thought, crossing my arms as the teacher frowned and reluctantly let her retire to her seat. I was half right that she would respond that way, but apparently, a first name basis doesn’t exist for her? Does she loathe it or something? 

The mysterious Windsor girl started towards her seat, only a row behind mine. 

I silently observed her as she approached, all high and mighty.

She was pretty in the way a sunset was pretty—with lush, chocolate hair with tints of dark gold highlighting. Her eyes, vibrant but a mature hue of warm amber, reminded me of flecks of fire diminishing on logs by the fireplace. The way she held herself, regal and commanding, while she strode down the rows of tables and chairs, made me think she was from a wealthy family. Because no one ever looks that graceful in our school, do they? 

 The uniform she was wearing was clean too; not a speck or a tear, which further proved my little theory.

I heard more quiet muttering, and let a bit of quiet curiosity flit past my own facade. Because the whispers flying around weren’t about how she looked or what she did—neither were the mutters positive or surprising; the hushed voices all carried clear, judgemental contempt.

No, the murmurs were about what she carried in her arms, snuggled tight against her chest.

It was a simple—quite extraordinary for a high schooler—yet thick looking navy blue book titled ‘An Introduction to Modern Astrophysics’.

Well, that’s not what I thought it would be, I mused, trying to figure her out. Aren’t popular people supposed to hoard lots of makeup, go on lots of shopping sprees, and socialise with everyone? Then again, maybe she already has everything she needs. 

    When she was close enough to my table, I stole a glance at her stoic eyes.

   Which held the intelligence of someone who had read the entirety of that book.

I leant back on my chair and watched as she took a seat a row behind mine.

Perhaps I have found my art model for my project, I thought, bemused. She certainly looks the part.

I knew I certainly could not persuade her to be my model, even if I longed to. Which I don’t, I glowered, a clear scowl imprinted on my face.

Because my project wasn’t about painting random students that I saw walking in; that part was obvious.

    It was about identity. Learning about who we are and what identifies us, etc. Of course the school would think of such a ‘heartwarming’ and ‘touching’ theme for our projects. I’d nearly scoffed at the topic when I first laid eyes upon it, but regardless I still needed to present an awe-striking project; enough to please my parents. 

And also to just feel good about getting that A+.

Just then, the two students behind me started conversing in the background.

Intriguingly, I mentally noted that our new classmate was named Hazel when the student seated beside her—Calla—asked. She was clearly trying to make small talk, and I couldn’t help myself from listening in.

‘You have a pretty name, Hazel. I’m Calla! So, what are your interests and hobbies?’ Calla inquired, though I think she knew the answer already.

    I heard the sound of a bag zipping shut, and then:

‘Thank you. Your name is beautiful as well. I enjoy studying space. It is fascinating to me, how vast it is.”

    It was such a formal response, I’d nearly burst out laughing. 

Unfortunately, they had both noticed that I was sitting oddly still (from trying to hold in my amusement). 

Calla tapped my shoulder lightly. “Eleanora? Are you alright?” she probed, sincere.

“Yes, yes, of course I’m fine,” came out of my lips in a wheeze; “I just remembered something really funny, that’s all. I’m so sorry.”

   Hazel gave me a strange, ‘I-don’t-think-this-is-normal’ sort of look, and I nearly burst out laughing all over again. Why was it so hilarious?

Either way, this classroom could do with a bit of a shake-up in the form of a formal person or two.

 

 I, for one, certainly wouldn’t mind.