Us Against The World

The day that I first met Cyrus was normal. That's all. There weren't any premonition signs, like cats chasing dogs or blood raining from the sky or even just a different cereal for breakfast. It was a Monday, the eight of September if my memory does not deceive, and the weather was of typical British origin; chilly, windy, with a feeble smattering of precipitation, which was a poor excuse for rain, purely made of water, of course. The first day back at school after the summer holidays, and for me, the first day of fifth form. Thankfully, Stephen and Melanie lived close enough to the secondary school, which I'd attended since the start of year seven, for me to continue there and not have the complete chaos of changing schools and settling in to yet another new environment.

Stephen dropped me off before he went to work and completely hammed up the whole 'It's - My - Baby's - First - Day - Of - School' thing. After faking breaking down hysterically on the steering wheel, he looked up and told me solemnly that if any big kids were nasty to me, then he and his mates had always got my back. That was the brilliant thing about Stephen; his sense of humour. It was hard not to find most comments that he made amusing, let alone his laugh in itself. It sounded like a dying walrus, or something along those lines.

So, he finally became as serious as he could actually manage, gave me a hug over the handbrake and began asking the typical questions: "Have you got enough money for lunch?" etc. I think he had been reading some kind of parenting book. So after a medley of "Yes, Stephen." "No, Stephen." and "You're blocking up a road of traffic, Stephen"'s he finally allowed me to escape from his car, whereas I was immediately tackled to the pavement by Ceri, aka. My best friend. When she feels like being it, anyway.

Stephen leant over the passenger seat, shut the still open car door and with a mutter of, "Jeez, kids really do now have new weird and wacky ways to greet each other nowadays." finally drove off and allowed the hundred metre line of vehicles which had built up behind him to continue moving.

With her dyed purple and black coontail, self-razor cut hair, deathly pale face and kohl outlined eyes, Ceri epitomised a surly, gothic, death metal lover. She was a real teddy bear though, deep down. I blame her father, who was the frontman for a well-known Swedish symphonic metal band, for influencing her in such a way.

She grinned down at me then, from where she was straddling my ribcage, her words of hello being "I'm thinking of trying out for the girl's rugby team this year, what do you think?"

I groaned, pushing her off in a half-hearted attempt. "Help me up and I'll tell you once I've counted my broken bones."

Pulling me to my feet, she brushed off the layer of dirt on the back of my regulation school jumper, seized my wrist and dragged me in the direction of the main teaching block, where our form room was located, all the while nattering on about some guy called Greg who she met whilst on holiday in Spain.

Inside, she plonked herself down on of the desks, her rule-breaking, converse clad feet propped up on the desk, and as always, started complaining. "I barely saw you all summer! How was it?"

"Oh... You know, just... Slightly awkward I guess."

She nodded, with a sympathetic look on her face. "Do you think it'll get easier?"

"We're still getting to know each other... I guess so, though."

"Well, you can always come over to mine any time you need, remember that, yeah?"

"Of course. Purely because of the pile of junk food in your kitchen though. No other reason."

"Long live the carb pile!" She laughed as the bell signalling registration rang. Normally, we would have enough time to go and find Emerson, who was our male, straight and completely and utterly camp, other best friend, but that day, I resigned myself to finding him before first period or even at break. There was a shifting as the random people not in our form left, and the others continued with the typical, over excitable Oh-My-God-I-Haven't-Seen-You-In-Months routine.

Mr Eccells entered a few moments later, slamming a pile of books down onto his desk, an already harassed look on his face. Not even bothering to yell at everyone to shut up, as his usual tendency was, he simply sat down and started his ever increasingly-common muttering to himself. We've had Mr Eccells as a tutor for the past two years and by now, he'd given up all hope of ever trying to establish order in the class. Actually, that had happened within the first week.

Shifting through the mass of paperwork which he'd brought in with him, he began to weave through the class, handing out timetables. As soon as we'd both received ours, Ceri grabbed them and began comparing classes, occasionally making an exclamation of "We have Geography together!" or "Oh crap, I have Mrs Harris for English." We were together pretty much in the same classes as last year, but it was the teachers and arrangement that had changed.

She suddenly groaned, mock smacking her head against the desk. "We've got maths next. Double maths first thing on a Monday and double French last on a Friday afternoon. I would happily kill who co-ordinated our timetable. Slowly, maybe with a cheese grater."

"Lovely. At least we're together. I peered over her shoulder. "Who do we have?"

"Mr Swan for French and..." She paused, frowning. "I don't know for maths. I don't recognise the initials. Who's CQU?"

"No idea." I shrugged. "Must be a new teacher."

"I hope that they're better than Grimey. I'll totally fail my GCSE otherwise."

I raised a sceptical eyebrow at her. "Ceri, seriously, no one can be worse than him." I said, referring back to Mr Grimes, our teacher last year, who'd basically given us some work sheets and told us to get on with it and had thankfully been fired last summer. "Even if they learn our names, they'll be better."

"True that." She sighed, twisting a lock of her hair around one her fingers. "Summer really just flew past, didn't it? What happened to all our dreams of long, warm evenings with massive army style water fights?"

I shifted uncomfortably, knowing that such events had been cancelled due to me. Ceri seemed to realise the depth to her remark and her eyes widened slightly as she worriedly bit down on her lower lip. "Sorry, I didn't mean that to sound like a personal dig."

"Don't worry; I didn't think that you did."

There were a few moments of awkward silence before she continued. "There's probably going to be a few more hotish days left. We could still rope Emerson to a tree and shoot him with water pistols, or even paintballs if we're really bored."

I couldn't hold back the smile at the thought. "Little sadistic, don't you think?"

"Nah; it's Emerson. He'll forget about it if we give him food after."

"You're probably right." I laughed. Give Emerson food and he'd do absolutely anything. Damn him for having a extremely fast metabolism. He eats junk food by the bucket load and you can still see every single one of his ribs. He even drinks high-calorie protein shakes to maintain weight.

We just talked about random, pointless things until the bell rang, signalling first period. It was as if we'd already been back at school for weeks; the Groundhog Day regime was beginning to set in.

On the way up to the maths department, Emerson appeared, bounding up behind me, all five foot eleven of him, like an oversized puppy. He wrapped his arms around my torso, his chin on my shoulder and grinning in a way which no person should be able to muster on the first day of the school year. But then, that was him all over; completely excitable, extremely affectionate and constantly as happy as Larry.

Strange thing that he and Ceri had been friends since pre-school. They were well and truly polar opposites in personality. Except for the dirty minds.

"Evvaaaa," He trilled into my ear, producing a pitch which no guy of his age should be able to produce. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, what about you?" He began to tread on the back of my shoes on purpose as I attempted to walk up the flight of stairs with him clinging onto my back.

"Perfect. It's a glorious day, so smileeee."

"Emerson, shut up." Ceri glared at him.

He let go of me, forcing a fake look of hurt onto his face. "That's not very nice."

"Neither is life, but I got over that."

"Aw, someone's in a bad mood this morning." He put on a mushy voice, advancing towards her. "I think someone needs some Emerloving."

"You touch me; you die." She muttered before being crushed against the wall by him. Anyone would think that they really hated each other, but it's more the platonic love showing through. As much as they argue, and fight, and bite chunks out of each other, they'd both rip someone to shreds whilst standing up for the other.

"Guys," I laughed at them; tiny Ceri being smothered by his bear hug. "You're blocking the stairwell, and the second bell has already gone."

"Well, get this goon off of me and we can go." He released her, still wearing his almost ever present grin. "To be honest, I couldn't care less if we're late."

"You're too lax, girl." Em pretended to lecture her like a mother hen. "First day back and you've already started your couldn't-care-less attitude."

"Bite me." Was her remark back as we finally reached the corridor. "What class are you in?"

"No idea. Room twenty four I think it was."

Ceri sent be a sideways glance. "Isn't that the same as us?" I nodded in confirmation and she groaned. "How am I in the same maths class as him?"

Me included in that; Em's a straight A student, yet somehow, us two maths fails had ended up in the same set as him. Well, at least we could copy his homework. He gave himself a little smirk. "We can have study sessions together."

Although Ceri's face was bright with enthusiasm, her voice oozed sarcasm. "Or we can have a bleach drinking contest. That sounds just as much fun."

"You know, I worry about you sometimes. Your thoughts are far too dark. God help us all if some secret branch of torturers ever employ you for ideas." He murmured under his breath, but still audible, as we sidled as the late comers into the classroom.

Thankfully, the new teacher hadn't arrived yet, so there would be no detention on the first day back. Ceri held the record for the quickest detention at four hours, eighteen minutes into the new term, and I had a feeling that she was going to try and beat that this year. Anyhow, we dumped our bags on the only three desks near each other, which was regretfully in the second row. We tended to be back window lurkers. With Ceri on my right, a wall on my left and Em behind, it could have worse, I suppose. I just hoped that we wouldn't be forced into any seating plan, as I was in the 'B's for surnames, Ceri in the 'M's and Em in the 'W's. Being so far apart was just annoying, and knowing my crappy luck, I would end up right in front of the teacher's desk.

Before we could actually strike up a decent conversation, I spotted a figure slink into the classroom, head down and trying to be as discrete as possible. I don't think that anybody really registered him at the start; maybe he was passed off as a meek sixth-former. But as this person, or man should I say, placed his polystyrene cup of coffee on the desk alongside a brown leather briefcase type bag, which had originally slung over his shoulder, every head snapped towards him and the flow in idle chatter came to an eerie halt. It was just weird; that's the only word which could describe it. He had spoken no words, created no noise nor made any grand, silencing movement, but not one person dared to utter a single sound.

The man, our new teacher for the year I then realised, had simply captivated one of the most unruly classes of the school into a spellbound rapture with his simple presence. Tall, skinny and pale would be the things which would first spring to mind to the average person, but not to me. What I noted was the way his fingers were nervously gripping ever so slightly at the leather either side of the handle of his case, how his black, thin framed glasses were sellotaped at the right hinge and how his jet black hair was not gelled into a style, but rather, stood up in a windswept look upon its own accord.

A faint smile tweaked at the corner of his pale lips, and his eyes, behind their rectangular lenses, narrowed ever so slightly. His slender left eyebrow arched marginally, as he regarded the speechless class before him. He swallowed, the prominent Adam's apple at his throat bobbing above the crisp white collar of his shirt.

"Well, that was a lot easier than I expected." His voice was surprisingly deep; a low yet soft melody of tenor notes with a slight, gruff husk at the end of certain words. He said it as a mere relaxing comment, but even that could not produce even a mere nervous titter. "Sit down, then." There was a placid movement as people slowly, almost disbelievingly, walked to their desks. He had not been particularly stern, angry or actually even marginally authorities, but yet not even Ceri dared to make a comment. For now, anyway.

Picking up a white board marker from the front desk, he shifted to the board and wrote up his name in a stiff, upright print. 'Dr Quince.'

Ceri's silence was always going to be short lived. "Doctor?"

His arm slowly fell away from the board as he turned round to face her. "Yes. Does that surprise you?"

It wasn't said even remotely in a nasty way, but she was still taken aback. "Well, yes. You don't seem old enough to be a doctor."

Her words held truth; it was obvious that he was young, very at that. He had a chiselled jawline and cheekbones, with a high forehead which led up into the mass of gravity defying hair. He had no particular physical aging, which from his somewhat aloof stance and almost defensive attitude, he was held a mature look. His expression, though, was one of mere curiosity. "A lot of people would agree with you, yes. I started university at sixteen, and received my PhD in mathematics last year."

Started university at sixteen? Seriously? Another, more detectable this time, smile appeared from him this time as Ceri chose not reply. He continued, resting his knuckles down upon his desktop and leaning forward onto them. "As you have probably all just figured out, this is my first year at non supervised teaching. However, that does not mean that I will be going easy on you. Every single one of you in this room has been placed in here for a reason, and that is because you are far more then capable at achieving a high mark in your GCSE exam at the end of this year." He paused for breath, contemplating the wary expressions in front of him. "I understand that some of you experienced problems with your teacher last year, but that is not an excuse for slacking. Yes, I will push you, set harsh deadlines and be a taskmaster, but that is because I am doing what is best for you. You are all intelligent individuals," - Ceri gave a snort at that and he glared at her. "and I expect only the best. Anything else will not be acceptable. Now I have expressed my work ethic, are there any questions?"

An arm shot up beside me and I inwardly groaned. This was not the teacher for her to piss off, but he just looked mildly amused. "Yes?"

"Sir, seriously, there is no way in hell that I am going to do well on my exam."

He just looked thoughtfully at her for a few seconds before replying with a statement, which was not the answer to her question. "Ceri Manson."

"Yes... How...?" She trailed off.

"Oh, Miss Manson, I have been told about you; how you so like to disrupt lessons. I think that we're going to get along marvellously at this rate. Well, I shall make something very obvious now. My class is not like any others; I have no tolerance for any manner of insolence. If you listen to what I say, take it into account and work hard, I will make sure that you achieve a high grade. In fact, I shall say now that in ten and a half months' time, whilst you are in my class, I personally guarantee that you will be looking at a results paper with an A* under Mathematics. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal clear." She muttered, then even quieter, "What a prick."

Slumping back in her chair, she crossly crossed her arms scowling for all she was worth. It looked as if she had finally met her match. "Oh, and I also have no patience for students calling me such things under their breaths. If you wish to say such a thing, then please, do say it to my face."

Two angry red spots appeared on her normally deathly pale cheeks as he looked down to slide out a thick, A4 sized diary planner from his base. He pulled out the office chair from under the desk and sat down upon it, taking a pen from his front jacket pocket. Still not glancing up, he again spoke, having no need to raise his voice. "Okay, starting from the front desk, on my right, please introduce yourself and tell us all an interesting piece of information about you."

There was a low, almost inaudible, collective groan at his words. It was standard new teacher protocol; to think up some completely work irrelevant fact and state it to the other thirty members of the class.

After five years of it, it gets pretty boring. Not really bothering to listen, I pretty much zoned out until it was Ceri's turn. She rocked back on her seat, chin stubbornly stuck out into the air and said "I'm Ceri, and as we have already established, I'm a whiny, insolent little brat."

Although Quince still did not turn his visuals back to the class, he scribbled down a note in his book, a somewhat discrete smirk written across his face.

"Um, I'm Eva and..." I'm really not interesting was the first thought to spring to mind, but then I decided what the hell, and said the first innocent, white lie that came into my head. It wasn't like he would ever find out or anything. "I have a rabbit called Hamish."

I, being somewhat relieved that my turn was over, Emerson had just started to speak, when Quince spoke above him, looking up, and at me for the first time. His gaze was a burning, inquisitive stare, with a quelling intensity. I had no idea how Ceri had held his sight for so long without looking away. What was really striking though, was the colour of his eyes. They weren't blue, nor green, nor grey. There were an icy colour, somewhat translucent and non-existing at all, but yet the power which came from them was strikingly abnormal. "You're not on my register."

"Pardon?" I was a little stumped; at first, I wasn't even sure that he was speaking to me.

"I said that you are not on my register. There is no person upon it named Eva." That was the only word which he had spoken so far with contempt, and it just so happened to be my name.

A little startled at the almost malicious sound in his voice, I uncertainly replied. "Eva Brooks... It definitely says this classroom on my timetable."

He quickly scanned his list again, this time sarcasm being present. "There is an Evangeline Brooks. Would that be you?"

"Yes... But no one has ever called me that."

"Then let me be the first. I said earlier; my class is different to others. In here, people are known by their full names."

Wanting to antagonize him more, Ceri stood up against him on my behalf. "Does that include -"

He cut across her, knowing full well what her question was going to be. "No, that does not include me." He stopped, assessing us all again before him before once more turning his attention back to his book and murmuring "Continue."

I realised then that what I had earlier said to Ceri about anybody was better than Grimey, was not strictly true. No, I had no idea what his teaching was like, but one thing was already certainly obvious; this man was a complete uptight, vexatious, without use of a better word, bastard.

I sat, quietly fuming, whilst the relay task took its task around the class. Once the final person had spoken, Quince merely nodded and stood up, taking a stack of notebooks from a shelf, beginning to hand them round. "Now that such informalities are over, I want you to all complete exercise eighty-four from your textbooks, which I trust you have kept from last year. You should not use any notes which you may have, nor the explanation methods shown at the start of each chapter. This is purely for me to see your ability and what you remember."

He did not even bother to mention that no talking was allowed, but as he reached the back row, one of the less... Working inclined, shall I say, guys groaned. "Sir, do we really have to do this? It's the first day back."

He stopped in his tracks, a look of complete disbelief and uncomprehending bewilderment forming upon his sharp features. "Why does that make it so different to any other day of the year?"

"Well... I don't... The boy faltered slightly. "All our brains have turned to mush. I can barely remember a thing..."

"You didn't answer my question."

"Uh," He awkwardly shifted in his seat. "It's not, I guess."

"You guess? How can you not be sure?" As he received no answer again, Quince began to stalk back to the front of the classroom. "It seems that we are not all on the same level and that some people did not fully understand what I said earlier. This year is not going to be a gentle stroll in the park. No, you do not have to do this exercise. You do not have to do anything that I say. I cannot physically make you sit down and write. To be honest, I couldn't care less if you sat there and did nothing the entire year. The reason why? It's not my life that I'm throwing away by not bothering. I have my qualifications. I have a job, a car and a flat. You failing does not affect me in any way, for I am sure that at least one person in this class will achieve the grade that is ultimately desired, and if that happens, which it will, I will not be fired as any other failures are purely on the shoulders of that student, not me. However, I loathe uncaring attitudes and if I feel that any pupil is portraying such a thing, then they shall be removed from my class." He turned to back all twenty-eight pupils with their pens scratching upon paper, seemingly satisfied that his ideas were now very understood.

The rest of the lesson continued in a similarly disconcerting manner; complete obedience, with him only having to write up a list of instructions upon the board. I can easily say that I have never worked so hard before, let alone on the first period back. When the bell finally rang, Quince called out "Leave your exercise books on the table at the front." as there was a mass scramble to race out of the prison as quickly as possible.

My heart heavily sunk though, as when I had almost reached the door, his unearthly soft voice sort through to me. "Miss Brooks, please stay behind. I'd like a word." Part of me wanted to tell him exactly where he could stick his 'word', but I had to make to with a theatrical eye roll to Ceri before walking over to his desk.

He waited for everyone to file out and for the door to shut until finally turning to me, quietly clearing his throat. "About our little dispute earlier -"

"What about it?" Oh, boy was I going to make sure he knew how I felt about him. Growing up in care had given me one thing; a sharp tongue. It often comes in handy.

I could almost swear that I saw a hint of sadness appear in those oddly coloured eyes though, and he glanced down to where his was nervously playing with his hands in his lap. "I wanted to say that I'm sorry." He looked me back in the face again. "I'm still finding my feet, and I realised after that I was far too harsh with you. I have difficulty in figuring out how to act around different people." He paused, gauging my expression for a few moments before continuing. "I have... Personal reasons for my reaction, and I know that I shouldn't have let them undermine my professionalism. However, I still wish to ask your permission for me to call you by your full first name, and for you to accept my apology."

He just looked so... Lost. Oh no, I wasn't feeling sorry for him, was I?

Then I truly considered what sat in front of me. Yes, he was an up-himself sod, but he was still human. He held pain is his stiff posture, deep sorrow in his eyes and when he gently probed for an answer, there was pleading in his voice. "Will you?"

I nodded, stepping back and towards the door, making it obvious that even though I understood his strange outburst, he was in a wary zone. "It's fine."

"Thank you." He turned back to the work he had laid out upon his desk, and it was only then that I noticed the pale, silvery scar which ran up from underneath his shirt collar to just behind his right ear. It was a wide, jagged and knurled patch of skin; not unlike a birthmark, but very different in other respects. It was old looking, as if it'd been there for a long time, is all I could think as I walked out into the already deserted corridor, other than Ceri and Emerson who were waiting anxiously outside.

"What was that about?"

I shook my head as we began to walk to Chemistry. "Oh, he just wanted to apologize for what happened earlier."

"Again; what a prick."

But, much to my surprise, I didn't agree to what Ceri said. I just couldn't help but wonder what was wrong with this strange man which had waltzed into my mind and was now refusing to leave.