"Well, that escalated quickly."

     After the quarrel, both Isla and Elias had been dragged out to the hallway with the headmaster and Madame in tow. It was impossible to ignore the lingering stares that followed their every move—most of them had been on Elias, but she was surprised to see that some eyes were on her, too. Probably wondering which poor lassie got caught with Elias Sabatier this time.

     So now here she was, in the headmaster's office, the very place she'd promised herself she would never be again.

     Isla couldn't stop glaring at Elias.

    "It wasn't my fault," she refuted. "There was a picture, and people started talking, and I was just defending myself—"

    "By yelling profanity at each other's faces?"

     The headmaster's patronising tone made her shrunk.

    "From Mr. Sabatier, I would have expected it," he said sternly, to which Elias raised his hands up like what the fuck? "But from you, Miss Kingsley, I thought it would be different this time."

     She stiffened. "But I'm—"

    "Maybe I wasn't clear enough."

    "Bretton, this is my fault," Madame stepped forward, her eyebrows furrowed with guilt. "I was the one who assigned them as tutoring partners. Don't blame it on the girl. She's proved herself enough."

     A deadly pause ensued that made Isla's back straight. She kept her head forward, ignoring the way Elias's eyes swivelled back and forth, trying to piece together the conversation.

    "I will give you a predicament," the headmaster finally said. "The tutoring sessions will proceed. But make it two months."

    "What?" Isla and Elias let out.

    "I don't want another fight like this being brought back to my attention," he bellowed. "The reputation of this Academy must be maintained, and as one of the most respected boarding schools in this country, I will not let it be put in the hands of two temperamental teenagers. Two months should be enough for you to resolve it."

    "But—"

    "My decision is final."

     When the headmaster flicked a nonchalant hand towards the door, the two stood up with defeated shoulders. But nothing could be more than the weight Isla felt on hers. Before she passed the door, the headmaster spoke again.

    "You made me a promise, Isla Kingsley," he said as he riffled through papers, not looking at her once. "I expect you to maintain it."

—

     Her next trip to the library was interesting.

     Instead of witnessing the whispers, she realised with a jolt that this time, they were following her as she walked in.

     Was this how it felt being Elias Sabatier? If it was, she didn't fancy being popular at all. She suddenly remembered one of her Biology projects so many years ago, where they had a guinea pig put inside a cage for them to observe its every move. She'd sneak into class after it was over, peaking through the glass at something so strange.

     Now, Isla was the guinea pig.

     She easily found an empty table, because once she neared it, the rest of the students had done a runner. Great.

     Her phone buzzed. Amber.

     [16:04] isla!!! blimey! this is what i get for being late to lunch?!

     [16:04] where are u?? are u alright?

     [16:08] pls don't call him an arsehole again.

     The seat in front of her screeched and bags were dropped.

     Isla shut her phone off.

    "You're late," she started.

     Elias smiled, razor-sharp. "So it seems."

     The headmaster's words rang in her mind. "We need to be cordial."

     He tilted his head. "Hmm, let me think. You came at me like a madman, accused me of somehow ruining your reputation that doesn't quite exist, and you told everyone I had a stick shoved up my arse," he listed all while counting with his fingers. "So the answer is—" that hand turned into a middle finger and an arrogant smile.

     Her vision went red. "May I remind you," she gritted her teeth, "that the first time we met, you assumed I was some underclassman desperate for your attention? Then you assumed again that I was one of your hook-ups! Damn right a stick's shoved up your arse!"

    "You were the sixth girl to come to me that day!"

    "You think that's a good excuse?!"

    "How should I know? None of my answers seem to satisfy you anyway!"

    "SSHHH!"

     The two shrunk underneath the librarian's gaze. "For what it's worth," he hissed, "none of this would've happened if you didn't go ballistic over a stupid rumour that no one gives a toss about."

    "Then why's everyone staring at us?"

     Elias blinked before whipping his head around the room. In half a second, heads ducked under books, someone coughed and conversation ensued in what was a quiet space. Some fled to the exit.

     Isla grinned.

    "Don't get all chuffed. I'm used to the attention, you're not. So who's the one with the disadvantage here?"

    "You're so full of yourself."

    "And you think you're the brightest person in the room."

    "Trust me, being smarter than you isn't a difficult feat."

     Isla Kingsley: 1.

     "Bloody hell, that's it," he lashed out. "I can't be fagged with this. Rule Number One," gesturing nonsensically between them, "tolerance policy during tutoring sessions. No shouting, no name-calling, no insults. Including French ones."

    "And how, pray tell, will you be able to understand them?"

     Elias grinned. "Au contraire, je parle assez bien." (Actually, I speak quite well.)

     Holy shit. 

    "You... you can speak French?" And his accent was flawless.

    "Évidemment." (Clearly.)

    "Et pourquoi tu m'as pas dit avant?" (And why didn't you tell me before?)

    "Parce que." (Just because.)

    "Wait a minute." Isla pointed at his face. "Is this why all the other professors were sacked? Because all this time, you were pretending to be at beginner's level and not understand a word they say?"

    "Voilà, ladies and gents."

     Jesus Christ. "You're mad."

    "I prefer the term mad genius." He leaned back in his seat, watching her with lazy amusement. "Rule Number Two, you're not allowed to laugh at me when I can't understand the material."

     She snorted. "Because God save Elias Sabatier's ego, am I right?"

     A kick under the table.

    "Ow! Did you just—"

    "I need all the concentration I can get, and that means not hassling my ears with that beastly laughter you make." She gaped at him and he continued absentmindedly, "Rule Number Three, it's three days per week, nothing more. I need a breather."

    "Feeling's mutual. Anything else, Your Highness?"

    "After the tutoring, we're done." Elias looked straight at her. "By the time this year ends, we go our separate ways. Like we never even met."

     Isla scoffed. "Couldn't agree more."

    "Perfect."

    "Marvellous."

    "Excellent." When she didn't fire back right away, he added with a smirk, "what, Kingsley? Need a thesaurus?"

     She wanted to be rid of this boy as soon as possible.

     But little did they know that their blood pact would slowly be broken, and little did Isla know that what would become of it would turn out to be exactly the thing she dreaded the most.

     —that is, to not hate Elias Sabatier, not at all.

A/N: I love French, but their grammar, man. Why use only one passé composé when there's four others you can use? Fucking hardcore.

Also sorry for re-uploading, it will stay on the site this time ;)