As the teacher looked out at the class with steely eyes, she stood silently, features smoothed over, face as unreadable as an ancient tombstone, etchings barely visible after being eroded by centuries of wind and rain.

Then, scurrying into the classroom, came Adelaide Aveline.

Every class has one pupil who does not participate much. If you were to ask any educated person, no matter where they lived or which school they frequented, they would be able to name one for you. Likely, you are able to name one yourself. Think of the girl who always hid behind her hair in your English class or the quiet boy you sat next to in History of Art. The one who never raised their hand to speak if they could help it, and if - horror - they were asked a question, they would answer with a simple “yes” or “no”.

Adelaide Aveline was not one of those girls.

However, her teacher - along with every student and faculty member alike - would tell you with immediate certainty that they wished she were. Adelaide was a different type of pupil altogether. She was the sort who thought being rude was the same thing as being funny and being loud was just as good as being smart. She likely would have been the last one picked on the dodgeball team, if it weren’t for the fact that she always somehow managed to weasel her way into being team captain.

For you to paint an accurate picture of her in your head, you must first imagine a worm writhing in the soil, pushing its round pink head and fat body up through the earth only to be snatched up by a brown little bird. Adelaide was that sparrow, with mousy brown hair and a tweetery voice, always flitting around and picking up the scraps of her classmates’ enjoyment.

As you may now have guessed, Adelaide is not the introvert in this story.

“Sorry I’m late, miss!” She shrilled nasally. She scuttled to the back of the classroom like a scorpion emerging from beneath a rock, plonking down in her chair beside Gwen. “You look tired, Gwen - are you sick or something? Why so quiet?”

Just as Gwen opened her mouth to reply, her attention was caught by the creaking of the old mahogany door as it opened to reveal an unfamiliar man. He wasn’t old, Gwen mused – no older than her father was – but his somewhat thinning hair was speckled with grey and he had a weathered look about him. He gave the impression of being rather well-versed in the ways of the world, as if he had been on his fair share of adventures and wanted nothing more to do with them. Gwen couldn’t decide if this would turn out to be a good or a bad thing.

“Ah, good,” the teacher cleared her throat, hastily making her way towards the back of the room. “Gwen, pet, would you mind showing this gentleman to the school office?”

Gwen hesitated, unsure, as the teacher watched her expectantly. She was incredibly aware of all the eyes on her, including those of the man hovering awkwardly at the door, and nodded silently before getting up, tucking her chair in and, with her eyes on the floor, walked out of the class.