Summary: Belle and Dean hate each other with an intense passion, but a new project forces them to work together for an entire semester in one room, with no supervision. Will they create chemistry, or brew some newfound hatred for each other?
A/N: The poet 'London Kensworth' is made up and so is his poetry.
Arguments and Assignments
Belle James sighed as she sat down comfortably in the plush chair in the headmaster's office. It was the second week of school, so she had no idea why he had called her down during chemistry. Being a good girl her entire life, Belle never imagined she'd be called down for anything short of academic wise.
Opening the door, in came in Dean Saunders and Belle sighed out loud. She and Dean did not get along. Turning her chocolate eyes to face him, Belle smirked.
"Blow up the lab again?" She asked rudely as Dean took the seat next to her. His green eyes turned to face her and he smirked back at her.
"No, Belle. I didn't go to class today. Didn't you notice I wasn't there? You see, Corinne and I spent time together last night and you know how that usually goes. Oh wait, you don't! You never had a boyfriend. Too frigid I suppose."
"Or perhaps I'm not stupid enough to want to date a moron like you." Belle hissed at Dean as she crossed her legs. "You're not all powerful, you know."
"I am with the girls at this academy. Don't try to deny it, Belle, I know you've thought about me naked." He flashed his charismatic smile at Belle who just rolled her eyes.
"Ahh, is that it? I work so hard to come up with comebacks and you bestow that one on me? Oh Belle, I don't know what to do? Shoot myself, slit my wrists? What do you think?"
"I think you need to shut up."
"Why don't you make that mouth useful?"
"I'll pretend like I didn't hear that, Mr. Saunders," the booming voice said behind the two bickering sixteen year olds. Dean and Belle turned around to see Headmaster Charleston, an old man of 70 with white as snow hair and very kind blue eyes. "I've called you two down here, not for bickering, but a project." His eyes lit up as Dean and Belle turned to face each other in horror.
"I'm sorry sir," Belle began to speak up. "But do you want Dean to die? Because that is going to happen if you ever pair me up with that bumbling baboon!"
"A bumbling baboon? Are you just obsessed with yourself? The word 'B' makes me think of two things: You, Belle, and the word bitc…"
"Let me intervene, Mr. Saunders. I don't need student guts all over my office. Just got the carpets cleaned, you see…" Headmaster Charleston said as he walked behind his desk and took a seat in his oversized, velvet chair.
"Well, what is this project, sir?" Belle asked as she shifted further from Dean and put all her focus on the old man in front of her.
"I'm happy you asked, Ms. James. Recently, the headmistress and I were going through some of the locked rooms in the school and we found these interesting notebooks that we thought you two might find of interest." He watched as Belle's eyes lit up, as Dean sat further into his chair and rolled his eyes.
"What are they about, sir?" Belle asked enthusiastically as she leaned forward in her chair, getting closer to the desk in front of her.
"Well, Ms. James, it is about a lost poet named London Kensworth. He used to attend this academy some 100 years ago, and well, he had quite a similar situation that you and Mr. Saunders are experiencing right now."
"Does this situation include intense hatred for a girl who is too frigid for her own good and will probably die a virginal spinster?" Dean said snootily as he smirked at his own joke.
"Or does this situation include a boy who thinks he's a man, but runs away at any sort of responsibility which shows how incredibly pathetic he is and how he'll die alone?" Belle retorted as she turned to face Dean, who seemed to care less about what she thought or said about him.
"Mr. Saunders, Ms. James, this incessant arguing need to stop. About London Kensworth now; he used to be just like you. He and a girl named Abigail Spencer used to attend here and they hated each other, more so than you two do now. Well, the headmaster back then, had them stay in the very same room that you two will be working in. Abigail and London got to know each other, which created many of his poems. She became the greatest love of his life." Dean laughed.
"I'm sorry headmaster, but I highly doubt that Belle will become the greatest love of my life. I don't think she and I will be able to sit in the same room by the time this experiment is over."
"We're sitting in the same room right now, you moron." Belle murmured annoyed as she crossed her arms over her chest.
"And are you enjoying yourself?" Dean asked her as he turned his full attention onto Belle.
"No, but that's beyond the point!"
"Are you children done yet?" the headmaster said irritated as Belle and Dean noticed he was tapping his fingers on the desk. They both nodded and allowed the headmaster to continue. "I want these poems taken out of the many notebooks that are left in there, copied over perfectly, and then put into piles of their genres: romance, angst and tragedy."
"How many poems are there, sir?" Dean asked as his eyes widened.
"Roughly about 300."
"300?!" Belle said alarmed as she looked to Dean who had the same face on that she had. "Sir, do you think it's wise to bestow such an honor on Dean? I mean he might mess it up." Dean scowled at Belle.
"I have the utmost confidence in Mr. Saunders and yourself, Ms. James. Maybe you should have more faith."
"No, I doubt that's possible, sir," Dean said as he face Belle completely. "That means she had to let something happen and not have total control over it." He spoke these words coldly and the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.
Belle bit into her cheek, to hold back her snap and kept her eye on the headmaster. Seeing she was to say nothing, the headmaster continued.
"As I was saying, these poems need to be completed by the end of the semester and you will meet every week on Wednesday night from 7 pm to 10:30."
"It doesn't seem so hard," Belle said out loud as she stood up from her chair and smoothed her skirt. Dean watched her do this as he stood up from his chair as well.
"Why did you choose us?" he asked the headmaster. "There are plenty of students that don't get along. Why aren't they doing this as well?"
"Because none of those other students that you speak of could go the distance, like you and Ms. James could."
"What do you mean by that, sir?" Belle asked.
"It's up for interpretation, isn't it?" He ushered the two students out of his office and slammed the door hard behind them. Belle scrunched up her nose in disgust.
"So tomorrow, we have to meet in this secret room that he gave us no directions to and spend the entire night in each other's presence without killing one another?"
"So it seems. Nothing gets past you, does it Belle?" He smirked.
"Fuck you." Belle said viciously to Dean as she began to walk away.
"You see, I never have to do any self love, like you might Belle. I have people that want me. they sure do love me, lots and lots of times as well!"
Turning around and walking quickly up to him. She slapped him across the face, but Dean didn't even move from the impact.
"You're so foul, and loathsome!" Belle growled.
"Is that the best you can do?" Dean played on as he placed a hand on her waist. "It turns me on when you play rough."
"Oh!" Belle snarled and turned on her heels and walked quickly away from Dean, not wanting him to see the blush filling her face.
"That girl fascinates me." Dean whispered under his breath and turned on his heels as well, walking back to his dorm in a different direction. She always did fascinate him, you see.
But he liked to piss her off more.