By Quill or By Quarrel

Nick and Blake walked into Ms. Keane’s class. It was Wednesday, first period — English and Literature. Blake sat in his usual seat, and Nick in his, two rows over by the windows.

The morning sun streamed in, too bright for how tired Blake felt. He dropped his bag with a thud and slouched into his chair. Nick already had that look — like he knew something Blake didn’t.

As the bell rang, Ms. Keane stepped forward and tapped the whiteboard twice with a dry-erase marker. “Eyes up.”

The room quieted.

She turned and, with quick, aggressive strokes, wrote in all caps: GROUP PROJECT.

Blake let out a soft groan and sank lower in his seat.

He could already feel Nick smirking two rows over — because of course Blake was going to get stuck with someone uptight, or worse… someone who actually cared.

Ms. Keane capped the marker with a sharp click, like she was locking a vault. “This unit, you’ll be working in pairs. Literature isn’t just about analysis — it’s about interpretation, discussion, argument. And sometimes,” she added, eyes sweeping across the room, “the best arguments happen when you don’t get to choose your sidekick.”

Someone in the back muttered, “Here we go.”

Ms. Keane smirked. “I’ve already made the groups. Randomly — mostly.”

That “mostly” had an edge. Blake straightened in his seat, uneasy.

She began calling names off her clipboard.

“Jordan and Sasha. Nathan and Kelsey. Ethan and Levi.”

Levi fist-bumped Ethan with a loud “Let’s go,” and half the class chuckled.

“Nick and Sadie.”

Nick leaned back with a smug grin. Sadie didn’t look quite as amused.

Blake tapped his pen, counting the names left in his head. A few options remained. None great.

And then—

“Vivienne and Blake.”

His pen stopped mid-tap.

Nick turned with a giant grin and mouthed: good luck.

Across the room, Vivi didn’t react. She was already pulling a fresh sheet of paper from her folder, eyes focused, posture annoyingly perfect.

No groan. No visible disdain. Just… immediate productivity. Somehow that was worse.

Ms. Keane continued down the list like she hadn’t just upended Blake’s morning. He slumped into his seat again.

“Great,” he muttered. “Group projects and judgment.”

Nick chuckled. “You’re so screwed.”

Blake stared at his notebook, then let his eyes drift toward Vivi again. She was already writing something in the margins of her paper. Efficient. Exact. Unbothered.

Yep. Screwed.

“Alright,” Ms. Keane said, clapping her hands once. “Go sit in pairs. Let’s get started.”

Blake gathered his stuff and made the slow walk across the room to sit next to Vivi. She didn’t look up as he slid into the chair beside her.

“Hey,” he offered.

“Hey,” she replied flatly, eyes still on the page.

Ms. Keane continued, “One person from each pair, come to the desk and pick up a sheet. It contains everything you need to know about your topic. And no, you can’t copy. Each pair has a different one.”

Blake turned toward Vivi. “Should I go?”

Vivi sighed, not even looking up. “Who else?”

“Right.” He got up and grabbed their sheet from the front, then returned and placed it on the table between them.

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s take a look.”

That finally got Vivi’s attention. She glanced at the page and pointed. “Put it here. Let’s read.”

Blake slid it toward the middle of their desks. The header read:

Unit Project: Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.

Of course it did.

Blake scanned the instructions while Vivi was already halfway down the page.

“So how do we divide the work?” she asked.

“You already read the whole thing?” he said, surprised.

“I read fast,” she replied. “Lots of practice. Ashbourne masion’s library has a better collection than most colleges.”

“Let me finish reading then—”

“I can summarize,” she interrupted. “We read Romeo and Juliet, analyze it, identify Shakespearean traits, Baroque influences, all that ‘academic rigor’ Ms. Keane loves so much.”

Blake blinked. “What kind of traits?”

“Dramatic irony, elevated language, themes of fate, love, ****, blah blah,” she said, flipping her pen in her fingers. “Then we write about what Shakespeare intended and how the text reflects its time. Yawn.”

“And then?”

Vivi smiled — a dangerous kind of smile. “Then comes the fun part. We write a poem using those same traits. Three pages.”

Blake leaned back in his chair. “Three pages? I can barely write a sonnet without spiraling.”

“Don’t worry,” she said with a shrug. “I’ve done this kind of thing before. Besides, you’re not completely useless.”

“Thanks,” he said dryly. “I’ve had worse group projects. Last year, I was paired with a guy who missed school for a month. I never even saw him. I ended up doing the whole thing.”

“Well,” Vivi said, mock-heroically, “now you have me.”

Blake gave her a look. “And how exactly is that helpful?”

She rolled her eyes and nudged his shoulder. “Oh, fuck off. You may be on track to be valedictorian, but you’ve got competition.”

He smirked. “Still behind me, though.”

She narrowed her eyes, then flicked her pen toward him. “Let’s focus on the actual problem.”

“You?”

“The project,” she snapped, though a tiny grin pulled at her mouth.

“Right, right,” he said, raising his hands in surrender. “The project.”

Vivi looked down at the assignment sheet again. “I’ll draft the outline tonight. We can divide the sections tomorrow.”

“You’re taking the lead?”

“You want to?” she challenged.

Blake hesitated. “Nah. Just making sure you weren’t steamrolling me without asking.”

“Oh, I’ll ask. Once. After that, it’s survival of the most prepared.”

He laughed despite himself. “You know, you’re kinda terrifying.”

“You’ve mentioned.”

They sat in relative silence for a moment, both looking down at the sheet. The classroom buzzed around them — whispers, shuffling papers, a sharp laugh from someone by the windows — but at their desk, things were oddly focused.

Eventually, Blake glanced sideways at her again. “You really like this stuff, huh?”

Vivi didn’t look up. “It’s words. They matter. They build worlds and burn them down. And Shakespeare? He knew that better than anyone.”

Blake blinked. He hadn’t expected that answer. Not from her.

“You ever thought about writing something for real?” he asked.

That gave her pause. “Maybe,” she said quietly. “Someday.”

Blake nodded. “Well… guess we better not screw this one up.”

She looked at him then — really looked — and for a moment, the usual frost in her eyes seemed to thaw. “Guess not.”

The bell rang. Chairs scraped. Students shoved papers into backpacks. Nick gave Blake a thumbs-up as he passed.

Vivi stood and gathered her things. “I’ll email you tonight. Check it.”

“I will,” he said.

She hesitated for just a second before walking away.

Blake watched her go, then looked down at the assignment sheet still on the desk. Group projects sucked.

And this one seems to be worse. Not because he will have to do all the work, but because he won’t.