Macy sat in the library in front of a worn anthology of short stories, paging through the old pages in search of something -- anything -- that piqued her interest. Dr. Kerrigan had tasked the class with picking out a short story from the collection and writing a brief paper on why it was important, and why, to each student, why they thought it was an important work of literature.

Macy's literature experience mostly focused on novels, and she wasn't nearly as well versed in short stories, as ashamed as she was to admit. She knew most of her classmates probably already had their assignments complete, and here she was, unable to pick a topic.

She sighed and slammed the book shut, before turning to the table of contents, scanning for anything that looked remotely familiar. Surely they'd covered some short stories in her high school English classes. If only she could remember any of them...

Her eyes landed on a familiar title: "The Yellow Wallpaper." Yes, this she remembered. Written by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, Macy recalled that it was about a woman, suffering from postpartum depression, who was slowly going crazy within her bedroom, where her ignorant husband had locked her in the name of rest and relaxation.

Macy smiled and jotted the title down in her notebook, before flipping to the page that the story started. She recalled enough of it from high school, and it was a great example of feminist literature. It was perfect.

Just as Macy was about to start jotting down notes of things she remembered from the story, the chair across from her spot at the table was pulled out, and someone sat down.

Her eyes drifted up in curiosity, before furrowing together in annoyance as she noticed who it was.

"Excuse me?"

Stephen Strange stared back at her, an amused grin on his face. "You're excused?"

"I'm sitting here. This is my table."

He chuckled in such a way that made Macy want to smack him across the face with the book of short stories. "No, O'Hara, I do believe this table belongs to the good university of Columbia."

"You're distracting me from my homework," Macy hissed.

"What are you working on?" Stephen replied, pulling a biology textbook and a spiral notebook from his backpack. "Our assignment for Kerrigan?"

"That's Doctor Kerrigan, and yes."

He rolled his eyes and let out a snort before flipping open his own book. They worked in a tense silence for a while, the only sound an occasional angry sigh from Macy.

Eventually, Strange's eyes drifted to Macy's open book page. "'The Yellow Wallpaper.' How original."

Macy's brown eyes narrowed, and her lips pressed into a thin line as she glared at him. "Charlotte Perkins Gilman is a prominent nineteenth-century feminist."

Strange smirked and tapped his pencil on the table. "Yeah, who was also racist, but I'll bet you didn't know that."

Macy's cheeks turned red and she slammed the book shut. "What are you talking about?"

"She was a fierce proponent of eugenics and extremely racist, even for her time in history. Oh, but you prep school feminists don't really think about those kinds of things, do you?"

Macy did think about those kinds of things, or at least she tried to. She was embarrassed to admit that she had no idea the author of her chosen short story was racist.

She guessed that wasn't something her high school English teacher thought was important to mention.

"Well, I haven't decided on anything yet." She fixed him with a glare. "What story are you doing? Let me guess ..... Hemingway? I'm sure you're a big fan of his whiskey-literature stuff."

Stephen's face twinged into a smirk as he pulled open his backpack, sliding his own copy of the short story book over to Macy. There were a bunch of sticky tabs throughout the book, indicating that he'd actually read the book, and seemingly had marked certain passages as important.

"Page ninety-seven. The green tab. That's what I've chosen."

She opened the book, paging to ninety-seven, and glanced at the title on the page. "'The Huntsman.' Chekhov." She slammed the book and slid it back to him with such force that it almost fell off the table. He swiftly caught it before it could. "You know, that actually makes sense."

"Anton Chekhov is known as one of the greatest short story writers of all time. Are you too good for him, O'Hara?"

Macy rolled her eyes and let out a huff. "What are you even doing here, Strange?"

"What do you mean? It's a library. I'm studying."

"No, what are you doing here, Strange? At my table?"

Macy thought back to her conversation with Tina.

"I don't think he really hates you. He just craves your attention."

"Is it just that you're obsessed with me or something?" Macy asked, narrowing her gaze on him.

Stephen let out an amused laugh as he shoved his book back into his backpack. "Don't flatter yourself, O'Hara. I'm not obsessed with anyone."

"Except yourself."

He grinned. "Naturally."

She frowned. "But for real, why are you sitting with me? I'm trying to study."

"So am I," he replied. "But, as you can see, this library is crowded, and I did two laps around it to locate an empty table with little luck. Unfortunately for me, you're the only person I recognize in this whole building. Sitting with you is only minimally more tolerable than sitting with a stranger."

"Funny, because I'd rather be sitting with a stranger."

"Charming as ever, Macy O'Hara." Strange's eyes landed on Macy's Walkman. "What are you listening to?"

Macy let out an annoyed sigh. "The abrasive sound of your voice, at the moment."

"Abrasive," Strange echoed, smirking to himself as he grabbed the Walkman before Macy could stop him. He popped it open, laughing at the tape inside. "No Doubt. Of course." His eyes flicked up to Macy's. "You're so easy to read, O'Hara."

She grabbed it from him and shoved it into her backpack. "Every single thing I do or like, you somehow find fault with."

"Well, you've had your target on my back since that first day of lit class. I have to defend myself somehow."

Macy scoffed. "If I remember correctly, you were the one who started with the insults. I mean, you degraded both me and our professor within the first ten minutes of class. You basically called the entire concept of literature stupid."

"I would say that's an exaggeration."

Macy rolled her eyes and flipped her book back to the table of contents, furiously scanning the page for anything else that seemed familiar. Her eyes caught on an author's name -- Shirley Jackson, and she smiled triumphantly.

Shirley Jackson was one of the best names in twentieth century horror writing, and Macy also considered her to be a feminist icon in her own right, as an author in a genre typically dominated by men.

Macy remembered reading Jackson's novel, We Have Always Lived in the Castle, for a project in high school, and the short story in this anthology, "The Lottery," sounded familiar.

She looked up at Strange, who was watching her with a sneer, and slammed her book shut. Now that she had her story picked out, she didn't need to stay in the library. She could return to her dorm to work on the assignment, which was a Stephen Strange-free zone.

"Well, I'll be leaving," she said, scooping up her things and placing them in her backpack. She stood, the book in her arms, ready to be checked out by the librarian up front. "Enjoy my spot by the window, Strange. And best of luck with Chekov."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ author's note ✫・゜・。.

i love them, bye --

they're so bantery and full of loathing. 

sigh.

i hope this chapter gave you a little literature lesson! consider this my homework for you: GO READ SOME CLASSIC LITERATURE! while of course i love fanfiction, as a fanfiction writer, i think it's important to submerse yourself in all sorts of types of literature in order to be a well-rounded reader. so, if you've found yourself only reading on wattpad ... pls go check out some classic lit.

anyway, enough on my soapbox. thank you so much for reading, and please vote/comment if you wouldn't mind so terribly :)

xx,

madi