I've already got like 2 or 3 fics going on already, but this one keeps coming in my mind. I blame the Step Up marathon I had with friends a few weeks ago -_-. I'll try to keep a weekly update since some chapters are already written ^^"

Enjoy :)

1

Natasha Romanoff's live was, from an external point of view, perfect.

She was a young woman of sixteen, soon turning seventeen, with bright green eyes, silky, wavy red hair and a porcelain skin. She lived with both her parents in a calm neighborhood. She had good friends, Bobbi Morse and Steve Rogers, the most popular students in her high-school. James Barnes, a good friend of Steve, was her boyfriend. Rumors had them going steady and people thought they even might get married once out of high-school. She was smart and beautiful and nice. She had taken ballet lessons since she was six and was quite good at it. She was popular with her classmates and the teachers. Every girl loved her or wanted to be like her.

Yes, Natasha Romanoff's live was, from an external point of view, perfect.

"Miss Romanoff would you care to answer the question?"

Natasha blinked out of her reverie and glanced up. The Russian teacher, Mr Pietrovitch, was staring at her with rueful and disapproving eyes. The redhead felt her shoulders stiffen as he leaned forwards, a little bit too close for comfort. Pietrovitch wasn't her favorite teacher by all means –she didn't like the way he eyed her at times, but he was still a teacher. And she clearly hadn't been listening for the past five minutes. From the corner of the eye, she saw Bobbi keeping a perfect straight face, looking away. The others were glancing at her with bored curiosity. She opened her mouth to apologize but before a sound could bypass her lips…

"Sir, we all know she's just gonna score the answer as usual with her Russian background." A loud, complaining voice erupted from the back of the class. Everyone, including Natasha, turned around.

The student who had just spoken was a sandy-haired boy leaning nonchalantly back against his chair with his arms crossed behind his head. Clint Barton. He had been labeled Master Prankster and Trouble-Maker from every reasonable person of the school after he had managed to turn the whole teaching staff crazy with paper balls and painting pots. Natasha didn't know him well, never spoke to him, but given the way he resented and resisted any form of authority, she knew he deserved his titles. It was a wonder he hadn't been kicked out of high-school yet.

"Mr Barton" Pietrovitch snorted, narrowing his eyes. "Do you have anything to say?"

"Sure" the boy replied with a shrug. "She comes from Russia. Everyone in Russia knows about the Swan Lake. Heck, she's even takin' ballet lessons, everyone knows that. Bet she's just as bored as I am with your class." He added with a playful wink at her.

She stared back in disbelief.

"You shouldn't assume; I don't know everything about the Swan Lake."

Barton snorted.

"Oh c'mon sweetheart, like you can be int'rested in that stuff. First, you do ballet –which sucks by the way- and second, you're Russian." She raised her eyebrows at his slightly mocking tone. "Ah, third, everyone knows the freakin story of the Swan Lake. Heck, even my old neighbor who never set a foot out of this goddamn town knows about the Swan Lake. And why the hell would ya make us study ballet t'start with? Ain't there more fascinatin' stuff in Russia?"

"Are you saying my classes are not worthy your interest?" Pietrovitch said, anger showing on his face. Half of the class was much focused now, Natasha noticed. Barton grinned.

"Your classes are borin' sir. There's a slight nuance." A couple of students tried their best to hide their smirk of agreement. She frowned, puzzled at his behavior; Barton was a trouble-maker, but he never showed such blatant disrespect to a teacher.

"Fine. Barton, you just earned two hours detention tonight." The teacher snapped. The boy looked incredibly pleased with himself as the man turned away and returned to his teaching. Natasha kept her eyes a little longer on him, wondering what the heck had gone through his mind…And then he caught her staring and smiled. Not a smirk, not an outwit grin, just a small, easy smile. Something jolted in her chest in reaction. Natasha blinked in surprise, warily smiled back before focusing on the classes again. What the heck had just happened?

"That guy was just a jerk!" Bobbi shrieked indignantly as she squeezed her box of grape juice. "I mean, you should have seen him talk up to the teacher and blatantly saying that Nat was just a stupid girl because she was Russian!"

Natasha held back a wince; her head was about to explode under her friend's incessant chatter and complaining, as if she had been the one who had almost got into detention with Pietrovitch. Next to her, Steve was thoughtfully eating his sandwich, trying very hard to pretend he was listening to the blonde sitting next to him. James was engaged with a conversation with a football buddy from the table across them so paying no attention at all. The redhead envied him; Bobbi had that habit of sometimes chatting for herself, too glad to listen to her own voice and Natasha had a very hard time tuning her out.

"There he is."

Natasha glanced on the left, following Bobbi's gaze. Barton was there indeed, throwing his schoolbag on a bench and settling among a bunch of senior students. Two girls and three boys. Natasha knew a couple of them by sight, but not their name.

"He's sticking with Maria Hill and Bruce Banner, of course." Bobbi snarled. The redhead stared at her friend, the names ringing a bell but she couldn't remember why. Of course, she didn't pinpoint who was who, so Natasha still didn't know which people she was talking about. "You know, Hill, the girl that got pregnant at fifteen! She's almost never at school. It's a wonder they still haven't kicked her out yet. And Banner, the guy who knocked down more people than Aaron Davis! He should be sent to a mental institute. Jesus, these people shouldn't be allowed at this school at all! This isn't the respectable establishment it used to be, don't you think Natasha?"

The redhead didn't answer and kept staring at the table. They were laughing at something one of the boys had said. Something that felt like longing started to grow in her chest. Her friends were nice, but they never interacted with so little restraint. It was always all proper and perfect manners, especially with Bobbi. And truth was? Natasha didn't really consider them friends, just people she hung out with because her parents approved of them. Other students placated that picture of them being inseparable. If given the choice, Natasha would gladly spend her days alone in her corner. But Bobbi's mother was a friend of her mother, Steve was truly nice and James…well James was her boyfriend. She liked him better than most boys and he was sweet with her. Plus, her parents approved of him too, so allowed her to go out with him late at night, instead of locking her up inside the house…

From the bench, one of the girls noticed Natasha's staring and said something. They all looked in her direction, Barton in particular, and she turned away. Great, now he and his buddies will be wondering what she was up to, she thought mildly embarrassed. Their opinion didn't really matter to her, but she still hated when people thought she was spying on them. To stop thinking about it, she tried to redirect her attention on her chatting friend but miserably failed when Bobbi started talking about her next trip to Florida with her parents. A subject she had no qualm mentioning again and again –although this time she tried to lure Steve into some form of conversation. On her part, Natasha let her thoughts drift back to Russian class.

Pietrovitch had a reputation among students for being a hardass (or an ass period) and slightly creepy. Given her personal experience with him, she tended to agree. The moment she had walked in his class, he had been after her, kept staring at her when he thought she wasn't looking...Natasha sighed. She had always done her best in that class to avoid a potential situation like this; she being stuck with that creep for an hour or more alone…She was lucky Barton had decided to manifest himself and catch the teacher's whole attent-

It suddenly hit her: the satisfied smirk he bore when Pietrovitch had grounded him, the smile he threw at her afterwards. Could he have intentionally provoked…

"Hey Natasha you're coming?"

Bobbi was staring at her expectantly. Steve, James and she had picked up their trail and were obviously heading out. The redhead hadn't realized they had finished their lunch so fast. Good thing she had been done with hers for a while.

"Yeah I'm…" she started then realized in the corner of the eye that Barton's table was clearing out as well. In the split of second, she made a decision. "You guys go ahead; I'll join you in a minute."

"Can I talk to you?"

Natasha must have startled Barton; the teen, who was aiming his can at the garbage, nearly missed the spot by an inch or two. Behind him, half of his friends stared at her with curiosity. Barton merely turned back to face her, tilted his head on the side, an eyebrow rising in surprise.

"Uh –sure?" He followed her without thinking twice. Natasha led him close to a wall, where she could see anyone approaching or eavesdropping from afar and looked at him straight in the eyes. He had nice eyes, she noted distractingly. A beautiful shade of blue mixed with a little green and golden. She pushed the thought aside and uttered quickly:

"I –I just wanted to say thank you. For distracting Pietrovitch. I'd have been in big trouble if you hadn't intervened."

Her sentence was received with a stare of disbelief.

"You think I opened my mouth t'save you from detention?" he asked. She would have thought he was mocking her, if not for the glint of amusement in his eye and the corner of his mouth tugging upwards. Natasha found herself distracted again; Clint Barton wasn't a particularly handsome fellow like James, but she couldn't deny he possessed this natural charisma that drawn people to him. She barely knew him, yet she already felt at ease around him. "Don't worry 'bout it, sweetheart. Pietrovitch's known for not so innocent touches with girls. I wouldn't have left a cute little thing like you 'lone with him."

She wondered whether she should feel offended, flattered by his words or worried by that side of Pietrovitch's reputation. A few seconds later, she realized he was expecting her to speak.

"Well, that was it, thanks" she mumbled and started to turn away. His hand caught her wrist and she almost jumped out of her skin in surprise.

"Hey sweetheart?"

"The name's Romanoff" she replied although not dryly. Barton chuckled in response and let her wrist go.

"Just to be clear, I didn't mean anythin' bad when I said you were from Russia. Only idiots would. Actually I find that pretty cool."

"Ah." She didn't know what to reply to that. She hadn't taken much offense when he had pinpointed her origins, but it still felt nice to hear that he had no prejudices towards that. It must have annoyed Mr Pietrovitch…afterthought maybe that was why he had said that.

"But ballet still sucks."

This time, she impulsively hit him lightly on the arm. His grin somehow widened a bit.

"Very funny Barton" Natasha snorted dryly then asked out of the blue. "You're coming at Bobbi's party tonight?"

To her surprise, his grin lessened in intensity.

"That's not exactly my stuff and I don't think Morse would be glad if I showed up. I got plans anyway."

Given the way Bobbi had spoken of him and his friends, Natasha tended to agree. Still, she felt a hint of disappointment –hidden straight away by a small smile.

"Okay" she said. "Well thanks again."

"Don't mention it sweetheart."

"It's Romanoff!"

His laugher followed her as she walked away, triggering an odd feeling in her stomach. She pushed it away and hurried to join her friends.