The next morning, in the History classroom, I held my breath and clutched the maroon wool skirts of my dress with both hands as Scholar Mikel evaluated my essay. For several excruciating heartbeats, he muttered softly to himself as his eyes traveled down the page. I fought the urge to squirm as my legs began to ache. Was it enough effort? Or too much?
At long last, he set the page aside.
"That was very good," he began slowly. "You demonstrated an adequate understanding of the topic, and you make some very strong points."
He stopped speaking, but I had been through his verbal evaluations enough times to know that the critique would be forthcoming.
"I have one question."
Oh, there it was; would he ask where my sympathies actually lay in regards to Wordspinners--even though I didn't really know how to answer that, myself? Did I come across more strongly in their favor than was socially acceptable? Was I headed for an "insufficient" grade after all? "Strong points" didn't necessarily mean good ones!
Scholar Mikel brought his small, wrinkled hands together in front of him, bracing his fingertips against each other as he stared straight at me over them and asked, "Why did you deviate from the recommended source?"
I blinked as the question caught me off-guard, derailing my current frenzied thoughts. "Sir?"
The Scholar bent his balding head and pointed at the parchment. "I see many references here citing Korstan Senevere as their source, which is all well and good since that was the account I gave you permission to read--but what about these other references? You cite another record without ever specifying who wrote it, and it even sounds like there are some parts of this alternate source that almost contradict what Senevere observed and believed! How on earth could such a thing be possible? What is your reasoning for communicating this dissenting view, rather than sticking with just the account written by Gramble's most esteemed Explorer? I gave you the highest recommended source, I expected you to utilize that source to its fullest extent." He drummed his fingers on the desk and stared at me with a very perplexed expression. "Was it really necessary, Callista?"
I took a long, slow breath before speaking, to settle my thoughts.
"Meaning no disrespect, sir," I began, "I did read Senevere's account. But there were certain..."
"What, disagreeable sentiments?" Scholar Mikel guessed at my reluctance, and started speaking before I could continue. "Details he'd gotten wrong, according to your estimation, so you had to go so far out of your way to correct a First Explorer, as if you had any firsthand knowledge of the Wild days of Western Hemptor?" A scowl formed deep furrows in his brow. "Do you seriously mean to stand here and question the validity of the first Gramblian ever to cross the Fforgan Mountain Pass?"
"No sir!" I panicked and blurted out the whole thing. "I didn't see anything that I felt was wrong in any way, there were just gaps in the account, things he said that didn't quite add up, and parts that were left incomplete, due to miscommunication or any number of valid reasons. I thought you would want me to cross-reference anything I felt unclear about, so I investigated the personal journal of a second Explorer who lived among Wordspinners at about that time. I found more details, and I used those to help clarify the points Senevere was trying to make--I wasn't trying to contradict or make an alternative point, I just wanted a more complete picture of a very monumental time full of changes and new experiences and encounters, that is all. I just wanted to write a good essay!"
I fought the urge to quiver as I finished. The echoes of my own voice died, and yet Scholar Mikel did not speak. He stared at me with his lips pressed firmly, but I couldn't tell if the glint in his eye was confusion, fury, or contempt.
Finally, he seized his pen and began recording his marks. "Well, then, if that's the way you feel about these venerable historians..." He crossed some things and circled others. "I'm afraid I must discount the views expressed by this alternative source. You need to learn to stick with the sources provided for your academic papers--we have stringent guidelines for a reason, and you must learn to work within them." He stopped, reviewing the marks with a single raised brow. "I will say, that even without the confusion of the alternate source, your summation of Senevere's works does bear up under scrutiny, and manages to carry its own point across--so for that, I find your work in this assignment..." He held the paper up so I could see the final grade at the top. "Quite acceptable. Very well, Callista--your grades will not be affected by your behavior in class yesterday."
I sighed with relief, remembering to keep my shoulders straight as the rest of my body relaxed and softened after the mounting tension I'd been under since yesterday. "Thank you, sir."
Scholar Mikel stared at me over the rims of his glasses and wagged a finger. "But see that this sort of disruption does not happen again, or I may not be so lenient!"
If I nodded any faster, my neck might crack. "Yes sir; I understand, sir."
I walked out of the classroom just as the bell pealed across the courtyard. Just in time! I felt so incredibly light after the admonishment of Scholar Mikel, I was almost glad that Dance came next in my schedule!
I almost skipped my way to the other side of the courtyard, pausing at the door to compose myself before entering.
I walked into the spacious ballroom-sized classroom to find my fellow students engaged with preparations in these last few moments: tying back loose hair, changing shoes, stretching, pacing, and other such varied calisthenics.
A familiar shock of dark hair caught my eye, and every last thought about Wordspinners, yellow dresses, and essays fell swiftly aside. Matthias caught my eye, lifted his head, and grinned. It just felt so right to see him looking so well. In spite of all his prolonged absences--which only lent credibility to the rumors that Olm Friedlan had already begun training his son to take over the merchant business--he managed to fit right back into the rhythm and flow of Mirrorvale life every time he returned. I wondered, briefly, if he ever chanced to look over the girls all flocking around him and consider how they changed and grew every time he saw them next... and perhaps, if at any point such thoughts applied to me...
I caught myself slipping into the dangerous realm of speculation and I shook my shoulders. I knew it was not advantageous to pin any amount of hopes on a young man who had not yet expressed any inclination toward the idea of courtship and marriage. After all, I reminded myself as I bent to reach toward my toes, I have reason on my side. I could rationalize continuing to observe and think of him as more than just idle, empty speculation by recording my "findings" in a hypothetical list of the traits and characteristics that made Matthias such an admirable husband. But those thoughts weren't exclusively attached to just Matthias, either. Those traits could easily apply to someone else who wasn't Matthias, as long as that person looked like him, behaved like him, or thought exactly like him.
I heard the instructor's cane tapping on the floor.
Or whatever, I thought.
"Attention!" Madame Beacon's voice rang out over the busy murmurs of the class. She stood in the middle of the room and raised her arms. Her full, black skirt billowed out around her hips wide enough to fit another person snugly alongside her on any side. “Students, assume the starting position for the Lively Maid!”
I kept my gaze fixed on Matthias while I pretended to move aimlessly through the room, but unfortunately, by the time I reached the line of girls, he had been pushed to one end of the line, while I ended up jostled to the other end. I frowned. Based on the head count between us, we wouldn't end up paired off no matter how many times we switched partners. Meanwhile, who should end up in position to be paired with Matthias first, but the "new girl", Sheranne! I felt my lips tighten in a grimace at the way she tilted her head and blinked at him. If this was Etiquette class, I was fairly certain Madame Collette would have been either extolling or calling out her overt flirtatious behavior. My foremost comfort was the fact that they would only have a few bars of the dance together before they would have to switch; also, Matthias didn't seem to notice her enthusiastic attentions, passive and somewhat subtle as they were.
The music started, and we rotated in a more or less geometric pattern around the room. Each step metered, each movement accounted for with ruthless integrity. It wouldn't do for any one of us to get too carried away and start floating or gliding.
At least, any one except Terra, I thought with a grin.
I pictured her learning this dance in her Level 8 class, and being absolutely miserable through it. Not that she hated dancing--Terra danced every time she moved! The trouble was that the poor thing couldn't stay in tandem if her life depended on it. [...] It wouldn't matter how loudly Madame Beacon beat time with her cane, though she might build up enough force to punch a hole right through the floorboards, all that effort would do nothing to rein in a wild, romping Terra.
These entertaining thoughts kept me from getting too distracted about not getting to dance with Matthias--but as the class period ended, and we filed out into the hall under the ringing bell, the cold grip of guilt seized me.
"Terra... Trouble..." My thoughts drifted back to the disapproving glances of my parents. My steps slowed. "Yellow dress... Contraband... forbidden items...Yellow dress..."
What did it mean?
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