Chapter 2 Humiliated At First Day
Our room sat at the far end of a narrow corridor, the heavy oak door marked with a brass plate gone dull with age. Melissa twisted the iron key, and the door opened with a groan.
Inside, the room was long and narrow, with a high, arched ceiling. The stone walls were softened by faded wallpaper patterned with roses long since dulled to gray. A pair of tall, pointed windows faced the courtyard, their panes divided by thin lead lines.
Two beds stood opposite each other, framed in dark wood, the carved posts topped with curling designs like vines. One bed was neatly made, Melissa’s side, pillow fluffed, blanket folded with precision, and a small stack of leather-bound books on the nightstand. The other bed, clearly waiting for its new occupant, was bare except for a folded set of sheets at the foot.
A wardrobe leaned against the far wall, its mirrored door clouded with age, reflecting faint shapes as though it might hold more than clothing.
“Welcome to Room 6B…” Melissa said, as if she were introducing the audience to a carnival show.
“Whoa, it’s—”
“Lovely, isn’t it?” She finished for me.
“I was going to say… old.” I laughed awkwardly.
“Yes, Gravenmoor Academy is old, the first high school ever built in the town of Gravenmoor. And it’s one of the top schools. That makes it special.” She rushed through her words, and I froze, staring at her, unsure if I’d caught everything she said.
“You’re going to love it here,” she added.
“Yeah.” I nodded and dropped my folder on the other bed. I pushed my suitcase toward the wardrobe, then moved back to sit and arrange my papers.
Melissa crossed one leg over the other on her bed. “So, tell me about—”
“Brimstone?” I guessed.
“Yes, about Brimstone. What’s it like?”
I shrugged. “Nothing much… just a school for normal kids… like me.”
“Oh, that—”
A sharp bell rang out from the corridor, followed by the sound of running footsteps.
“Is that a fire alarm?” I asked, my eyes wide as I stared at the door.
Melissa quickly grabbed my arm. “No, it’s the class bell. We have to move before we’re late.”
Melissa and I rushed through the dormitory, past the school hall, and into the East Wing. It was only the first day of school, and I was already late for class. What kind of place is this?
When we entered the classroom, students were already settled, listening to the professor as he wrote on the board. He was tall, suited, with sharp glasses, middle aged.
“Do I have some latecomers?” he asked without turning, his voice calm but commanding. When he did turn to us, the first face I saw was the bully I’d met earlier. She sat cross-legged at the front of the class, wearing a cruel smirk, clearly expecting the professor to punish Melissa and me.
“I’m sorry, Professor Ashcroft,” Melissa said quickly, bowing her head.
But my attention was elsewhere, drawn to a boy at the back of the classroom, sweat beading on his pale brow. His presence gripped me so tightly that I barely heard Melissa whisper, “Lexie… Lexie…” as she tugged at my skirt.
“And you are?” Professor Ashcroft’s voice cut like a blade. I flinched.
“Lexie Lambert. A new student,” I answered, startled.
He sighed. “Take your seat. I’m not spending much time here.”
I slid into a seat beside a boy, not the one who had caught my attention. His skin was porcelain, his hair ebony black, and his eyes, piercing, unreadable. He looked as though the very act of existing weighed heavily on him.
“Miss. Lambert.”
I turned sharply, heart pounding. “Yes, Professor Ashcroft?”
All eyes turned toward me; heat rushed to my cheeks, and my breath faltered.
“How does Heathcliff’s relationship with Catherine shape his actions throughout the novel, and what does it reveal about the destructive nature of love in Wuthering Heights?”
Wuthering Heights? Aunt Harvey owned that novel. She had forced me to read it, though I’d never taken it to heart.
“I… uh… I think Heathcliff is just cruel because Catherine didn’t marry him. So it’s more about revenge than love. But maybe… maybe he still loved her deep down. That’s why he couldn’t let go.” My voice wavered. I knew I was only half-right.
“I won’t take that.” Professor Ashcroft’s eyes sharpened. “Julian, would you mind showing our newcomer how a proper student of Gravenmoor Art Academy answers?”
The boy beside me rose smoothly to his feet. “Heathcliff’s love for Catherine is obsessive rather than healthy. When she marries Edgar, he spends years plotting revenge, not only against Edgar, but against their children as well. It shows how his passion turns destructive, consuming him and everyone around him. The novel suggests that love without balance can be just as ruinous as hate.”
“Brilliant. You may sit down, Julian.”
He sat, and I stared. “Seriously? That’s not much different from what I said.”
“That,” Professor Ashcroft replied coolly, “is how we know the difference between a lame answer and a learned one.”
Laughter rippled through the room, whispers buzzing like flies.
“I will forever love this professor,” a boy behind me murmured, his voice lilting, almost mocking. He sounded like a girl; probably gay. I didn’t bother to look at him, I was too furious.
“Miss. Lambert,” Professor Ashcroft’s voice cracked through the class like a whip, silencing the murmurs. “Since you’ve found today’s lesson so… distracting, you may present your apologies in ink.”
My stomach tightened. “Sir?”
“You will report to the library this evening. There, you will copy, by hand, a passage from The Meditations of the Damned, beginning with Chapter One. Word for word. No errors, no omissions. I expect your script to be neat.”
The class tittered again. Heat crawled up my neck.
“Yes, Professor,” I whispered.