Chapter Three: In Which I Bother People, or, The Art of Being Rude
I went inside after retrieving my peanuts. As I had expected, the Headmaster and several of the faculty members stood at the back of the foyer, talking with Ms. Glass. They had even planted themselves in front of the main staircase, making it practically impossible for me to get upstairs to my room unless I wanted to shove past them. This was perfect, since it gave me a valid excuse to lean against the doorjamb and wait for them to move, all whilst pretending not to listen to their conversation. Of course, I listened anyway.
They were about halfway through the introductory lists, which were all about classes, the layout of Norlocke Academy, faculty names and office locations, and such like. I didn’t listen very well to that, having memorized most of it. But I perked up a bit when I heard the Headmaster say, “Do you have any questions?”
There was a long, heavy pause, long enough for the silence in the room to fill my ears. “No,” Ms. Glass said, evenly.
I took my spectacles off and pretended to polish them on the edge of my skirt (in fact, I actually was polishing them; they were covered with dabs of rain drops, and it was rather difficult to see) so that I could adjust my peripheral vision and see what sort of reaction the Headmaster had to her answer.
He seemed ever so slightly shocked, as his ears turned a shade darker, a giveaway I’d noticed just after my own arrival. His reaction made sense. Students always either had at least one question, often a cheeky or nasty one, or had opted to say nothing at all but perhaps glare a bit belligerently. I had taken the latter course and glared. I’m rather rude, sometimes, which would come in useful presently.
“Well,” the Headmaster said, “if you have no questions, then you shall be shown to your room.”
I took this as my cue. Ditching my post by the door and looking somewhat impatient so as to explain my reason for leaving, I headed in the direction of the stairs, and attempted to shove my way past them all. Only one foot had managed to land on the very first step before a tightening around my neck suddenly stopped me. I glanced up to see the Headmaster, a rather obvious frown creasing his brows, with one of his large hands grasping the back of my sweater as if I were a kitten which he had by the nape of the neck. Although I’d been hoping to be stopped, a small bubble of anger still welled inside my chest at his touching me.
“Ms. Wintersmith,” he said, just a hint of irritation registering underneath his usual calm. He didn’t like me. “What do you think you’re doing?”
I made use of the slight anger I felt to make my reaction more realistic. “Going to my room,” I answered, glaring at him. “I’m tired of waiting for you to move.”
The Headmaster’s eyes bulged ever so slightly. This was why he didn’t like me. “Ms. Wintersmith,” he said, nevertheless still evenly, “for your insolence, you will escort Ms. Farthingdale to her room. Afterwards, when she is ready, you will give her a tour of the premises.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, sarcastically.
He shook me by the collar. “And for that, you will visit me in my office at the end of the day.”
Part of me considered reaching behind me, grabbing his hand, and twisting it until he let go of me. I knew I could do it. But I was in enough trouble as it was, and just to get a chance to observe this girl. Plus, I didn’t want anyone here seeing that side of me. The faculty already knew about it, a little, and I wasn’t planning on enlightening them anymore. I didn’t want to go back to that.
The Headmaster didn’t let go until I nodded. Then, turning to Glass Farthingdale, he said, “My apologies. I’m sorry that you had to see that. This girl is one of our more troubling students.”
Actually, overall, I was a pretty good student. I was just ruder to him than anyone else, which irked him. He demanded respect from everyone, and drilled it into even the more unruly students that disrespect towards himself would not be tolerated. Except for me. All the drilling he did didn’t work on me. Sometimes I felt bad for him, but irritating him was too useful to give up. Besides, for the purpose of snooping, getting called into his office for being disrespectful was better than the alternative.
Glass didn’t respond to his apology. Instead, she turned her large, dark eyes upon me, and, for the first time, really looked at me. Neither her gaze nor her expression changed at all. The blackness in her eyes was unfathomable. Once again, I felt myself intrigued.
The Headmaster placed a room key in my hand. Number 18, it said. Then he bent down towards me and practically hissed, “You will be polite to her.”
He could’ve just been warning me to be nice to her since he seemed to think that, overall, I was the physical embodiment of insolence, but I sensed something more behind his words. So, partly to keep up appearances, and partly because I felt like I might be getting on to something, I asked, “Why?”
He only gave me a stern look, then turned and left, trailed by the rest of the faculty.
I interpreted that to mean he would tell me later that day, when I had to go to his office. He probably wasn’t planning on telling me at all, but I’d try to weasel it out of him.
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