Physical Conversation Classroom, Brunnhold
“In this year’s course,” Duplantier added, turning back to the class and setting one chalky hand down on his desk, “we’ll work from Professor Cathasaigh’s Physical Conversation. We will start today from the first chapter; I expect you all to have a copy of the book already, as the syllabus was sent to your dormitories several days ago.”
It wasn’t her fault, Madeleine wanted to say. She’d seen the syllabus – of course she’d seen the syllabus – but she had been so busy the first few days of classes. Her confisalto class was putting on a showcase for new members, and there had been rehearsals every night – and Madeleine was so tired; sometimes she fell asleep when she went to her room to change before dinner, and didn’t wake up until the morning.
She had meant to get the book, but she hadn’t really thought they would need it, not for the first class! It wasn’t fair, Madeleine decided, swallowing.
“Those of you without a book,” Professor Duplantier went on, “stand up.”
Madeleine felt heat burning in her cheeks and behind her eyes. She shut them, tightly, sniffled, and then pushed her chair back and rose. She heard the scrape of a few other chairs around the room, but she didn’t dare to look around, her gaze fixed on the words physical conversation on the board. Like all the rest of the students, she wore her Brunnhold uniform; the dark green skirt was already creased, folded over itself from sitting in class earlier in the morning. Madeleine tried to smooth it with her hand, but she didn’t think it helped.
Her hair was pulled up and back in a bun; a few strands had already come loose, dangling from the back and sides. She’d meant to fix it before class – she really had – but -
Professor Duplantier frowned, looking down at his seating chart. He tapped the table sharply with his fingers; Madeleine flinched. “Luckily,” Professor Duplantier went on, sharply, “some of your classmates came better prepared than you did, clearly." He called the names of the five other textbookless students one by one, assigning them partners who were sitting nearby.
“Miss Gosselin,” he said.
Madeleine swallowed, hard. “Yes Professor,” she pulled her shoulders back, standing as straight as she could manage. She could hear whispers and giggling from behind her, and she didn’t look.
Professor Duplantier glanced down at the seating chart once more. “Pair up with Mr. Orthosophos, to your left.” He said, evenly.
Madeleine sat, glancing briefly left and then back down at her desk; there were tears glimmering in her eyes now, she knew by the blurriness of them. It wasn’t fair! She thought, desperately.
“Now,” Professor Duplantier went on, sharply, addressing the class once more, “I want you all to read the introduction to Cathasaigh’s book now, as clearly many of you can’t have done it before, and I have little hope the rest would have. When you have finished, discuss your thoughts with your nearest classmate. I shall call on you at my leisure to share whatever you've come up with, so do your best not to be tedious.”
Madeleine tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She sniffled, very quietly; she pulled her bookbag on her lap, looking through it, but she couldn’t find any handkerchiefs. She glanced quickly sideways at Orthosophos, next to her, but that only made the blurring worse. Madeleine sniffled; a single tear rolled down the inside of her cheek. She pressed the edge of her sleeve to her face, sniffling again, and couldn’t quite bring herself to look at her new book partner.