“Well at least I’m here on my own merit, rather than my daddy’s donation.” Scott’s lips curled further.
“You know nothing about me. You barely scraped the grades to get onto this program, so don’t act like you’re some big shot. Everyone knows you’re here to take the boats out and tinker with the engines rather than anything too scientific.”
Two chairs scraped back as Greg and Madison broke from the circle of respect, leaving the others to continue their spat.
“That’s insulting, Kelly. You’ve barely spoken to us this entire course, and now you’re throwing out the trash talk as if we’re your besties?” Lisa turned away.
“It’s not that, Lisa. It’s true,” Kelly said.
The volume rose again as they began to talk over each other. Ade put her fingertips to her temples, rubbing away the noise and confusion. She blinked, desperately trying to think of what to say which would dissolve the conflict, which had burst from nowhere.
“Settle down.” Sylvie strode into the middle of the room.
Everyone fell silent and shuffled in their seats.
“What is this chaos? I heard you from my classroom.”
Ade looked up and realized Sylvie’s question was directed at her. “Oh, jeez, I’m sorry. We were just having a little discussion about the possibilities for our social opportunities this year to complement our studies.” Ade paused, rubbing her thumb ring. “It got a little heated.”
Sylvie raised her eyebrow and turned her attention to the group. “My proficiency in English is arguably as good, if not better, than some of yours. So it’s safe to assume I can understand what was being said.” She stood taller, if that was possible, making herself so present in the room, there was an intake of breath. “Your attendance here is a privilege. Don’t forget that.” Sylvie put her hands to her hips. “And Ms. Poole?”
“Yes?”
“Take control of your classroom.”
Ade nodded. It was all she could do. The spark of conflict had ripped through her rules of respect. Her own anger threatened to make itself known, but what good would that do? She was disappointed in herself for allowing it to happen. She should’ve had more control of the conversation. The feeling of inadequacy washed over her, not for the first time. This was the reason she hid away in the lab for hours on end. This was why she was better at taking care of animals than humans.
“Let’s leave it there, everyone,” she said. Deflated, she wiped the board of its meager record of their conversation.
Sylvie’s disappointment replayed over in her mind. Ade could deal with letting herself down. She could even handle the criticisms of her bosses back home. But there was something about Sylvie’s displeasure that persisted, and the discomfort of it hung heavy across her chest.
Why was Sylvie’s opinion so important to her? She packed away the question at the back of her mind while she stacked the last of the chairs against the classroom wall. She’d leave the space neat and tidy, even if everything else was scattered.
CHAPTER NINE
Sylvie checkedher watch and scanned her class of nineteenth century literature enthusiasts. “Do you have something for us, Michèle?”
“Of course, you had to be rich to be a writer in those times. How on earth could anyone of any other class even conceive of the idea?” Michèle made her point with a flourish of her pen.
“That was Virginia Woolf’s central premise: give someone a room of their own, and they might have the time, space, and enough silence to actually hear themselves think. And they might even get to write.” Simone raised her hands, daring anyone to argue. “And who has a room of their own? Rich boys. And if you’re lucky, a rich girl.”
Rising from her seat, Sylvie smiled. She loved it when her students argued the points. “Okay, everyone. We’re finished for today. Don’t forget that next week is reading week. No seminars, just time to get through your texts for the coming term. I suggest you use it wisely. No excuses.”
“No seminars. No excuses. Got it,” Michèle said, generating a hum of laughter and grunting from her classmates.
Sylvie ushered them out of the classroom and gathered herself. She had an hour before she’d arranged to meet Ade for the recital. It wasn’t long enough to go home for a shower, so she redid her light makeup and brushed her hair.
Sylvie had stewed all week on the way she’d spoken to Ade. She had been harsh and unnecessary. It’d been no different to the way she’d handled hundreds of unruly classrooms: put the students in their place and give the lecturer a cold stare and the hard truth.
But Ade wasn’t just any lecturer. She was a fresh, junior academic with virtually no experience of handling difficult students. Her group were fast proving themselves to be the worst kind: arrogant, pushy, and with zero filter. Sylvie hadn’t seen any redeeming features so far, except for those in their leader, Ade, who’d shown herself to be nervous but much more nuanced.
To make amends, she’d invited Ade to a recital in the music hall, where she loved to spend time listening to the post-graduates perfecting their classical scores.
On the short walk to the hall, she peeled off her cardigan. The temperature had bounced back up, and the campus was bathed in a glorious late afternoon glow. Squinting into the sun, she could just make out a backlit Ade, her tailored trousers draping exquisitely off her hips.
“Hey.” Ade tilted her head for a brief moment before she dropped her gaze to the pavement.
“I’m glad you came.” Sylvie stepped into her space and wondered what was appropriate for a greeting between colleagues.
