Hey guys,
I'm revising my novel right now to send to agents in the upcoming year, and I was wondering if you could just tell me what you think of the beginning scene? Thanks!
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Rain thrummed the pavement and the history textbook above her head. A car peeled around the corner, its wheels screeching on the wet road. She swore as it drove through a veritable lake and showered her with grimy sewer water.
It was hopeless. She tucked her textbook under her arm and broke into an awkward run, her backpack pummelling her spine with every stride.
The school was within range, thank Merlin, and there was no simpering vice-principal at the door to hold it open for her and ask her not to drip on the floor. Chalk one point up for being late.
No time to go to her locker. History 12 was just around the corner, and if Ms. Elliot was following her normal schedule, her teacher would be in the teacher’s lounge right now, reclining on the dingy green couch with a cup of black molasses-coffee in hand.
Her shoes squelching, she slogged down the hallway until she stood before the frosted glass window. One more month of this, she told herself, and you’re through. No more nibbling your nails in Mr. Supek’s office because you made your teacher look stupid. No more hearing people call you a dunce and not being able to say anything about it.
Somewhat cheered, she slipped inside the classroom.
“You’re late, Miss Davies.”
Scheisse. Gina focused on a poster of Anne Frank, or rather of the actress Millie Perkins from the 1959 film, as she made her way to her desk by the window. A boy with tousled dirty-blonde hair and freckles at the desk beside hers tugged her sleeve, but she shrugged away and shoved her backpack out of sight, out of mind. Her classmates were staring at her, not that she could blame them. Coming to class late and sopping wet? That was a new low.
“As I was saying.” Ms. Elliot had a habit of making what should have been the beginning of a sentence into a theatrical production. She scanned the not-so-eager faces before her and heaved a heavy sigh. “Your examinations draw near, and I’m sure you’re all studying hard.”
Snickers erupted from behind Gina. Ignoring them, she watched sheets of rain batter the window.
Ms. Elliot drew herself up to her full height, which was roughly two desks stacked atop each other, and continued. “You have all of today’s class to review your notes, and while you do, I will begin marking your reports on Stalin. Any questions?”
“Yeah,” a boy at the front of the classroom said. “Is this class refundable?”
Gina smiled.
“Let me rephrase that. Are there any intelligent questions?” Someone rustled, but other than that there was silence. “No? Excellent. Get to work, ladies and gentlemen.”
Suddenly, the classroom was bursting with the sounds of unzipping binders and rustling through notebooks. People whispered to each other excitedly of summer plans. Many were working at Pete’s Pit, the only decent burger place in town. The twins were going to Quebec with their parents.
As for her, she’d probably spend another summer whiling time away at the pond and working at the Siesta.
“What did you do, walk to school?”
The intercom, which never worked anyway, crackled with static. Her blonde neighbour was watching her with sparkling hazel eyes, the cobalt tips of his spiked hair saluting the ceiling. His eyes were nearly grey in the stormy light, but the green was still there. They reminded her of Twister, actually.
“Yes.”
His eyes widened. “In that hurricane?”
“It wasn’t that bad, Andrew.” Before she could stop it, her body betrayed her and shivered.
“Geez, Gina.” Andrew tugged his haggard navy hoodie, emblazoned with the tattered words ‘PUMA VICTY’, over his head and tossed it to her.
Gina pulled it on and stuffed her own sweatshirt under her seat with a wet plop. It was warm, and decidedly dry. “Thanks.” As her classmates quieted, she flipped through the crinkled pages of her red Hilroy notebook and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Don’t forget your shift tonight.”
“Right. I won’t.”
She ran her finger down the page, shook her head, and turned to the next. “You did, didn’t you?”
“No.”
She kept turning pages. It had to be here somewhere. Gremlins didn’t magically erase notes from your notebook overnight. Give them a week, and maybe they would, yes. She found a scribbled note and looked at it more closely. Damn. She’d need to finish that book tonight.
“Okay, so maybe I did forget.”
She resumed her search. “Just don’t be late. I’m not covering your butt again.”
“Speaking of lateness, Miss Davies, I’ll take your report on Stalin now.”
No, that wasn’t it either. Where the heck was it?
“You did finish it, didn’t you?”
Gina pulled the stapled sheaf of papers from the inner sanctum of her backpack and handed it to her teacher. Ms. Elliot leafed through it.
“This isn’t what I assigned,” she said finally.
“Ms. Elliot, it’s still your topic.”
“I asked for an overall analysis of Stalin’s ‘five year plans’ and his other major actions. How is discussing the man himself relevant?”
There. She knew she had written it down somewhere. Biding her time, Gina looked around the classroom. Everyone was studiously pretending to be hard at work. “I felt that it strengthened the essay.”
The petite woman crossed her arms and stared at her over the rims of blocky black glasses. “Is that your decision to make?”
Wasn’t her job to teach them to understand history so that they could decide how to interpret it? Whether you saw Jane Grey as a usurper or a young girl subject to the decisions of her superiors changed how you viewed her execution. Mary and Elizabeth Tudor, half-sisters, fought in one of the greatest battles for the throne England had ever known. You sided with one or neither, but you had to decide for yourself.
Gina said none of this.
“I’m glad you agree.”
Oh, for Pete’s sake.
“Now, there’s also the matter of your sources. I’m afraid I don’t recognize several of them.”
“May I?”
Ms. Elliot handed the report to her with a satisfied air. She thought she had caught Gina with blood on her hands, but she couldn’t be more wrong.
Gina scanned her extensive bibliography. She would start out slow. “See this book, right here?” She pointed. “That was ‘Suggested Further Reading’ for chapter nine.”
“And you read it, did you?”
“From the foreword to the acknowledgements.”
Her teacher pursed her lips. “And this one, too?”
“Three times.”
They went through the rest with similar results. Either Gina had found an article online, or she had perused her father’s pristine library, or, in one case, even contacted a World War II historian to clarify one of his statements.
This was the project that was going to convince Ms. Elliot, Mr. Supek, her father, that she did care. It wouldn’t matter that no university had plucked her out of the crowd. This would convince them, Gina thought, watching Ms. Elliot frown and gnaw her lip. It had to.
Their conversation had gone on far too long to be a mere confirmation of fact. People were shifting in their seats, pretending to look at the gale outside but really sneaking a glimpse of her paper.
Someone must have succeeded, because they broke into whispered chatter like magpies.
“This is quite the report you’ve assembled, Miss Davies.”
“Thank you.”
Without another word or even a glance at the chatterboxes, Ms. Elliot returned to her desk. Well, at least that was over for today. With any luck, she’d be busy grading papers for the rest of the period and Gina could study in peace.
“Whatcha got there?”
“Hmm? Oh.” She passed the notebook to him.
Andrew leaned over it, his mouth shaping the words silently. He grinned. “You really need to work on your printing, girl.”
“Speak for yourself. So what do you think?”
“If it’s what you want, then you should go for it.”
Gina snatched it. The words ‘York University--undergrad dance program? plus history?’ were scrawled across the page. “Andrew, I can learn more there than I ever could here. I’ll have the best teachers.”
“Pretty far, though.”
“It’s a day by car, less by plane.”
He shrugged.
Lovely. Just lovely. Now she’d have to prove it to him, too. She could do that. And if she couldn’t ... well, they’d just have to deal with it. She was going to Toronto, and she was going to dance.
Gina flipped to the beginning of her notebook and slapped it on her desk. Resting her forehead on her hand, she went back to the beginning of time--or to the Vikings in Newfoundland, at least.
The rest of the class passed without any further outbursts. By the time the bell rang, the sky outside was grey and wispy with streaks of cloud. Students with a spare skirted around the puddles or catapulted into them, depending.
She gathered her things on top of her desk and started to pull the hoodie over her head.
“Keep it.”
Gina peeked over the collar. Andrew was stolidly not looking at her as he stacked his books and binders one on top of the other. “You sure?”
“Sure.” Together, they headed for the door. “So,” he said. “Do you think maybe--”
“Miss Davies, can I see you for a moment?”
“I’ll be right there,” Gina said to Andrew, who had paused in the doorway. He hesitated, then left. Hitching her backpack up on her shoulder, she approached her teacher’s desk, ignoring the blatant red chicken scratches on one of the reports spread before her.
Ms. Elliot handed her a piece of scrap paper with a few things scribbled on it. “I wondered if you could get me a copy of your notes from these. I’d like to see your documentation.”
“That’s fine. I can bring it tomorrow.”
“Wonderful.” Ms. Elliot rested her weight on the desk. “Miss Davies, I ...”
Teacher and student stared at each other as the corridor filled with raucous laughter and the ominous shout of the hall monitor. A few early birds flew into the classroom and chirped a greeting to their teacher as they took their seats.
Ms. Elliot sighed. “Never mind. On your way.”
Gender:
Points: 890
Reviews: 10