Chapter 2: Do Things Ever Change?

“Good morning everyone, and welcome to Intro to English Literature. My name is Brian Adams and I will be your professor. Today we’re going to start by going over the syllabus, then we will begin our first discussion. If you don’t have a copy of the syllabus with you feel free to grab one off of the table directly in front of the podium.”

Between the pain in Chloe’s leg, the stress induced ringing in her ears, and the intense feelings of anger, sadness, and loss of hope going through her mind, it was a miracle she had heard even a single word from the professor. Her shaky hands opened her notebook and pulled out a copy of the syllabus from the inner pocket. However, despite her best efforts, she just couldn’t focus on what the professor was saying. She looked down at the paper in front of her to try to read along, but it was no use. It was like trying to read a foreign language.

I should’ve known. She thought to herself, tears welling up in her eyes. This is all my fault. I never should’ve let myself get my hopes up. Things never change.

It took Chloe until the end of the syllabus overview to regain her focus. Luckily, the overview was more of a formality as the syllabus itself was fairly straight forward. Chloe, of course, had spent the weekend going over the syllabi for all of her classes, so she didn’t really need to pay much attention anyways. She had also spent time reading Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë, the book Professor Adams asked the class to read over the summer before the first day of class.

“I hope everyone was able to obtain and read their copy of Jane Eyre over the summer, however, I understand some of you didn’t get the chance to so I’ve pushed back the due date for your paper from this Friday to next.” Professor Adams began.

The Professor continued on with his lecture, and Chloe listened intently, quietly jotting down notes like the rest of the class. When he addressed a question to the class, she would do her best to answer whenever she could. She was not about to let Cassandra and her gang ruin the class she had been looking forward to the most. For Chloe’s whole life reading and writing had been her only form of escape and had become her deepest passion, hence why she decided to major in English. As the lecture started to wind down, students began packing their bags, while Chloe kept her gaze fixed on the quote being projected on the screen: “I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will.” She wished she could believe it.

Cassandra leaned back in her chair, one leg crossed lazily over the other, her manicured fingers twisting the cap off of one of those bottled iced coffees. She had barely contributed a single comment all class, but her and her posse couldn’t have cared less.

“You know,” she said suddenly, her voice pitched just loud enough for those around her to hear, “I’m starting to think Brontë was a little too generous with plain characters.”

Her friends laughed sharply. The girl to Cassandra’s left, Madison, snorted behind a hand. To Chloe’s right, another girl with dark hair in a high pony tail, Claire, chimed in. “Especially when they start thinking they’re the heroine.”

Chloe began packing her bag hoping to escape while Cassandra and her friends poked fun at the topic of today’s lecture, but Cassandra wasn’t about to let her off so easy.

Cassandra tilted her head. “Right, Chloe?”

The sound of her name dragged like a dead weight across the air and made her stomach twist. She glanced toward the door, which was blocked by a crowd of students trying to ask the Professor questions.

“I… I don’t know what you mean.” Chloe said, trying to keep her voice level.

“Oh come on,” Cassandra said, rising from her seat. She walked behind Chloe and leaned down towards her right ear with a deliberate slowness. “You’ve practically been raising your hand every five seconds. We get it. You did the reading. Want a trophy?”

Chloe didn’t answer. She knew better than to respond. Still, her silence was never enough.

Claire angled her body in her chair towards Chloe. “It was actually kind of cute. Like, the whole raggedy poor girl aesthetic you used to have. All shy and bookish. So vintage.”

“Charlotte Brontë would’ve written her as the sad cousin who dies in Chapter Two,” Cassandra added, sipping from her glass bottle. “You know, like a narrative speed bump. Emotional stakes and then… poof.”

Madison giggled, now having joined Cassandra by her side. “Honestly, I liked her better before she started trying to be smart.”

“I’m not—” Chloe began to try to defend herself, but her voice cracked on the second word, giving Cassandra the perfect opening to interrupt.

As predicted, Cassandra pounced on the opportunity. “What was that, Chloe? You’re not what?”

Chloe stood up, fumbling with her bag just as she did with her words a moment before. Her face burned. She turned towards the door, but Cassandra moved to block her path.

“Leaving already?” She asked sweetly.

Chloe’s breath hitched. She looked over to the door which was no longer blocked by a crowd of students, then she looked to Professor Adams, who was deep in conversation with a pair of male students. He hadn’t noticed. No one ever did.

“You know,” Cassandra went on, softer now, “I admire it. Really. You come in here with your thrift-store cardigans and your little color coordinated notes like you actually belong here.”

“I do belong.” Chloe responded, her voice barely a whisper.

The air shifted slightly. Claire’s smile faded, and Cassandra blinked as if she hadn’t heard her right.

“I’m sorry,” Cassandra said with a scoff, “What did you just say?”

Chloe looked down to her shoes, knowing she had just made a mistake. She should’ve just stayed quiet. Chloe’s lips trembled.

“It was… it was nothing. I’m sorry.”

“That’s what I thought.” Cassandra said, her voice sharp and commanding. She then stepped aside. “Run along now, little Chloe. Go write your little essays or whatever. Maybe you’ll get a gold star for sucking up to the teacher.”

Chloe brushed past her and out the door, blinking against tears she refused to let fall. The hallway felt colder than the classroom. Not knowing where else to go, she decided to seek refuge in the bathroom. Once inside, she ran to the stall furthest from the door. Once she locked the door, she allowed herself to slide down to the floor, her heart pounding. Her hands trembled as she pressed them against her face. It wasn’t just the words or the new hole in her brand-new tights. It was the laughter. The eyes that slid over her like she was nothing. The way the professor had smiled at Cassandra earlier after making the most vague comment about “power and perception” that she likely stole from one of those review articles online. Meanwhile, Chloe had put in genuine effort, but none of it mattered. Worst of all, Chloe learned that Cassandra and several members of her posse were not just attending the same university as her, but were in her favorite class.

As she wiped away the few tears that had escaped from her face, she heard the door to the bathroom open, followed by the sound of two sets of footsteps, and a pair of familiar voices.

“I can’t believe we finally get to go to the same school again, it’s been like, forever!” One of the voices said eagerly. Chloe couldn’t quite place it, but she knew she heard it before. Then, the second voice chimed in.

“I know, right? School was so boring after you moved away.” The second voice was unmistakably that of Cassandra’s.

Chloe put her hands to her head out of frustration. Of course Cassandra would stop by the bathroom after class. I should’ve known better. But who is that second girl? It wasn’t Madison or Claire, this voice was higher pitched, and it sounded like they had a longer history than either of those two. Someone who moved away? No… it couldn’t be. Could it?

“Sarah, I think one of your braids are coming loose. Want me to fix it for you?”

That question from Cassandra was all she needed to hear. Sarah Wright, Cassandra’s best friend dating all the way back to Elementary school was back. This nightmare couldn’t get any worse.