A/N: Again, I am sooooo sorry for taking 70,000 years to update! Real life has really been kicking my ass lately, and I and no time to write. And this was a chapter that I really wanted to put time and thought into. But, to make up for the long wait, I'm giving you guys a monster-sized chapter (well compared to the other two at least). I hope you guys like it! :)
Chapter 3
'Want some peanuts?" Gella asked as she sat on her bed with her laptop in her lap, munching on roasted peanuts.
"No time for peanuts," Charlie replied absentmindedly as she frantically shuffled through the papers in her hands.
"What is that you're working on? It has turned you into an obsessive zombie. That's if zombies could be obsessive. I don't even know why I just said that. Anyway, what is that?" Gella rambled looking at Charlie with concern.
Charlie was sprawled across the floor next to her bed with her laptop in front of her. There were papers and books and notes everywhere, and Charlie was shuffling through these papers as she obsessively typed away on her laptop.
"Nothing. It's an essay for my War History class," Charlie replied, again absentmindedly.
"Ekh. I don't know why anyone would be tempted to sign up for such a class, let alone work so hard on a paper for it. I would probably have dropped out by now," Gella commented while typing away on her laptop mindlessly.
Charlie smirked. "Not everyone runs at the sight of academics, Gella," she retorted.
As she sat there, frantically highlighting a page in one of the many books laying open in front of her, Charlie pondered over her US War History class and the real reason she had been working so diligently on this essay.
After the debacle that had resulted from her late arrival on the second day of class, Charlie had gone out of her way to stay out of Professor Monroe's crosshairs. She had endured enough public shaming to last her entire college career, and did not need to become any more of a spectacle for her fellow students to see. Charlie had determined that it had been a giant mistake for her to sign up for that class, some beasts are better left undisturbed. She had considered just altogether withdrawing from the class to avoid any further confrontations with a very infuriated-for-no-reason Professor Monroe, but her stubbornness had gotten the best of her. Withdrawing now would be a sign of weakness. She had done nothing wrong. She had not provoked him in any way. All she had done was sign up for his stupid class, and he had treated her like trash. He had treated her like a little child throwing a tantrum in public. She did not deserve this treatment, especially not from a man who did not even know her in the slightest.
Instead, she had decided to stay out of his hair until she could come up with a better plan to throw his contempt back in his face. Every class for the past four weeks, she would show up ten minutes before class time, find a seat in the very back, and leave after he had scurried off at the end of class.
But now, an opportunity had risen. Professor Monroe had assigned the class their first assignment of the semester: a research paper on a topic of the student's choosing regarding the American Civil War. He seemed weirdly fixated on the civil war for some unknown reason. Charlie had noticed that he had gotten overly excited for the past three class periods when they had started studying about the civil war. He had even stopped making irate faces while calling Charlie's name during roll call during these classes. Consequently, Charlie had decided to seize this opportunity and make the best of it.
She was going to write the best research paper a college student had ever written in the history of this college. She was going to prove to him that she wasn't just some stupid slacker with a lack of regard for school. She was going to show him that she hadn't joined this class to bat her lashes at him, but because she actually enjoyed the subject itself. She had chosen to write her paper about the Civil War dress codes and uniforms, and their significance to the war. This was going to be the best paper he had ever read, and Charlie had spent hours meticulously researching over it. She was going to make him treat her with respect, even if she had to take a sleeping bag to the library to do it.
"…And General Lee's surrender made the Battle of Appomattox Court House the final major engagement of the Civil War. Now, before you guys leave; make sure to grab your graded research paper from the front table. I have them ordered alphabetically by last names in five different stacks with labels. If you have any questions regarding your paper, feel free to shoot me an e-mail or stop by my office during my office hours which are listed on the syllabus," Professor Monroe announced as he packed up his things and headed for the exit.
Charlie had been waiting the entire class period to get to this part. She made her way excitedly down the stairs to the front table, a visible grin covering her face. She had wanted so badly to see his reaction when he was reading her paper in all its amazingness. Even more so, she had wanted to see his face as he must have painfully marked an 'A' on top of her paper. She practically skipped to the 'K through O' stack, and quickly shuffled through all the papers to find hers.
And finally she did.
There it was with her name nicely typed across the top left, right across from the…'C'? A 'C'? Did he seriously just give her a C? Charlie had never gotten a C on any research paper in her entire life, especially not on ones she had worked really hard on. But a C on this paper, of all the papers? One that she had spent so many hours in the library over? Charlie felt like the entire world had started spinning around her. The immeasurable nuclear explosion of anger that was bursting inside of her could have caused radiation poisoning all the way in California.
That's it, Charlie thought. I'm not putting up with his shit anymore. He wants to secretly brood in anger over whatever issue he has with my existence, he can. But he is NOT screwing with my grades over some ancient bromance falling-out.
In that moment, Charlie decided that she was done treading cautiously around her time bomb of a professor. No, she was going straight to the source and getting this worked out once and for all. He has a problem with me? He can be a man about it and say it to my face when he doesn't have a class full of students and his unfounded irate façade to hide under, she thought definitively.
Unfortunately, she would have to wait till his next open office hours to confront him.
"You got a 'C'?!" Gella shrieked as she emerged from inside her closet with several pieces of clothing hanging from her shoulders.
Charlie shrugged, sitting on her bed with her shoulders slouched and a grimace on her face as she stared at the glaring red C on her beautiful paper. It felt like the scarlet letter of insult etched across her chest. Okay, it wasn't that dramatic, but it felt like it was searing into her eyes.
"I have never seen someone work so crazily over just some regular-ass research paper. I thought your professor was going to have to invent a better grade than 'A' to give you on it. He must be one of those really annoyingly tough professors who won't accept anything short of a blood sacrifice for a decent grade," Gella commented in a sad voice. "Man I really gotta see this Professor Monroe."
"Yeah, he's nothing special," Charlie sulked. "And I'm pretty sure the blood-sacrifice requirement is only for me, because pretty much half of the class made A's."
"What? Are you sure?" Gella asked confused.
"Yeah. I saw them all cheering with joy on their grade. I'm pretty sure no one cheers with joy over C's," Charlie replied.
"Wait but why would he give you a C then?" Gella frowned.
"Cause my last name's Matheson," Charlie explained.
"Huh?" Confused was an understatement for the look that graced Gella's face. She raised her eyebrows and crumpled her forehead.
And with that, Charlie dove into her family's long history with Professor Monroe, or as her mom sometimes liked to call him, Bass. She told Gella about how her Uncle Miles and Professor Monroe used to be the absolute best friends until they had a severe falling out, and how her mom had described him as an extension of the family who was always hanging around. Gella listened attentively with her jaw dropped and her eyebrows raised.
"So he's pretty much like an extended uncle to you?" Gella remarked thoughtfully.
"No, he's my uncle's former friend," Charlie contended.
"Yeah and that kind of makes him your extended uncle," Gella responded.
"Whatever," Charlie muttered. The thought didn't sit well with her for some reason, and she did not know why. She shrugged it off. "So, yeah. He's acting like a little kid throwing a tantrum and taking out whatever annoyances he has with Miles on my grades."
"So, what are you gonna do?" Gella inquired.
"I'm going to stop beating around the bush and go straight to him. Whatever happened with the two of them all of those years ago has nothing to do with me, and he needs to stop acting out about it. Like do the words professionalism even mean anything to him? I'm just gonna tell him to shove it and give me a real grade or I'm going to the dean," Charlie ranted.
"Hmm," Gella nodded. "Just don't get too up in his face. Remember that he's a teacher and can get you into trouble. "
Charlie rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Don't worry, I won't get kicked out."
"So. Do you remember him at all?" Gella asked excitedly.
"What?" Charlie asked quizzically.
"Professor Monroe. You said your mom said he used to always hang around back then. So, do you remember him at all?" she pressed.
"Oh. No. I was really little. I don't think I really spent any time around him," Charlie remarked.
"You know, you never answered my initial question about him," Gella observed.
"What was that?"
"Is he hot?"
"Eww. He's my uncle's age, Gella!" Charlie groaned.
"But he's not your uncle, you said so yourself," Gella teased.
Charlie rolled her eyes. "Besides, who cares how hot you are if you act like an old, grumpy grandpa," Charlie grunted.
"So he is hot?" Gella raised her eyebrows with a smirk on her face.
"Ok then. I'm gonna go to bed now, Gella," Charlie responded patronizingly with her eyebrows raised, as she climbed into her blankets.
Charlie replayed the moment she had first seen the glaring 'C' on her research paper in her head as she walked out of her Pre-Calculus class and made her way to the History wing. It was 1:00 p.m. on a Tuesday afternoon, and it was time for Professor Monroe's open office hours. Open office hours meant that the professor was found in his office with his door open, and students were free to walk-in and discuss whatever they wanted to discuss. And, oh, was she going to discuss things with him. She was going to discuss lots of things with him. Things like how she was not Miles Matheson. Things like how his past with her family had nothing to do with her or her grades. And things like how he should grow up and learn to treat his job professionally.
Charlie slowed down her pace as she reached a hallway of professor offices. She calmly scanned the numbers etched on the wall next to the office doors for room number 128. And she found it.
She gulped and composed herself as she made her way to his office. Remember what Gella told you. He's a professor. Talk calmly and dissolve the situation. Don't let your temper get to you. With that pep talk, she let out a long breath, and knocked on the door.
"Yes?" his raspy voice called out.
Charlie pushed the door in and stepped into his office, her paper clutched tightly in her left hand. She almost wished she had a camera in her hand so that she could forever capture the look that covered his face as he watched her walk into his office, where he had nowhere to hurriedly run off. He looked something between surprised and completely alarmed, like he had never imagined she would ever have the nerve to confront him in his office.
"Miss Matheson?" he spoke in an inquisitive manner with an authority in his voice that Charlie hadn't expected. His earlier look had been merely a lapse in control. He was now back to his usual demeanor of calm and calculating, unquestionable authority.
Charlie suddenly felt like exactly what she was, a young student in a scary teacher's office. She was unexpectedly nervous and a little scared of speaking up to him. He had a very strangely influential air to him, an air of importance. What had Gella called him? General Monroe. In this moment, Charlie could almost picture him in a civil war uniform, looking important and commanding thousands into battle. It was a strange sensation.
Snap out of it. You look like an idiot, Charlie mentally smacked herself. He's not an army general. He's a college professor still hung up on an age-old bromance. With that, Charlie looked at the glaring red 'C' on her paper and her fiery courage came running back.
"I wanted to talk to you about my research paper," Charlie calmly stated.
"What about it?" he retorted.
"You gave me a 'C'," Charlie snapped as she placed her paper on his desk, careful to not slam it on the desk.
"I do not have amnesia, Ms. Matheson; I'm aware of the grade I gave you," he replied in an exasperated and almost mocking tone.
Charlie's eye twitched with anger as she tried to keep a calm demeanor. "I want to know why you gave me a 'C'," she retorted, clenching her teeth.
"Because you wrote a C-grade paper. Now did you come here to bore me with continuous pointless questions, or is there a point for your visit?" Professor Monroe snapped impatiently and a little condescendingly.
Charlie fumed. She had the sudden urge to flip his abnormally large desk over his head and beat him with his stupid little civil war cannon statue. How could a person you barely knew ignite so much fury in you? She took a deep breath and bit her tongue to stay calm. "I don't see how my paper was a C-grade paper. I worked very hard on it, and I spent hours researching it," she further explained her query.
"Well, Charlotte. Hard work doesn't always equal good work," he replied firmly, with a challenging look in his eyes.
Did he just. Did he just call her Charlotte? What? What happened to Miss Matheson? What, they were suddenly on first name basis? It was strange hearing her formal first name being used in conversation. But the way he said it, it didn't sound strange on his lips. He somehow made it sound beautiful. Charlie snapped herself out of her ridiculous thought-train. What was wrong with her and her absurd thought tangents?
"Well, Professor Monroe. My hard work always equals excellent work. Why don't you show me what exactly it is that I did wrong on it that deserved a 'C'?" Charlie retorted with a heavily sarcastic tone.
"For one, you said that the uniforms were made of wool; when, just a little bit of internet research would have told you that only the Union uniforms were made of wool. The Confederate uniforms were made of cotton from the cotton fields. That's sloppy research," Professor Monroe noted.
"Seriously? That's one minor detail compared to all the other research I did, which was completely accurate. One minor error does not get me a C!" Charlie contested.
"The fact that you think it's a minor detail, and fail to accept your mistakes shows that you are not up to college standard work. Stubbornness might get you places at home, but it is not going to get rules bent for you here. I suggest you learn to take criticism and work on improving your work rather than waste other people's time by whining about your failures," Monroe snapped in such a reproaching tone, that all control that Charlie was keeping on her ever-boiling anger broke loose.
"Well, then I suggest you take your misplaced aggression and shove it!" Charlie spat back at him.
Monroe's face darkened and his nostrils flared. "Excuse me?" he hissed in a dangerous voice.
"I'm sick of you acting like a complete jerk to me when I don't even know you, just because my last name offends you. And I'm sick of dancing around the very gigantic elephant in the room. I'm not Miles. And whatever broken, tragic bromance you guys had, has nothing to do with me. Just because I share his last name does not give you permission to treat me like your red-headed stepchild!" Charlie almost shouted back at him.
Monroe had gotten a broken look in his eyes like she had really hit him where it hurt. His crystal blue eyes gazed at her with a piercing, angry stare. For a moment they both just sat there, glaring at each other with absolute fury. Charlie had not realized just how much she had moved up in her seat in her angry speech. Her stomach was pressed to the end of the desk, and her face was intimidatingly hovering over the desk. She hadn't realized just how close to his face she had gotten. It was pretty close. Closer than she had intended to. The space between them was very thin, and the air between them even thinner. She could almost hear him breathing, and it made her heart race a little bit, but she did not let her angry glower falter. He seemed to be in the exact same position, holding his furious glare perfectly in place. It was almost like a glaring contest between them, a stalemate, where neither of them seemed to be backing down. The extreme tension in the room had risen to a boiling point, and Charlie could almost feel the tangible radiation of anger being emitted from their glares as each of their eyes dared the other to utter one more word of affront.
"Uhh, Bass?" a voice came from outside the office door coupled with a slight knock.
The tension suddenly seemed to be lifted from the room, as both of them blinked and backed down in their seats. The voice had jerked them out of whatever moment they seemed to have been caught in and jolted some sense back into them.
Professor Monroe cleared his throat, and glanced up at the owner of the new voice. "Jeremy?" he muttered uncomfortably.
Charlie hurriedly reached out to grab her paper from the desk. She suddenly found the room to be very hot, and her cheeks seemed to be getting a warm, pinkish tinge.
"It's time for the Board meeting. Come on, we're gonna be late," Jeremy replied with an air of urgency.
Professor Monroe quickly grabbed a notebook and a pen from his desk, and got up from his chair. "Miss Matheson, we can discuss your grade at a later time," he announced to Charlie in a condescending tone with a piercing, unwavering stare.
Charlie returned his piercing stare with a very firm glare of her own and flashed him a sarcastic, snide half-smile as she got up from her chair, and made her way out into the hallway. Behind her, she could hear Jeremy quietly probe Monroe about what had been going on.
As she made her way out of the office section of the History wing, Charlie herself wondered what exactly had just happened. She didn't know what she had expected from her meeting with him, but she had definitely not expected this. She had simply gone to challenge her grade on her research paper, not to have some sort of a weird, tension-filled staring match with her history professor. She didn't quite know what to feel. It seemed that she was unable to have a civilized conversation with him, unable to talk to him without at least one of them jumping to the other's throat. The interactions somehow did not feel appropriate for a student-teacher relationship. There shouldn't be this much tension and fury involved in a normal student-teacher interaction. But then again, this isn't a normal student-teacher relationship, Charlie thought. Not that she really had anything to do with that. She was merely being put into uncomfortable circumstances for having a certain last name. Charlie sighed, and made her way back to her dorm, where she knew Gella would be very excitedly waiting for her return to press her for details about the meeting.
