DISCLAIMER: Toast to Queen Cassie!

Chapter Two: All Great Adventures

Then something Tookish woke up inside him, and he wished to go and see the great mountains, and hear the pine-trees and the waterfalls, and explore the caves, and wear a sword instead of walking stick.

—J. R. R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

The two days Tessa had to brace herself for Monday slipped by at an alarmingly quick rate, much to her horror. She woke up at the time she would for school to adjust to the time, and from there once glance at the clock would tell her it was 10:00 in the morning, and then another swift look would say it was promptly 4:30 in the afternoon. Sunday was the day she decided to go over to the main wing on campus and retrieve her uniform and schedule.

She hit her alarm clock to shut it up before sitting up and getting dressed. With a searching look that panned the room, it appeared that Camille was nowhere to be seen, and Tessa breathed in a sharp inhalation of relief. The prissy blonde girl had been in the dorm room for the majority of Saturday and seemed to have taken it upon herself to annoy Tessa as much as humanly possible by painting her fingernails and toenails in multiple coats of nail polish, leaving random articles of clothing strewn all about the floor, and "accidentally" leaving a stiletto heel-up next to Tessa's bed, which resulted in an unfortunate bruise on her foot. Ugh. Is it possible to switch roommates?

So she set out from the dorm and onto the campus. It had only taken a few days for most of the students she had the misfortune to come across (mostly rude girls that shared the same dorm) to quit serving her bemused stares and nasty sneers. Of course, Tessa still found herself on the receiving end of a fair amount, especially from Camille and the other blonde girl she was friends with, but instead of being the prime subject of interest, Tessa was merely ignored.

Whatever. It doesn't matter. Why would anyone want to gain these peoples' approval anyways? Tessa angrily shoved her hands into the pockets, her gaze sweeping over the lawn, which was emerald green and gleaming with delicate, tiny dewdrops. The skies were grey, like something had thrown a shroud of London and its rainy weather. Feeling more homesick than ever, Tessa continued on her path to the central wing. Why did I ever let Mother and Father convince me to accept that infernal scholarship? I couldn't bring all of my books, I have to deal with these jerks, and I have to get used to a new school! It had all sounded so good at first—the international experience, the school, the curriculum, the culture. . . Everything had sounded like a grand adventure that Tessa had read about before in a book and wanted to experience herself. She supposed that was what tempted her to even mention it to her parents; that a small shred of wanting to do something worthwhile still lingered in the depths of her heart but that she was too shy to carry it out by herself. Her parents had given her a push towards the application, towards the plane ticket, towards the packing. . . and far away from everything that was known, charted, and familiar in the slightest to Tessa. Instead of Manhattan, which she knew like the pages of A Tale of Two Cities and Clary and Isabelle, Tessa had landed herself in grey, rainy London in a school full of assholes. Lovely. Just what I wanted, the little negative voice in her head complained. But. . . but that's what happens at first on all great adventures! Tessa tried to think reassuringly. Did Bilbo Baggins even want to go with Thorin's Company at first? But imagine on what he would've missed out on if he didn't. That cheered her up a minimal amount, and for some peculiar reason, Tessa smiled secretly up at the heavy clouds and quickened her pace.

Tessa pushed open the door to what she thought looked like the office. The main wing had started out as a gleaming hallway with marble floors, pristinely painted walls, and a crystalline chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It then dissolved into narrower corridors and doorways that were equally as elaborate as their origins. She cautiously wandered down the corridors until she came to a room that had a front desk and several different high-tech computers inside. With a tentative twist of the doorknob, she let herself in, nervous energy dashing back and forth in the pit of her stomach.

One of the ladies at the gleaming front desk looked up, her mouth stretching into an even, white smile. "Hi there, can I help you?"

"Er—yes," Tessa stammered, incomprehensible and inevitable feelings of awkwardness resurfacing. She knotted her hands together behind her back and straightened her spine. "I'm a new student here and I was wondering if I could receive my schedule."

The lady peered intently at Tessa over her sleek computer, her scrutinizing, bright gaze roving over Tessa's features. When she finally sat back in her seat and began to type rapidly on the keyboard, Tessa released a slow exhalation of breath and felt like she had just passed a test, for some strange reason.

"What did you say your name was again?"

"I—I didn't, but I'm Te—Theresa Gray."

"Theresa Gray," echoed the woman, pronouncing Tessa's name like it was a rather humorous secret; a matter she hadn't been privilege to, and Tessa found herself bristling in an annoyed fashion.

"Yes. That's my name." Tessa struggled to keep a polite tone without any of the bite she knew would be swiftly sneaking into her voice.

"Why did you choose to go to the Institute?"

Tessa was taken aback at the sudden, unexpected query, reeling backwards slightly in surprise. She had expected singularly boring small talk about the weather or schedules, but not that. "Well, um. . . I didn't choose to go here." She thought it best to keep out anything about the unpleasant natures of the students or the fact that she would surely hate it there. "I won a scholarship, and my parents wanted me to go through with it, so I did."

The lady's eyes narrowed piercingly, but the sharp look had come and gone so quickly that Tessa assumed she must have imagined it. "Congratulations on your scholarship, Theresa." She favored Tessa with a smile that Tessa returned warily. "Here's your schedule, and best of luck."

Unconsciously, Tessa reached out and grasped the paper. The lady smiled at her again, and another unusual wash of intuition surged down her brain. At this, Tessa folded up the paper without really bothering to examine her schedule, whirled around, and marched out of the office. Whatever that room is. It's just strange, all of it, and I don't like it. Not one bit.

If Tessa swore at all, she would have been highly tempted to unleash a long string of expletives once she tapped in the password to her room, still mulling over the odd woman in the office and her curious stare with the unnerving brilliance of nebulae in the velvety canvas of the night sky. Camille had returned, and was propped languidly upon her fancy silk duvet with a bottle of scarlet nail polish on the nightstand beside her. The irritating fumes that resulted from the scarlet liquid were already stirring a headache in Tessa's head and she scowled at the nail polish. Stupid, idiotic people and their dumb cosmetics. . .

"What are you doing here?" Camille hissed, spitting the words out with so much venom that Tessa was dryly surprised they weren't swelling the blonde girl's tongue up with poison.

"In case you haven't noticed, I live here too, like I said yesterday," Tessa pointed out in a relatively calm tone.

"Unfortunately," muttered Camille darkly.

Tessa's jaw clenched at Camille's remark, her temper already beginning to rise. "Well, it's not as if I want to," she snapped heatedly before plopping unceremoniously down onto her bed, not caring that she had been treading on at least five articles of Camille's clothing that were still decorating the wood floor—much to Tessa's annoyance.

"You shouldn't even be here," sniffed Camille. "You're not one of us; you're here only because of that scholarship."

"At least my head isn't full of clouds and fluff like yours," Tessa retorted, unfolding her now wadded up schedule and smoothing it out on the bed. "Besides, I don't want to be like you. Or anyone here, for that matter."

First period: English. Second period: History. Third period: Study hall, fourth period: Algebra II, and fifth period: Psychology. A frown appeared on Tessa's features. I don't remember signing up for Ps—

"Good." Camille's unwelcome, vicious voice interrupted Tessa's befuddled train of thought and she couldn't help the resulting glower at the other girl. "Because you'll never be one of us."

"Excellent." I really don't care, actually.

Tessa could practically sense Camille's scowl of disappointment at not being able to antagonize her further. The tense room fell into a strained silence that was punctuated by the seemingly toxic fumes of Camille's scarlet nail polish until, a few moments later, the glass bottle was slammed into the nightstand drawer with a resounding crash. Tessa nearly fell off her bed, having been startled by the noise. Another colossal crash followed the former, and Camille smirked as Tessa jumped again before heading out of the room and slamming the door so hard that the frame shook dangerously. Two minutes after the door shut and Tessa's furious glaring ceased, she opened Camille's nightstand drawer and promptly chucked the infernal nail polish in the trash.

Problem solved, she thought with a satisfied grin.

The following morning, Tessa awoke feeling as if her head had just hit the pillow. After a long night of tossing and turning while her insides quivered with anxiety of what was to come, she hadn't been able to find sleep until the late, late hours of the night and woke up in a very out-of-sorts state.

She slammed a groggy hand down on the "OFF" button of her alarm clock. Come on, wake up, the sun is shining, the birds are chirping, you are obviously a morning person. . .She groaned; who was she kidding? The sky was as sullen and gray as ever through the window, and if there were birds, she certainly couldn't hear them. Tessa stumbled sleepily off to the bathroom, impatiently yanking a brush through the snarls in her hair and then pulling on the dumb uniform all the students had to wear. It consisted of a black skirt, white shirt, and black blazer with the school's crest for girls or black slacks, white shirt, and black blazer with the crest for boys. Either way, Tessa saw it first as being boring and dull, but somehow poetic, like books. The starkness of the colors struck a strong chord in her, and she found herself thinking thoughts of, The black could represent conflict and the white. . . I am obviously too tired to function today.

It didn't help her already dismal, miserable mood when Camille first started to stir lazily thirty minutes before the first bell rang, sauntered into the bathroom that Tessa had recently vacated in favor of haphazardly shoving things into her bookbag, and waltzed back out a few minutes later with no sign of dark half-moon circles shadowing her bright eyes or sloppiness in her step. In retaliation, Tessa angrily attempted to smooth down a lock of her unruly hair back into its ponytail without success. This is ridiculous, she eventually decided and finished putting the last binder in her bag before striding hurriedly out of the room. The last glimpse of her dorm room she saw was Camille stuffing at least three tubes of expensive lipstick into her pockets, and Tessa couldn't hold back a snort as she continued down the long stretch of hallway.

It was just her unfortunate lack of luck that most of the dorm was bustling with activity; girls coming out of their rooms with seemingly no or a little amount of textbooks or other school-y things; girls talking in small, tight-knit groups; girls sitting in the common room with cups of coffee. All of them seemed to have one thing in common with each other: Tessa could tell that none of them liked her at all. She wasn't blind and could clearly spot the hostile looks she received while going down the hall and hear the whispers that followed her appearance like little hissing serpents. I hate it. I hate this. She gritted her teeth. Why did I ever accept that scholarship? Why did I ever let Mother and Father push me into this? Why didn't I just tell them when I first arrived at the Institute that I didn't like it here? Why haven't I told them already? For the love of all things that are holy, I am a fool.

"Isn't she Camille's roommate?"

"Yeah, and one that has a stick up her arse, too."

That was the last of the comments Tessa heard from two girls, one a blonde and the other a brunette, before she walked past them and out the doors of the dorm. Being away from all the gossip circulating that was no doubt about her and the nasty stares the girls were giving her made her feel better already—lighter, freer, happier—if for only a few seconds. In spite of everything, a small smile surfaced across Tessa's face, for the grass was green and crisp under her uniform-shoed feet and even if the sky was gray and numb, it was slightly familiar yet still foreign. And at least it's not raining, right?

Tessa unfurled her now crumpled schedule from a pocket of her bookbag. English in Building A with Mr. Branwell. I wonder who he is and if he's a good teacher or not. Thinking about the temperaments of the students that would be in her class made her mood sour greatly—if Tessa could barely tolerate her fellow classmates for two days, how would she get through the entire year without exploding?

A miracle, Tessa thought, growing miserable again as her tiny sliver of happiness withered away, an enormous miracle, that's how.

The wretched staring and glaring Tessa had expected. Prior to walking into room thirty-nine, she had rocked back and forth on her feet and took in a slow breath. At her first step into the room, she could sense her person being assaulted by the stares and scowls that burned into her skin. Shards of hasty, malicious conversation jolted around the room, ricocheting off the elaborately vaulted ceiling, causing Tessa to gulp as her hand spasmed nervously around the strap of her bookbag. The first seat she chose was to the left-hand side of a girl with long blonde hair pinned back in perfectly spiraling curls. As Tessa drew closer to the empty seat, the girl turned around at the pace of a snail, her features contorted in a sneer.

"Don't bother sitting here, you intrusive bitch."

Tessa couldn't help the automatic flinch at the snickers that grew louder and louder in the quiet of the classroom, racing along the walls at what felt like the speed of light. She wanted to snap something at the girl, to sit in the seat anyways because who even cared what the blonde girl thought about her, to say something—anything—but it was as if her mind and body froze for half a second as a blush traveled across her face. And when she finally slid back to motion and function, her mouth wouldn't open, the words refused to form shape, and the soft, malevolent laughter was on replay in her brain, bouncing around wildly and cruelly in her skull. Her legs began to move again, taking her to an empty desk in the back of the classroom with a crimson flush of humiliation and anger imprinted on her skin.

Misery rose as high as the peak of a very tall mountain inside Tessa as she furiously sought to will away her blush. She couldn't believe the students here and found a steadily increasing knot of anger growing inside her heart for them, but she was also angry at herself. Why didn't I say anything? Tessa, you idiot! Why did I just stand there with my mouth open like a fool? I may have gone ahead and forsaken myself to a life of mortification here! And so I begin the year known as the "intrusive bitch." Excellent. Really excellent.

"Why is she here?"

"She doesn't belong here."

Tessa's fist tensed along the English textbook she had started to remove from her bag. Forget about carefully putting in on my desk—I'd rather throw it at their stupid heads!

The bell rang, slicing efficiently through her tangled, vengeful thoughts of taking the heaviest book in her bag and soundly whacking the curly-haired blonde girl in the forehead with it. Actually, maybe just every student here, not just the blonde girl. A few more minutes passed without event, and Tessa shifted uncomfortably in her chair as the back of it dug into her spine. Once seven minutes had ticked by on the loud clock over the door, she pulled herself away from the rampage of conflict raging past her mind as a thought hit her harshly. Where on Earth is the teacher? she realized, and fumbled for his name—Mr. Branwell, a voice in her head interjected helpfully. Apparently another student had the same thought, and voiced his question out loud to the class, half of which broke out into loud, rude laughter.

"Branwell?" snorted a boy, his gray-green eyes glimmering disrespectfully at the asker of the question. "He's a bloody idiot, can't tell left from right half the time since he's so obsessed with his mechanical shit—"

"That's the first thing you've said today that makes the slightest bit of sense, Gabriel!"

Tessa watched with a small amount of interest and a much larger quantity of shock at their blatant impudence towards the teacher. They're rude to everyone! But I suppose I have one name to put to a face now. . .

"First thing?" Gabriel echoed.

"You're always spouting nonsense shit—"

"That's a polite name for it—" smirked another boy, this one with black hair. A stab of recognition slapped Tessa in the face. Oh my god, he's Stupid Douchebag!

"Fine, then, complete and utter—"

"You're a fucking bastard!"

"Actually, I do have parents—" Stupid Douchebag was interrupted by a wad of paper hitting him in the mouth, and Tessa smirked inwardly in satisfaction as he spit out the paper, glowering at Gabriel.

"I take that back, you're a fucking liar!"

At the last word Gabriel shouted violently, the laughter in the room ground to a quick halt. Stupid Douchebag's gaze narrowed dangerously as a sort of nervous tension charged the air. Gabriel seemed to realize his mistake and scooted backwards in his seat.

"Look, I'm really sorry; it just sort of slipped out."

"You say anything like that again," snarled the black-haired boy, his eyes glittering maliciously, "and I'll break your damn arm again. I don't give a shit about what it's for."

The room fell into a terse, curt silence that felt like it was hammering down Tessa's eardrums. She was dying to ask what had just occurred, why it had happened, and what made Stupid Douchebag react so fiercely. She wasn't surprised to find anger boiling in her blood again at Stupid Douchebag. Who does he think he is, the ruler of the school? Tessa caught herself just before she released a laugh out loud. God, if I had the guts, I'd just punch him in the face since he's such an arrogant jerk!

The door swung open a split second later, colliding noisily with the wall, and a red-haired man stumbled in as several students began to snicker at his unexpectedly sudden appearance. He turned out to be Mr. Branwell, the very late teacher of Tessa's English class. At the end of the class, after he had handed out a syllabus and then spoke about his enjoyment for tinkering with things, Tessa eventually concluded that she did indeed like him, despite the unhelpful and disrespectful comments that came from many of the other students throughout the duration of the class. Mr. Branwell was clearly kind, she decided, but if a tad bit absentminded. That she could understand—hadn't her mother always told her she was often distracted from reality by the worlds of the books she so loved to read? She liked listening to him talk about his interest in invention and mechanics and taking things apart but always putting them back together. It was far more interesting than hearing the students mutter of whatever expensive designer item they were planning to buy or how much money they had. When the bell rang and signaled the end of first period, most of the class sighed in relief or rushed out of the room, but Tessa lingered, carefully putting her things away and listening to the end of Mr. Branwell's tale about his mishaps in the world of invention.

"That was a very good story, sir," she told him once he finished, and he grinned while sheepishly trying to tame his red hair, which stuck up in randomly absurd tufts all over his head.

"I'm glad you thought so, Miss. . ."

"Theresa. Theresa Gray, although I prefer to be called Tessa."

"Miss Tessa, then." His friendly gaze turned to probing like someone had flipped a light switch, and the change took Tessa by surprise. "Did you really enjoy my story?"

"Yes, didn't I just say that?" flew out of Tessa's mouth before she noticed what she was saying. "I mean, yes, sorry."

"Oh, no need for that." He waved off her apology. "Anyways, you should be on your way to your next class, Miss Tessa."

"I should," Tessa answered. "Goodbye, Mr. Branwell."

He waved to her, and she snuck a surreptitious glance at her schedule. History in Building C with Mr. Starkweather. But as soon as she hurried out of Building A and in the direction of Building B, she was stopped in mid-step by a voice calling behind her, "Aren't you Theresa Gray? The new student?"

First things first: I am really sorry. Honestly, really, really sorry! My only alibi is school, which has been putting me on a really long hiatus, which you lot probably are bloody pissed about (especially since I also have really crappy writer's block and I can't seem to focus). Hopefully this chapter will make up for some of that, but by now y'all are probably super confused too. Basically, I've completely screwed with the plot, like I said in the previous author's note. Before, the plot was basically some shallow shit about love that happened way too fast, so I've started by slowing all that character development and whatnot down a lot. I've also deepened the plot a fair bit—and the characters, especially after realizing that Tessa sounded an awful lot like a Mary-Sue, and Mary-Sues usually irritate the shit out of me. So I'm fixing that.

As far as the other updates go (people are particularly impatient for the City of the Fallen one), they're not going so well. I was re-reading several of my earlier stories (COTF in particular) and everything was feeling like it's happening way too fast. So I'm thinking about editing COTF along with a few others to make everything better. Or at least that's my goal. Cool? Not cool? I'm probably just going to go ahead and do it.

Questions, comments, anything at all? Feel free. Happy reading!

-Vex