Page 14 of Darkened Wings
Great, another way for me to stick out.
I was the only one who didn’t know her own history.
Perfect.
“What animal are we confused with all the time?” the professor asked but received no response. “Come on, even a human can answer this one.”
One girl’s hand waved lazily in the air. I knew the answer, of course, but there was no way I was going to bring more attention to myself than necessary. “Crows.” The girl’s answer brought about a roar of moans and groans from the otherwise silent audience.
“Does anyone know what the difference is, not anatomically. We all know that.” The professor must’ve seen some looks of confusion. “Or…not. Let’s talk about them.”
Now the others were fully engaged. Hands shot in the air. They were alive again.
One boy in particular knew quite a lot and puffed out his chest as he answered. “Ravens soar in the air. Crows flap all over the place like crazy birds. Their wings are different, too. Ours are pointed and beautiful, while crows’ wings are blunt and ordinary.”
The professor cocked her head. “Okay. Someone else.”
The same girl that had answered Crows in the first place crossed her arms over her chest as though speaking of crows made her uncomfortable, a defensive stance if I’d ever seen one. “Their beaks are different.”
“How so?” The professor walked across the classroom to stand in front of the area where the girl was sitting.
“Our beaks are curved at the top, giving us the look of royalty. And we’re bigger than them, which is why we travel in pairs versus crows that have to stick together in a murder.”
The professor nodded. “What about behaviors? How do we act differently?”
No one answered. Some whispered to each other, but none spoke up.
The professor loosened the buttons on her shirt and rolled up her sleeves. “Let’s discuss it. Ravens have been proven to be one of the smartest animals on the planet. But also, we use our throat feathers to put up a bold defense or react to something in nature such as an incoming storm or earthquake. There is also the fascinating and bold mating process. Every male raven is a gymnast at heart, am I right, ladies?”
I had no idea what they were referring to, but I smiled anyway. “Now, tomorrow we will discuss how crows and ravens were once one species but we parted ways. I’m sure everyone has a bit of lore they’ve heard over the years. Be ready to share.”
The bell rang above our heads, and I cringed at the loud noise. I had always been jumpy around loud noises. I could stand anything but yelling. From my amateur web searches, I found out that it was probably attachment trauma, but I thought it was merely one of my traits. My parents never yelled. In fact, I didn’t remember either of them even raising their voices to me.
I gathered my things, determined not to get another lecture about privilege and legacy and being late. With my bag on my shoulder, I rushed toward the exit not only for time’s sake but to avoid another lashing by the well-dressed professor.
I almost made it before she cleared her throat. “Gwendoline.”
Well, crap.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She gave me a slight smile. “Professor Pike, please.”
I nodded. “Professor Pike, I don’t want to be late to another class.”
She nodded. “I just wanted to say keep it up. I see you trying. No one is going to take it easy on you here…” She took a step toward me and lowered her voice. “No matter how much they would like to help you. Understand?”
One nod, and I was out of there. I remembered my next class was just down the hall and more than not wanting to be late, I needed to grab a seat in the back where I could think…and try not to be noticed.
Chapter Nine
By the end of the day, I was ready to chuck this damned plaid skirt in the trash. After all, skirts that are above the knee and without pockets, well, they don’t deserve a place on the planet—at all. First, I had to spend most of the day ensuring my backpack wasn’t making my skirt ride up and showing all my goodies to the general public. That was a job in and of itself. Then, every time I sat somewhere, I had to put my hands behind me to make sure my ass didn’t come into direct contact with one of the older-looking wooden seats that folded down like the ones in the movies.
I was having enough trouble without adding splinter in my ass to the equation.
Did they have a nurse at this school?
And for the record, a girl needs pockets way more than a guy. In pants, in skirts, in shorts, pockets for days and days. We need to keep things handy.
