The Price of a Grade.
873 Words
Julian Vance didn't blink. He didn't even lean back. He picked up the coffee cup, walked five steps to the trash can at the side of the podium, and dropped it in.
Thud.
The silence that followed was deafening. Even her brother, standing by the exit, narrowed his eyes.
"The rules of this classroom apply to everyone," Julian said, returning to the board as if nothing had happened. "If you want to stay, sit down and open a notebook. If you want to talk about your father’s headaches, do it in the hallway. We are here to discuss the influence of power on the individual. Clearly, some of you need the lesson more than others."
The girl sat frozen, her hand still holding her lip gloss applicator. Her face turned a bright, indignant red. She wasn't just angry; she was fascinated.
"He... he threw it away," she whispered to herself.
Her brother took a step forward, his hand drifting toward his waistband, but she raised a hand to stop him. She was staring at Julian’s back, a mischievous, dangerous glint appearing in her eyes.
"Fine, Professor Vance," she called out, her voice dripping with a mix of sarcasm and genuine interest. "Let’s learn about power. I’m a very fast learner."
Julian didn't respond. He simply kept writing, his hand steady, hiding the fact that he was well aware of the four sets of eyes watching his every move, waiting for a reason to end him.
The first lecture had begun, and the war had officially been declared.
The rest of the first week at Saint Jude’s Elite University felt like a cold war. Every morning, the three-car convoy arrived, and every morning, Melody walked into Lecture Hall 4B with a smile that suggested she owned the building, the bricks, and the air the other students breathed.
But for the first time in her eighteen years, someone wasn't breathing back.
Professor Julian Vance remained an enigma. He didn't acknowledge the four bodyguards stationed at the exits. He didn't acknowledge Joshua, who sat directly behind his sister like a silent gargoyle, staring a hole into the back of Julian’s head. Most importantly, he didn't acknowledge Melody’s constant, spoiled interruptions.
"Professor," Melody had piped up on Wednesday, leaning back in her chair and tapping a diamond-encrusted pen against her chin. "This talk about 'social stratification' is a bit bleak, don't you think? My father says the world is divided into people who lead and people who follow. Isn't that much simpler than all these graphs?"
Julian hadn't even paused his writing on the chalkboard. "Your father’s philosophy is a fine recipe for a monarchy, Melody. Here, we use peer-reviewed data. If you’d like to contribute, I suggest you read the assigned chapter instead of quoting dinner-table conversations."
The class had gasped. Joshua had shifted in his seat, his leather jacket creaking, but Melody had only laughed—a bright, tinkling sound. She found his resistance... charming. Like a cat playing with a mouse that refused to run away.
I’ve finished grading your introductory essays on the impact of the Industrial Revolution," Julian announced as the clock ticked toward the end of the period. He held a stack of papers, his expression as unreadable as ever. "Some of you showed a surprising grasp of the material. Others..."
He walked down the aisle. When he reached Melody’s desk, he dropped a single sheet of paper face-down.
Melody didn't even look at it at first. She looked at Julian, flashing a brilliant, confident grin. "I hope you liked the paper, Professor. I used a very expensive heavy-stock cream parchment. It’s imported."
"I noticed," Julian said, his voice flat. "It made it much easier to write on."
He moved to the next desk. Melody flipped the paper over.
The "0%" was so large it seemed to scream off the page. It was circled in aggressive red ink. Below it, in Julian’s sharp, elegant script, was a single sentence: “A three-page description of your family’s private jet and how it ‘revolutionized’ your summer is not a historical analysis. F.”
The smile slid off Melody’s face. She stared at the red mark as if it were a physical wound. Across the room, the other students were whispering, stealing glances at her. The "Untouchable Princess" had just been publicly humiliated.
"He gave me a zero," she whispered. Her voice wasn't bubbly anymore; it was cold.
Joshua was out of his seat in an instant. He didn't head for the door. He walked down to Melody’s desk, his eyes burning as he looked at the paper. "He did what?"
"Joshua, sit down," Melody commanded, her voice trembling with a mix of fury and embarrassment. "I’ll handle this. I’ll show him exactly how 'important' his little red pen is."
The bell rang, signaling the end of the week. The students scrambled out of the room, terrified of being caught in the crossfire. Within seconds, the hall was empty, save for Melody, Joshua, the four bodyguards at the doors, and Julian Vance, who was calmly packing his leather briefcase.
- Writer
