Refraction

Chapter 1: Gerontology

Author's Note: This is unedited. There may be many mistakes, and many pieces of the story left out. I plan on editing and adding further detail into the chapter very soon. This is a work in progress. Thank you for reading!

→↔↔←

"CASSANDRA!" Mom called from outside my locked door. The brass knob jiggled furiously. "I told you to come downstairs for your lessons ten minutes ago."

"Coming," I mumbled. I limply jostled the covers off of me, still trying to find the strength to wake for the day.

"What are you doing in there? Why's this door locked?" she pestered as she continued to shake the doorknob. "Cassandra, open the door, now."

Rolling my eyes, I swung my feet over the bed, and traveled across the hardwood floors to my bedroom door. Once the door pivoted open, my mother let out a heavy sigh. She was clearly ready for work in her blue button-down dress shirt and white laboratory coat.

"Are you seriously still in bed? Do you realize what time it is? Beatrice is downstairs waiting."

"Okay," I answered briefly, leaving her in the doorway as I evaded to my closet to get dressed for the day.

"You need to stop staying up so late," Mom called after me. "I'm not kidding, Cassandra. Don't make me assign you a bedtime."

I was too annoyed to respond, so I pretended I didn't hear. I shuffled through the clothes in my closet, fumbling around for something to wear.

"Anyway, I have to get to the hospital, so I'll see you later," she called out again from the bedroom door. I heard her footsteps hasten down the hallway, and I knew she was long gone.

I threw on a pair of jeans and a sweater, and proceeded toward the study. Descending from the floating walnut-colored staircase, I could smell brown-sugar ham and eggs. I entered the kitchen to see our housekeeper--slender, bald-headed Benjamin.

"What's the special occasion, Jem?" I smiled, settling on the bar-stool at the island counter. He was transferring the eggs from the skillet to a plate.

"Meteor shower last night," he answered in beam, and winked at me playfully. He placed the plate of food in front of me, and then reached into the top cabinet for a glass cup, where he'd set it next to my plate. As he poured the pitcher of orange juice, he petitioned, "And are we really still calling me Jem?"

I chuckled, but moved passed the remark, "What about the meteor shower?"

"That's the special occasion, isn't it? Isn't that why your mother had to drag you out of bed this morning?" he uttered in a lighthearted tone.

I sneered in jest as I sliced the brown-sugar ham with my knife. Before taking a bite, I asked, "Mom really let you make this without it being Christmas?"

He shrugged, "Eh, I talked her into it."

"You should have been a salesman, Mr. Benjamin."

"Your parents pay more."

I rolled my eyes with a grin while sticking the fork of sweet ham into my mouth. 

"Well, you better hurry up. Ms. Bee didn't seem to be too happy about your tardiness," he warned. 

I scarfed down my breakfast, partly because I knew that Beatrice was waiting, but moreover because it was delicious and I hardly got to eat anything cooked in sugar.

When I entered the study, Dezi and Beatrice were sitting at the rectangular graphite desk that was settled against the refinished wooden accent wall. Beatrice's head turned in my direction, and she stared at me with daggers.

"Stop dawdling," she instructed sternly. "We've already wasted too much of my time today."

"I'm sorry, Ms. Beatrice," I pleaded for forgiveness politely. I took my place on the other side of the desk that extended along two walls. 

"Pull up your online workbook," she ordered. I did as I was told, turning on the PC and loading the homeschooling workbook software.

Beatrice was a retired college professor. She was a by-the-books, no-nonsense kind of woman. This was only Beatrice's second week as our at-home educator, but I already knew that Dezi was her favorite. I assumed it was because they were very like-minded. 

After enduring several hours of Ms. Beatrice's stuffy attitude and rigorous teaching methods, she dismissed us from lessons for the day.

"Cassia, could you stay behind for a moment?" Beatrice pronounced before I'd gotten the opportunity to get out the door. I obeyed, and lingered behind until Destiny was out of the study.

"I will have you know, I don't stand for tardiness. If I'm expected to be at your house promptly at nine o'clock, I expect the same out of you," Beatrice stated, her voice calm, but her pitch cross.

"I understand, Ms.," I acknowledged respectfully. It was difficult to listen to a lecture that I knew I was going to receive later from Mom and Dad anyway, but I had to swallow my displeasure.

"What are you going to do when you have to be a responsible adult in the real world? Do you think that the colleges would tolerate that behavior?" As she saw that I wasn't about to respond, a smirk stretched at her mouth. "I see... Are you just going to be one of those rich girls, who live with their parents forever?"

Though I was offended, I remained cool, "I've--I've never really thought about it..."

Her arms crossed over her chest when she said, "You should probably start thinking about it. You do realize that you're seventeen? In less than a year, you will be a legal adult. You need to think about what it is that you're going to do with your life."

I sensed my mouth gape open slightly, "What I'm going to... do?"

"What career do you want to have? How are you going to support yourself? Where are you going to live? Are you going to go to college?" she shot the questions at me. It felt like it was ammunition used to make me deflated.

"I--I don't--I don't know--I guess--I..." My stuttering was a clear indication that I hadn't given it a lot of thought. My parents had always done everything for me. They had never brought anything up about college. My previous educators had never brought anything up about college. And, as embarrassing as it was to admit, I wasn't really familiar with what college was even for.

She puffed out a breath of air as if in defeat. Her demeanor relaxed. Her expression and tone softened, "Why don't we take a look into your options on Monday?"