The Revengers

Chapter Five •An Invitation•

Sitting in my chair, at my desk in the government lecture hall, I bounced my left leg, waiting for the packed room to clear out so I could corner the professor.

"A C isn't bad Amelia." Chelsea sighed for what seemed like the fifteenth time.

"It's not good either." I retorted, staring down at my test.

"It's average."

"It's below average."

"I got a B-."

"A B- is not a C."

"I'm trying to be helpful."

I exhaled, in exasperation,
"I know."

"He's not going to change the grade, you know that right?"

"He worded these questions ridiculously. And how can you say that? He changed your first test grade from a B to an A-."

"I think he has a crush on me, it's kind of creepy."

"I'm so sorry him adjusting your grades is inconvenient for you."

"I've known him for a while, I help him out around the classroom, and when he was on vacation last year I house sat for him, it's different."

"That's weird."

She shrugged, "A little."

"He's old enough to be my grandpa."

"I'm older then you."

"Okay, So? He's old enough to be your dad."

She shrugged again, "It's just a creepy old man crush."

I opened my mouth to reply, however closed it once the last student had left the room. Rising to my feet I stride up to the front of the classroom with Chelsea following meekly in toe.

"Hello Chelsea," he greeted, "And Amanda."

"Amelia." I corrected.

"Forgive me," he chuckled, "I have four hundred and seventy-six students."

His laugh was weird, like a drunk donkey guffawing.

"What can I do for you ladies?"

"I don't think I deserve a C." I informed him, setting my paper on his desk, "I pay attention, I take notes, I do well on the quizzes and I did well on the other test. There has to be some mistake."

"Let me take a look." He said, sitting down at his desk and unscrewing the cap off a one liter of Coke.

Revolted I watched as he took a sip.

Removing a red pen from his pocket he scratched out my grade and instead scribbled a B+ above it.

"Really?" I asked incredulously.

"Clearly you care." He replied, "most of your classmates only take this class to fill a requirement, I can tell you're passionate, and driven, and of course any friend of Chelsea is a friend of mine."

He flashed her a smile, and blushing she looked down. Revolted, I looked between the two, she was willowy and pretty and possessed the innocence of an Amish toddler. Her massive doe brown eyes giving her a sort of babydoll appearance. He on the other hand was a large meaty man, with a well rounded gut, a pointed grey goatee and twisted matching mustache, and in all honestly looked like a rather frightening cat, who'd been raised by a wolf and a goat. He looked like the type of individual to be born at fifty-five years old and stay that way until he died. He didn't even really look that human to be completely honest. I was tempted to check under his desk for hooves.