Iridescent

28| Keep Going

I was stressed. 

I had my finger hovering between two chats: my dad's and Professor Allistar's. 

Both... I needed to deal with. 

I inhaled deeply and clicked one open. 

Cassandra, come to my office before lunch. 

Oh boy. 

***

Professor Allistar's office smelled fresh; a cool summer breeze under shady trees. He brewed a fresh cup of tea, drinking hot drinks despite the weather. He grabbed two cups of tea and offered to sit outside. 

We walked to a relatively private corner, with climbing vines and umbrellas with outdoor furniture. Professor Allistar chose a spot that was most exposed, but I could see why; if there were anyone trying to eavesdrop, Professor Allistar and I would spot them immediately. 

Professor Allistar held up a booklet in his hands and grinned, "You've been eyeing this booklet since we left the office." He spoke in a soft and calm tone, which made me relax a bit.

"It is my exam paper, Sir," I offered with a careful smile. "One must be curious about that."

Professor Allistar barked a hearty laugh and then flipped the paper open carefully, "I've read it. You have a wonderful way with words, Miss Williams."

My eyes sparkled, "Really? You really think so?"

"Of course," his eyes were still on the paper. "Have you ever considered being a writer? Or, journalist, perhaps."

"I once journaled," I admitted with a hint of sadness. I had not bought any journals to my school, nor did I continue my habit of journalling on campus in fear that they would be found and used against me. I often imagined the day where their unwanted eyes scanned over the words written only for my journal. They would dig into every word I wrote from my heart, interpret what I've written as evidence to my sin. "I haven't considered being a writer before."

He didn't comment on it and closed the exam paper, passing it to me, "I've called you here because your essay has sparked... conversation."

"Specifically from Professor May?" 

He stifled a laugh, "I have been asked to come and have a chat with you." He nodded at my paper, "Do you still remember the essay question?"

"Yeah... it was about Iridescent," I cursed at Professor Dunbar for setting that question. 

"You sat on the fence with your final opinion on it," Professor Allistar lowered his voice. Nothing in his expression revealed that he was mad at me. Rather, he looked like he was met with a tricky algebra question. "Do you know how risky this answer is?"

I bowed my head, my hands beneath the table were clasped tightly together. I clearly remember the day of the exams. I wasn't really nervous. I had prepared and studied for it, and that was it. I leave all things to my brain when I enter the room, and to the trust in myself. But the moment I flipped the page to the essay question, I realised to my horror that it was about a topic I didn't want to talk about. 

Iridescent. 

"You raised a lot of uncertainties, especially when you talked about the Dark Times," Professor Allistar flipped the exact page where I was writing about that. The blue ink pen seemed glaringly painful against my eyes. But, I didn't fret nor did I feel ashamed with what I wrote. I simply wrote the truth; the truth that people were refusing to see. I was as discreet as possible in my writing, but I should've known that the upper management of whoever-whoever would still find something to talk about. "You wrote that there was a lack of evidence to suggest this and that. Even though you only wrote one or two sentences on that issue, people still picked it up. Anything written about Iridescent will not only go through the markers and tutors but also to a special group of Professors who'll assess whether this person's moral beliefs are... good."