3rd of October, 1901, The English Countryside

“How does one tell a well structured story, when life is absolute chaos?” Elizabeth Lockhart sighed, her brunette curls falling into her eyes.

“Stop trying to be philosophical, Eliza. It’s not working,” Jessalyn Samuels snapped as she got up and moved to the blackboard. It was well worn now, with a huge gash down the middle where a certain William Carter had decided to practice his archery. Not his brightest idea by any means, “Just accept the feedback and move on,” she finished.

Eliza opened her mouth to speak but, before any sound could come out, their professor had beat her to it.

“Girls, please. It’s hard enough to run this establishment on a good day, let alone when you lot are bickering like old housewives.” He said, delicately placing his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

The girls were stunned into silence and Jessalyn sat back down. That was Professor Hawthorne, alright. Very direct. He had been a professor of writing at Milford Academy for twenty five years and never had he seen a more difficult to manage class. It’s the new age of thinkers he would say. At that precise moment, a warm, golden ray of light came trickling through the thin windows, almost as if it were summer’s last goodbye. It seemed as though it was this light that coaxed William into speaking.

“I agree with Eliza, sir. Life is absolute chaos. So how could you possibly expect us to write a cohesive, sensical piece when such a thing does not exist in reality?” He said, standing up, his shirt creased and his mop of hair more unruly than usual.

“Carter, I should know by now not to expect much better from you but for the love of god, sit down and let me teach!” The poor man truly was at his wits end and yet, William remained standing, “Do you need anything else?” Exasperation dripped from the old man’s voice.

“No, sir.” He smiled his signature, lopsided smile that always seemed to suggest he was scheming something and, finally, sat down. Professor Hawthorne probably would have kicked him out of his class ages ago had it not been for the very small issue that he’s the best writer Milford’s seen in at least a century. Oh, and his father’s the headmaster.

“Right. Before I go on, I expect there to be no more disturbances or interruptions or anything of the sort. Do you understand?”

All ten of them silently nod.

“Good. This is your final year here at Milford. You should know by now that you need to focus and listen to me. Lord knows that your future employers won’t be half as kind as I have been.”

Jessalyn looked down at her hands, suddenly incredibly interested in her fingernails. Employers. It was her only dream in life. To work. Yet, it was the one thing she was destined not to do. Her parents, her mother in particular, were adamant that she was to ‘marry a rich man and produce wonderful, obedient heirs’. That was her only purpose. Milford was the only good thing she had in her life and now, it was all ending soon. In complete honesty, Jessalyn was beautiful. She had the kind of long, blonde hair and bright blue eyes that people would die for and yet, she felt it was a curse rather than a blessing because, perhaps, if she had been less beautiful, she wouldn’t have to be forced into a life she did not want.

So, with all the agitation at his disposal, Professor Hawthorne continued his lesson. Yes, there were more interruptions, many more, but if you stick around a little longer you might realise that’s not such a bad thing after all.