Post by Emma Vale on Jan 10, 2007 15:52:49 GMT -5
Pt. 1 - The Confrontation
(Set at the end of Emma’s Freshman year)
The bus had been filled with excitement and wizard crackers, but even though she rejoiced with her new-found friends, Emma was still filled with dread. Even her best friend Evie couldn’t lift Emma’s spirits, no matter how many times she recounted events from the past year. ‘We’re sophomores now, Em! Just wait til’ next year, those freshmen won’t know what hit ‘em!’ she cried, nudging Emma in the arm. “Yea, it’ll be great, E,” she replied half-heartedly. If not seeing Braxton for an entire summer wasn’t enough, Emma had to stay at home during that ‘vacation.’ She was dreading the moment her foot touched the concrete, for that would be when SWIM ended. As the bus slowed down, Emma hesitantly ventured to peek out the window. There, at the bus stop, was her father.
‘Good afternoon, Emma,’ he greeted her cordially, with just a touch of warmth to convey the tone of a loving father greeting his beloved daughter. ‘Hello father,” she replied in the same manner of robotic inflection. Standing beside him as the last of her friends stampeded off the bus, Emma only nodded at each enthusiastic farewell, calling out a goodbye if necessary. Although most gave her odd looks after they passed by the two, Emma refused to look back. Soon the driver began offloading luggage, and after they retrieved Emma’s luggage, the two walked silently back to her father’s car. Once her luggage was loaded into the trunk, the two got into the car, her father taking the driver’s seat as Emma settled herself into the passenger side; Gunshot, as they would say back at SWIM, but that didn’t matter anymore.
‘How was school, Emma?” her father asked as he pulled away from the station. “It was fine,” she replied, not offering any other information as they made the drive back to the house. She wasn’t about to tell him about her first boyfriend ever, nor her first best friend. He wouldn’t have understood any of those things, nor their importance to her. He didn’t care about the way the trees swayed in the air during a thunderstorm, nor how the glassy lake held legends and myths from years past. Neither did her father care about her own successes, other than those in the academic realm. James Vale did not care that she had managed to chug a bottle of pumpkin juice in a minute and a half, flat; nor that she had met Evie, who was a farmer’s daughter from Tennessee. He didn’t care about any of those things, and Emma was not about to offer them. They were her treasures to be kept inside where they could shine all the brighter.
As he filled her in on the house’s goings-on, Emma merely nodded when needed and offered a small question here and there. She didn’t care that her father had finally bought out the small cauldron plant he had set his eye on for the past four months. Those things didn’t matter, would never matter except to him alone. She cared for life while he cared for business. After hearing the news of his rival’s antics, Emma was actually relieved to be home. At least there she didn’t have to be in solitude with her father for thirty minutes.
The house-elf immediately appeared to welcome Emma back home and take her luggage to be cleaned or placed away in her room. Her mother was in the front parlor, standing, waiting to give Emma a ‘welcome back’ hug which she graciously accepted. Embracing her mother for the customary half-second, she was then allowed to go up to her room and recover from the long trip. With a sigh, Emma leaned back upon her room door after closing it. Finally, to be alone.
The next day, however, held more events than she cared to think about. Even though she was no longer at SWIM, Emma found herself awaking at seven like usual. After getting dressed, this time in more comfortably casual clothes than her usual uniform, Emma went downstairs with her well-worn copy of ‘Tess of the D’Ubervilles’. “Emma, come here,” a stern voice called out, interrupting her thoughts. Instantly turning to spy her father sitting in his chair in the parlor, Emma meekly walked over. He rarely called her over so insistently, and never in the morning. “Yes, father?” she asked hesitantly, taking the chair across from him that was so pointedly offered to her. As he stood, a formidable figure hovering over her, she waited as he called her mother to join them.
An eternity passed by in that moment, as the heavy silence in the air threatened to smother the life out of Emma. Her mother soon joined them and took her father’s side. “Emma,” she started softly, “We would like to know if there is anything you want to tell us,” she started, gazing upon Emma with her gentle brown eyes. Even though Emma knew there wasn’t a hostile bone in her mother’s body, she could be just as formidable as Emma’s father, and Emma knew that very well. “No, mother,” she offered hesitantly, her eyes wide in half-fright at what they were leading to. She hadn’t done anything, anything major that was, and she could think of nothing at SWIM that might have reached her parents’ ears. Her grades had stayed up, although she had slacked more than she wanted in Magizoology. Even though her grades weren’t top-notch, they were no cause for shame or even a serious discussion.
With a sigh that Emma knew signaled the firing squad, Emma’s mother then looked up at her father. It was his turn now, and Emma was bracing herself for the worst. Her father then pulled out a single letter and threw it onto the table beside her. “Who is this?” he asked, staring her down fiercely. Taking the letter, Emma wanted to kill Evie. She had told her not to write over the summer, but apparently Evie had thought the risk worth it. “Just a friend from school, Evie Remble,” she offered meekly, confused at why a simple letter would cause such a stir.
Then Emma realized the letter had been opened. Skimming over it, Emma could have groan aloud. The girl hadn’t just thought it well enough to write to Emma, but rather to list every single event of dubious merit the two had gone through at SWIM: Their obsession with Quidditch, and the players, their adventures after dark, the times they skipped class, their almost attempt at streaking through the Agrippa dorms. And of course, Braxton.
“Now is there anything you would like to tell us, Emma?” he spoke, raising his voice only a tone but filling it with as much ferocity as possible. Hanging her head, Emma knew there was nothing she could say, only to suffer through the storm. “We did NOT send you to SWIM to become some floozy! Boys! Skipping classes! And who is this Braxton?” he shouted, pummeling her with his words. “You were supposed to learn about magic, but I see you learned but everything else instead. Can you imagine, just imagine, how this affects me? I can’t control my own child, how on earth can I manage a multi-million corporation, Emma! Just think if some of our stockholders’ children were at SWIM, how they might tell their parents of James Vale’s scandalous daughter! I…I can’t even look at you, Emma!” he shouted, turning away to renew his pacing of the parlor floor.
“Emma,” her mother started, using a gentler voice but all the more hurtful, “You’ve disappointed us. How do we know you won’t do the same thing, next year. I’m afraid you’ve left us no choice, Emma,” she paused, her brown eyes inflicting Emma with barbs of guilt, “We’ll hire a governess for you, you’ll be staying home this fall.”
“What?” Emma started, her head snapping up at her mother’s words. All the while she had stayed silent, knowing the storm would pass by soon enough. “You…you can’t do that, mother,” she pleaded, not even able to comprehend what their decision might entail. “How can we trust you to not humiliate our family even more,” her father shouted, his rage building anew at her words. “Please…please,” she begged, tears starting to form in her eyes. “Go to your room, and stay there,” he shouted, his baritone voice booming through the room.
Sniffling back tears and other fluids, Emma stood up, giving her mother one last pleading look before running back to her room. She couldn’t believe it, they were so unfair! How dare they keep her from going back to SWIM and just for a few mischievous deeds! It wasn’t as if she had actually done anything of consequence, for goodness sake! Flinging herself onto her bed, Emma cried into her pillow, hugging it to her chest as her mind shouted profanities at her cruel parents.
After her chest stopped heaving in muffled screams, Emma reached into her carry-on bag, withdrawing a worn journal. Having taken a quill out with it, Emma began scribbling her fury out onto its pages, often stabbing the quill nib through the paper when punctuating her rage. She stayed there through breakfast, lunch and supper, not even moving from her fetal position on the queen-sized bed. At long last the house-elf slid a tray of milk with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich into her room. It was still there when the house-elf checked in the morning as Emma slept through her tears.
At two that afternoon, her mother finally slid into the room, approaching Emma’s bed with silent footsteps. “Emma,” she voiced hesitantly, wondering if her child was asleep. Emma lay on the bed faced the other way, her eyes wide open as she heard her mother come. “Emma?” her mother tried again. Hearing no answer, she left, closing the door behind her as fresh tears sprang into Emma’s eyes.
Later that day when the house-elf offered a second attempt, he smiled to see an empty glass and a crumb-free tray. An hour later, her father came up, pounding on the door as he shouted her name. “Emma!” he yelled, the door shaking with each hit, “Emma, enough of this foolishness! Come out this instant!” Meekly, Emma obeyed, her red eyes becoming wet once more for the nth time that day. Slowly opening the door, Emma looked up to see the red leaving her father’s face. “Emma, wash your face. It is time for supper, you will eat with us, now,” he spoke, far calmer than before but his words still left no other alternative.
After washing her face clean, but not improving her appearance in any other fashion, Emma slowly came downstairs to sit at the table with her waiting parents. Her mother offered a small smile, but Emma ignored it, glumly slumping into her seat at the table before straightening up. She would give them no grounds by which to pick at her. As the meal was served, her father began discussing some of his business transactions that day. Her mother listened raptly while Emma merely ate in silence, the seldom sound of a fork scraping the plate being the only noise. After a pregnant pause, Emma felt the discussion turn to herself. Looking up from her plate, Emma merely awaited it.
“Emma, your mother and I have been discussing your shameful behavior. Either you get your act together, or you shall not be attending the Salem Institute this fall.” Emma couldn’t believe his words. Her eyes widened in delight as she took in his meaning. She would be going! She could go to SWIM! She could go and see Evie, Braxton, her friends, everyone! She could have almost shouted for joy. Instead, she merely lightened her frown and said simply, “Thank you, father.”
“Now, you shall not renew your acquaintance with this Evie Remble, nor this Braxton fellow, whoever he is. If your grades slip below an O, you will come back home immediately. I will keep in close contact with the Headmaster to keep an eye on your progress,” he added casually, discussing it as if it were another business deal. Instantly Emma’s face fell flat once more. She couldn’t see anybody? That was as bad as not going at all! She almost wanted to storm back up to her room and tell him the deal was off, but Emma knew at least going to SWIM was heaven in itself. “Yes, father,” she replied meekly. “May I be excused?” Leaving the dinner table, Emma returned to her room, putting her bed back in order as she began counting the days until the fall semester.
(Set at the end of Emma’s Freshman year)
The bus had been filled with excitement and wizard crackers, but even though she rejoiced with her new-found friends, Emma was still filled with dread. Even her best friend Evie couldn’t lift Emma’s spirits, no matter how many times she recounted events from the past year. ‘We’re sophomores now, Em! Just wait til’ next year, those freshmen won’t know what hit ‘em!’ she cried, nudging Emma in the arm. “Yea, it’ll be great, E,” she replied half-heartedly. If not seeing Braxton for an entire summer wasn’t enough, Emma had to stay at home during that ‘vacation.’ She was dreading the moment her foot touched the concrete, for that would be when SWIM ended. As the bus slowed down, Emma hesitantly ventured to peek out the window. There, at the bus stop, was her father.
‘Good afternoon, Emma,’ he greeted her cordially, with just a touch of warmth to convey the tone of a loving father greeting his beloved daughter. ‘Hello father,” she replied in the same manner of robotic inflection. Standing beside him as the last of her friends stampeded off the bus, Emma only nodded at each enthusiastic farewell, calling out a goodbye if necessary. Although most gave her odd looks after they passed by the two, Emma refused to look back. Soon the driver began offloading luggage, and after they retrieved Emma’s luggage, the two walked silently back to her father’s car. Once her luggage was loaded into the trunk, the two got into the car, her father taking the driver’s seat as Emma settled herself into the passenger side; Gunshot, as they would say back at SWIM, but that didn’t matter anymore.
‘How was school, Emma?” her father asked as he pulled away from the station. “It was fine,” she replied, not offering any other information as they made the drive back to the house. She wasn’t about to tell him about her first boyfriend ever, nor her first best friend. He wouldn’t have understood any of those things, nor their importance to her. He didn’t care about the way the trees swayed in the air during a thunderstorm, nor how the glassy lake held legends and myths from years past. Neither did her father care about her own successes, other than those in the academic realm. James Vale did not care that she had managed to chug a bottle of pumpkin juice in a minute and a half, flat; nor that she had met Evie, who was a farmer’s daughter from Tennessee. He didn’t care about any of those things, and Emma was not about to offer them. They were her treasures to be kept inside where they could shine all the brighter.
As he filled her in on the house’s goings-on, Emma merely nodded when needed and offered a small question here and there. She didn’t care that her father had finally bought out the small cauldron plant he had set his eye on for the past four months. Those things didn’t matter, would never matter except to him alone. She cared for life while he cared for business. After hearing the news of his rival’s antics, Emma was actually relieved to be home. At least there she didn’t have to be in solitude with her father for thirty minutes.
The house-elf immediately appeared to welcome Emma back home and take her luggage to be cleaned or placed away in her room. Her mother was in the front parlor, standing, waiting to give Emma a ‘welcome back’ hug which she graciously accepted. Embracing her mother for the customary half-second, she was then allowed to go up to her room and recover from the long trip. With a sigh, Emma leaned back upon her room door after closing it. Finally, to be alone.
The next day, however, held more events than she cared to think about. Even though she was no longer at SWIM, Emma found herself awaking at seven like usual. After getting dressed, this time in more comfortably casual clothes than her usual uniform, Emma went downstairs with her well-worn copy of ‘Tess of the D’Ubervilles’. “Emma, come here,” a stern voice called out, interrupting her thoughts. Instantly turning to spy her father sitting in his chair in the parlor, Emma meekly walked over. He rarely called her over so insistently, and never in the morning. “Yes, father?” she asked hesitantly, taking the chair across from him that was so pointedly offered to her. As he stood, a formidable figure hovering over her, she waited as he called her mother to join them.
An eternity passed by in that moment, as the heavy silence in the air threatened to smother the life out of Emma. Her mother soon joined them and took her father’s side. “Emma,” she started softly, “We would like to know if there is anything you want to tell us,” she started, gazing upon Emma with her gentle brown eyes. Even though Emma knew there wasn’t a hostile bone in her mother’s body, she could be just as formidable as Emma’s father, and Emma knew that very well. “No, mother,” she offered hesitantly, her eyes wide in half-fright at what they were leading to. She hadn’t done anything, anything major that was, and she could think of nothing at SWIM that might have reached her parents’ ears. Her grades had stayed up, although she had slacked more than she wanted in Magizoology. Even though her grades weren’t top-notch, they were no cause for shame or even a serious discussion.
With a sigh that Emma knew signaled the firing squad, Emma’s mother then looked up at her father. It was his turn now, and Emma was bracing herself for the worst. Her father then pulled out a single letter and threw it onto the table beside her. “Who is this?” he asked, staring her down fiercely. Taking the letter, Emma wanted to kill Evie. She had told her not to write over the summer, but apparently Evie had thought the risk worth it. “Just a friend from school, Evie Remble,” she offered meekly, confused at why a simple letter would cause such a stir.
Then Emma realized the letter had been opened. Skimming over it, Emma could have groan aloud. The girl hadn’t just thought it well enough to write to Emma, but rather to list every single event of dubious merit the two had gone through at SWIM: Their obsession with Quidditch, and the players, their adventures after dark, the times they skipped class, their almost attempt at streaking through the Agrippa dorms. And of course, Braxton.
“Now is there anything you would like to tell us, Emma?” he spoke, raising his voice only a tone but filling it with as much ferocity as possible. Hanging her head, Emma knew there was nothing she could say, only to suffer through the storm. “We did NOT send you to SWIM to become some floozy! Boys! Skipping classes! And who is this Braxton?” he shouted, pummeling her with his words. “You were supposed to learn about magic, but I see you learned but everything else instead. Can you imagine, just imagine, how this affects me? I can’t control my own child, how on earth can I manage a multi-million corporation, Emma! Just think if some of our stockholders’ children were at SWIM, how they might tell their parents of James Vale’s scandalous daughter! I…I can’t even look at you, Emma!” he shouted, turning away to renew his pacing of the parlor floor.
“Emma,” her mother started, using a gentler voice but all the more hurtful, “You’ve disappointed us. How do we know you won’t do the same thing, next year. I’m afraid you’ve left us no choice, Emma,” she paused, her brown eyes inflicting Emma with barbs of guilt, “We’ll hire a governess for you, you’ll be staying home this fall.”
“What?” Emma started, her head snapping up at her mother’s words. All the while she had stayed silent, knowing the storm would pass by soon enough. “You…you can’t do that, mother,” she pleaded, not even able to comprehend what their decision might entail. “How can we trust you to not humiliate our family even more,” her father shouted, his rage building anew at her words. “Please…please,” she begged, tears starting to form in her eyes. “Go to your room, and stay there,” he shouted, his baritone voice booming through the room.
Sniffling back tears and other fluids, Emma stood up, giving her mother one last pleading look before running back to her room. She couldn’t believe it, they were so unfair! How dare they keep her from going back to SWIM and just for a few mischievous deeds! It wasn’t as if she had actually done anything of consequence, for goodness sake! Flinging herself onto her bed, Emma cried into her pillow, hugging it to her chest as her mind shouted profanities at her cruel parents.
After her chest stopped heaving in muffled screams, Emma reached into her carry-on bag, withdrawing a worn journal. Having taken a quill out with it, Emma began scribbling her fury out onto its pages, often stabbing the quill nib through the paper when punctuating her rage. She stayed there through breakfast, lunch and supper, not even moving from her fetal position on the queen-sized bed. At long last the house-elf slid a tray of milk with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich into her room. It was still there when the house-elf checked in the morning as Emma slept through her tears.
At two that afternoon, her mother finally slid into the room, approaching Emma’s bed with silent footsteps. “Emma,” she voiced hesitantly, wondering if her child was asleep. Emma lay on the bed faced the other way, her eyes wide open as she heard her mother come. “Emma?” her mother tried again. Hearing no answer, she left, closing the door behind her as fresh tears sprang into Emma’s eyes.
Later that day when the house-elf offered a second attempt, he smiled to see an empty glass and a crumb-free tray. An hour later, her father came up, pounding on the door as he shouted her name. “Emma!” he yelled, the door shaking with each hit, “Emma, enough of this foolishness! Come out this instant!” Meekly, Emma obeyed, her red eyes becoming wet once more for the nth time that day. Slowly opening the door, Emma looked up to see the red leaving her father’s face. “Emma, wash your face. It is time for supper, you will eat with us, now,” he spoke, far calmer than before but his words still left no other alternative.
After washing her face clean, but not improving her appearance in any other fashion, Emma slowly came downstairs to sit at the table with her waiting parents. Her mother offered a small smile, but Emma ignored it, glumly slumping into her seat at the table before straightening up. She would give them no grounds by which to pick at her. As the meal was served, her father began discussing some of his business transactions that day. Her mother listened raptly while Emma merely ate in silence, the seldom sound of a fork scraping the plate being the only noise. After a pregnant pause, Emma felt the discussion turn to herself. Looking up from her plate, Emma merely awaited it.
“Emma, your mother and I have been discussing your shameful behavior. Either you get your act together, or you shall not be attending the Salem Institute this fall.” Emma couldn’t believe his words. Her eyes widened in delight as she took in his meaning. She would be going! She could go to SWIM! She could go and see Evie, Braxton, her friends, everyone! She could have almost shouted for joy. Instead, she merely lightened her frown and said simply, “Thank you, father.”
“Now, you shall not renew your acquaintance with this Evie Remble, nor this Braxton fellow, whoever he is. If your grades slip below an O, you will come back home immediately. I will keep in close contact with the Headmaster to keep an eye on your progress,” he added casually, discussing it as if it were another business deal. Instantly Emma’s face fell flat once more. She couldn’t see anybody? That was as bad as not going at all! She almost wanted to storm back up to her room and tell him the deal was off, but Emma knew at least going to SWIM was heaven in itself. “Yes, father,” she replied meekly. “May I be excused?” Leaving the dinner table, Emma returned to her room, putting her bed back in order as she began counting the days until the fall semester.