April

The first storm broke after a hot and muggy day, allowing London to cool down. A cold downpour drove all passers-by from the streets, knocking the remnants of dust from the hot asphalt. The water ran in large streams that made a noise and played, running down into a deep ditch. Bright and sudden flashes lit up the city, echoing from the loud peals of thunder that rattled the old wooden Windows of the little house on Summer Road. Young nineteen-year-old girl sat in a battered armchair in the living room, trying to concentrate on Latin, her brown eyes darting over the typeface. The screams of her little brothers irritated her, but she didn't want to go to her room. A maroon jumper with a white blouse sticking out and a matching skirt below the knees indicated that the girl had not yet changed, having returned from College relatively recently. Her thick shoulder-length hair was slightly tousled and tangled at the roots.

«Lily, see what I can do!» one of the three brothers exclaimed, tumbling off the springy sofa and dropping his body on a pile of pillows.

«Remember, if you break your neck, your parents will have five other children besides you…» said the girl, throwing her thin legs up on the sideboard and burying her face in a lifeworn textbook. Her thin lips were pursed, and her nose was wrinkled from the intense processes of memory in her head. The triplets made noises in the living room until the phone rang, startling all four of them.

«Everyone shut up!» Lily hissed, rushing to the phone in the hall and picking up the old beige receiver. Her friend's voice came on the line, bitterly informing her that the teacher of literature and literature would not allow Lily to take the exam if she did not deign to show up for class.

«Damn it! Her brown eyes flickered over the calendar on the wall, helping her think about what to do next. «Can I sleep over tomorrow so I can catch my first class on Thursday morning?»

«Of course! Otherwise, your honours degree will be crying, friend.

Tuesday

Girls hurried to classes, running across the road near the College, laughing merrily. For Lily, it was more of a nervous laugh, connected with the impending punishment from a teacher who, until today, had not even known her by sight. A small hall with white walls and a wooden Board with a schedule of classes and offices flashed past, and the girls were already hurrying up the stairs to the fourth floor. Excitement rose in her throat and her palms began to sweat as she went to the right-hand door, opened it, and let a more confident and calm friend pass. «Of course, Monika didn't miss a single lesson, unlike me!» The thought flashed through her mind with a touch of envy as the body flew into an old office with beige walls and light peach curtains. Three large Windows provided ample heat and light, and fifteen desks with students cheerfully absorbed them in their study interests. Taking the last table by the window, Lily tossed her bag under a chair and pulled out the notebook containing Charlotte Bronte's essays and essays. Feeling a lump of excitement in her throat, Lily looked up, scanning the audience and the chattering girls of her own age, and finally noticed sitting at the faculty table an adult male in his mid-thirties or early forties with thick dark brown hair slicked to one side and dark eyes that looked dark at first glance. A deep and penetrating gaze was fixed on the magazine. Long, broad fingers stroked his short, well-groomed beard, which was lighter than his hair. On the index finger of his left hand, a broad gold ring glittered in the spring sun. On the left side of his black waistcoat hung a gilt watch chain attached to a button loop. A starched white shirt clung to the man's body, emphasizing his physical prowess. The noisy bell made the girl start and look away from the teacher, who immediately became animated, getting up to close the door. Lily leaned back in her chair, hiding behind a tall classmate and waiting for the death sentence. By all rights, the teacher could demand her expulsion or transfer to another teacher, but, alas, this discipline was no longer taught at the College. So the entire stream of graduates had to pass through Mr. Shulman. That was his name, Mr. Thomas Shulman. Lily wrote his name on the title page of her notebook during the first lesson. In a peculiar introduction to the class, the teacher omitted her name from the list because of fatigue, or perhaps because of simple absent-mindedness. She would have been so unlucky a second time. The man straightened his massive back, looking around the entire class, not noticing the added head on the last Desk. The height seemed to allow you to see everyone, but the vision was so-so.

«Good morning, girls. Let's start the lesson, as always, with the absentees,» the voice was hoarse and slightly smoky, and it echoed in the office. «Devana, top button!»

The short, fair-haired girl lowered her head guiltily, her face buried in a book, and feverishly buttoned her shirt collar. Finally, Mr. Shulman sat down, holding the edges of his trousers together, not wanting to pull out his new and ironed trousers. The teacher opened the magazine, naming names, slowly but surely going down to the last one, which was Lillian's. She tapped her fingers restlessly on the table, feeling her knees tremble as she stared at the ink-covered table. Hearts, numbers, names, and insults to the teacher became real soothing literature for Lily.

«Yung?» the teacher asked defiantly and in surprise, not raising his eyes as usual, knowing that such a student was probably not in the class, and he did not have time to clarify the circumstances and collect rumours. Lily cleared her throat, exhaled softly, and pursed her lips to gather her courage.

«I'm here.» she muttered, sinking back into the chair behind her classmate. The teacher was looking for the right girl, sitting and fidgeting. It was impossible to hide any further, and Lily sat up, meeting the gaze of a man who raised his eyebrows with interest, but quickly scanned her appearance.

«Today the Earth will begin to turn the other way…» a hoarse voice tried to make a joke, but nothing came of it. So began the lesson, during which the group read an excerpt from «Jane Eyre», repeating the school program. Mr. Shulman glanced at Lily from time to time, frowning when he noticed that she was drawing something on a pad, completely ignoring him, like everyone else, in a state of morning half-sleep.

«Miss Yung, can you explain to me why this girl didn't marry Mr. Rochester and run away and leave herself to wander?» Lily jumped up from the drawing, noticing the silhouette of a man to her right, twirling a book in his fingers, looking at a Notepad. The student covered the image with her hands, looking up. Her gaze flickered over dark grey eyes with fine lines on the lids and large ones on the high forehead. His brows were drawn together in a questioning, uncomprehending expression. They were accompanied by plump, now disapproving lips. The teacher sniffed patiently with his sharp nose, still looking straight into her eyes, scaring and scaring her away.

«Hmm» Lily blushed and swallowed, repeating the question in her mind,«Probably because Mr. Rochester was not a widower, as he pretended when he hid his distraught wife in the attic» her voice broke several times, but she managed to finish without daring to look up at Mr. Shulman, who had already returned to his seat and was continuing the lesson. A slight shiver ran through her for a full hour and a half, allowing no distraction, devoting all her attention to the discussion of the novel. The long-awaited bell in the corridor allowed her to gasp and throw her notebook and textbook into her bag.

«Thank you all for the lessons. Goodbye.» Lily glided to the door, but the teacher stopped her with a sudden call.