Lessons Not Soon Forgotten
Moustache Academy Chapter Two: Non quaeritur quaestiones
Chapter Two: Sequere sicut oves
“Cato is having a little trouble adjusting and fitting in here at Moustache Academy,” Headmistress Sollemnis tells my parents.
I’ve been in this prison — I mean, school — for only a few months, but things have gotten worse instead of better. It seems like every day I’m getting into trouble for something I didn’t even know was wrong.
This means I get to start the day with a diatribe about all the ways I’ve messed up so far.
“I don’t understand,” answers my mom, “he didn’t have issues like this at his previous school. The move must have been more stressful for him than we realized,” she says, looking over at me.
“That may well be the case,” answers Madame Sollemnis, “however he’s now had a few months to settle in, and we’ve made our expectations very clear.”
“I understand Cato is headstrong,” my dad pipes in, “but we’ve always encouraged him to speak his mind. We understand he may need to pick his spots a little better, but I believe his intentions are good.”
“Ah, I see,” replies the Headmistress, making little effort to disguise her disapproval. “How’s that going to go over when he’s arguing with his future employer? Students need to learn to follow the rules. While we’re a small school, we simply cannot have every student doing whatever they please, it would become utter chaos.”
Now they see for themselves what I’ve been up against. This place is so old-fashioned. They expect us to bend to their will and remain obedient sheep, no matter what.
What’s the point of getting an education if they won’t even let you think for yourself?
Particeps sceleris
“We’ll talk about this at home tonight,” my parents tell me as they both give me concerned looks, “you get back to class”.
As I’m banging my locker shut, I sense someone sidle up next to me.
“You’re new here,” says a voice.
“Well, I was a few months ago,” I say, not able to hide the irritation in my voice.
“I mean you’re new. A noob. You haven’t figured out how this place works yet,” she says. I turn and find a gorgeous girl looking at me with a mischievous grin.
Her long, straight dark hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail. She has long, dark eyelashes and huge brown eyes to match. She has an olive complexion, made darker by a summer outdoors, and I notice she doesn’t wear any make-up.
“I —” I stammer, looking away, thrown off by how attractive she is.
“I’m Constance,” she says, saving me from further embarrassment (at least for now).
“Cato. Nice to meet you.”
She scoffs. “Well, at least I’m not the only one who notices what a strange and backwards place this is. Seems like almost everyone is brainwashed or something. They think going to a school with the word ‘academy’ in the name somehow makes them smarter, but they haven’t got a clue.”
“Huh.” Beautiful and smart, I think, probably means I haven’t got a chance. Somehow this helps me recover my wits. “I was starting to think maybe I was the crazy one since no one else seemed to have a problem with the way they treat the students here.”
“There are a few of us who haven’t had the wool pulled over our eyes,” she replies.
The wool — what wool? I’m about to ask her what that means, when I realize she’s already walking away. I’m late for class anyway. I shove my things in my bag and get going, I can’t afford any more trouble.
Per insidias densatur
I manage to keep my head down for the rest of the week and avoid further incident. I also don’t see Constance again, and wonder what happened to the strange girl who randomly appeared at my locker that one day.
I don’t have to wonder for long.
I breathe a sigh of relief as I pack my things up on Friday afternoon. It’s finally the weekend. Not that I have any big plans, I’m just grateful to have two days away from this stuffy place. The longer I am at the academy, the weirder it seems to me.
As I turn to leave, Constance is there.
“You’re good at sneaking up on people, aren’t you?” I say in greeting.
She smirks. “If you weren’t always looking down at your shoes, you might notice your surroundings more,” she retorts.
Touché.
As if on cue, my eyes return to my footwear. “I’m just trying to stay out of trouble, but it seems to keep finding me. Actually, I was wondering something. What did you mean by what you said last time, the thing about not having the wool pulled over your eyes?” I ask.
“I mean, most people here seem to believe what the academy wants them to believe: That it’s an excellent school, and training students to be good little sheep who do what they’re told will create better workers for a brighter future,” she finishes with a masterful imitation of Madame Sollemnis.
I chuckle. “That’s good, do you do any other impressions?”
She opens her mouth to respond when we hear someone very pointedly clearing their throat behind us.
“Ahem!”
© Jillian Enright
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