right to be a jerk.”
“I guess he had reason to be, at least in the beginning, but that doesn’t make me like him any better. He was hateful and angry all the time. The first time I read the book, I kept waiting for him to change, to develop some character . . . but he never did. I just despised him for it. I wanted him to be lovable, even just a little bit, so that I could like him.”
“People didn’t
like
him because he had darker skin and he looked different than they did!” Samuel was angry again.
“Maybe that was true to a point, in the beginning. But the father, Mr. Earnshaw, loved him best of all . . . better than his own children. Heathcliffe never did one thing with that love. Catherine loved him, too. What did he do?”
“He went off and joined the military or something, right? He made something of himself, improved how he dressed, and how he looked!” Samuel defended Heathcliffe like he
was
Heathcliffe.
“But he never changed WHO he was!” I cried back passionately. “I wanted him to inspire me! I just ended up feeling sorry for him and thinking ‘What a waste!’”
“Maybe he couldn’t change who he was!” Samuel’s face was tight and his hands were clenched.
“Samuel! I’m talking about him changing on the
inside
! Nobody that loved him cared that hewas a gypsy! Don’t you get it?”
“Catherine loved him despite of what he was on the inside!” He fought back still.
“Their version of love damned them both in the end! They were two miserable people because they never figured out what true love is!”
“Why don’t you tell me what TRUE LOVE is then, Lady Josephine, since you are so wise at thirteen-years-old!” Samuel sneered at me and his arms were folded across his chest.
My cheeks were flaming, and my finger poked him in the chest with every syllable I recited. “‘True love suffereth long, and is kind; true love envieth not. True love vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up. True love does not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil. True love rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth. True love beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things!’” I stopped for a breath and one emphatic push against Samuel’s chest. “1st Corinthians, Chapter 13. Check it out.”
And with that I picked up my big green dictionary and my overflowing book bag and staggered up the aisle. The bus wasn’t at my stop yet, but I was out of there.
Samuel didn’t say much the morning following our heated Heathcliffe discussion. I asked him if he wanted to read the final five pages. He said he already had, and left it at that. He looked out the window the whole way in to school, and I sat uncomfortably without anything to read. I wound up going ahead in my math book and doing the next day’s lesson. The ride home was much the same. Luckily it was Friday.
Monday morning I arrived at our seat first. I wasn’t carrying the dictionary anymore, having no reason to lug it with me if we were done. Samuel wasn’t far behind and he said “Scoot” when I sat down. I shifted over against the window, and he sat down next to me. “Scoot” was the only thing he said the whole way in to Nephi. This time I was prepared, and I buried my nose in
Jane Eyre
.
Jane Eyre
was like comfort food to me, and I was feeling a little rejected.
After school, I climbed on the bus, dreading the half hour I would sit next to Samuel in silence. I missed the reading and the discussion. I even missed him a little.
Samuel was already seated, and he watched me come towards him down the aisle. There was a strange look on his face when my eyes met his. He looked almost triumphant. I sat down and he held out a thin plastic folder.
“I guess you know something about true loveafter all. At least Ms. Whitmer thinks so,” he said vaguely.
My eyes quickly scanned the cover page. It was Samuel’s report on
Wuthering Heights
. He had
“I guess he had reason to be, at least in the beginning, but that doesn’t make me like him any better. He was hateful and angry all the time. The first time I read the book, I kept waiting for him to change, to develop some character . . . but he never did. I just despised him for it. I wanted him to be lovable, even just a little bit, so that I could like him.”
“People didn’t
like
him because he had darker skin and he looked different than they did!” Samuel was angry again.
“Maybe that was true to a point, in the beginning. But the father, Mr. Earnshaw, loved him best of all . . . better than his own children. Heathcliffe never did one thing with that love. Catherine loved him, too. What did he do?”
“He went off and joined the military or something, right? He made something of himself, improved how he dressed, and how he looked!” Samuel defended Heathcliffe like he
was
Heathcliffe.
“But he never changed WHO he was!” I cried back passionately. “I wanted him to inspire me! I just ended up feeling sorry for him and thinking ‘What a waste!’”
“Maybe he couldn’t change who he was!” Samuel’s face was tight and his hands were clenched.
“Samuel! I’m talking about him changing on the
inside
! Nobody that loved him cared that hewas a gypsy! Don’t you get it?”
“Catherine loved him despite of what he was on the inside!” He fought back still.
“Their version of love damned them both in the end! They were two miserable people because they never figured out what true love is!”
“Why don’t you tell me what TRUE LOVE is then, Lady Josephine, since you are so wise at thirteen-years-old!” Samuel sneered at me and his arms were folded across his chest.
My cheeks were flaming, and my finger poked him in the chest with every syllable I recited. “‘True love suffereth long, and is kind; true love envieth not. True love vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up. True love does not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil. True love rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth. True love beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things!’” I stopped for a breath and one emphatic push against Samuel’s chest. “1st Corinthians, Chapter 13. Check it out.”
And with that I picked up my big green dictionary and my overflowing book bag and staggered up the aisle. The bus wasn’t at my stop yet, but I was out of there.
Samuel didn’t say much the morning following our heated Heathcliffe discussion. I asked him if he wanted to read the final five pages. He said he already had, and left it at that. He looked out the window the whole way in to school, and I sat uncomfortably without anything to read. I wound up going ahead in my math book and doing the next day’s lesson. The ride home was much the same. Luckily it was Friday.
Monday morning I arrived at our seat first. I wasn’t carrying the dictionary anymore, having no reason to lug it with me if we were done. Samuel wasn’t far behind and he said “Scoot” when I sat down. I shifted over against the window, and he sat down next to me. “Scoot” was the only thing he said the whole way in to Nephi. This time I was prepared, and I buried my nose in
Jane Eyre
.
Jane Eyre
was like comfort food to me, and I was feeling a little rejected.
After school, I climbed on the bus, dreading the half hour I would sit next to Samuel in silence. I missed the reading and the discussion. I even missed him a little.
Samuel was already seated, and he watched me come towards him down the aisle. There was a strange look on his face when my eyes met his. He looked almost triumphant. I sat down and he held out a thin plastic folder.
“I guess you know something about true loveafter all. At least Ms. Whitmer thinks so,” he said vaguely.
My eyes quickly scanned the cover page. It was Samuel’s report on
Wuthering Heights
. He had
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