by Thalia Lark
I was silent as I swung my shoulder pack onto the desk beside my duffel. I took a moment to stare at it in silent resignation before bending over and opening all the drawers in a staggered fashion. I thought if I could let them air a little before unpacking all my clothes, at least I might not have to walk around the school smelling of fungus.
Miranda smiled at me encouragingly. ‘Once you put all your stuff away Miss Wheaton will take your bag and put it in the storeroom with everyone else’s suitcases.’
I nodded at her. ‘Miss Wheaton’s our form teacher, right?’
‘Yeah,’ Courtney said suddenly, rolling onto her side and propping herself up on one elbow to face us. ‘She also teaches chemistry and physics. What subjects are you taking, Julianne? Are you studying any of the sciences?’
I frowned at her. ‘It’s Juli. And no, I’m not.’
‘Well, you’d better start showing a little enthusiasm for them from now on. They favour the science and maths geeks here. If you can’t solve equations or explain the laws of thermodynamics, then it’s pretty much assumed you’re just here because your parents don’t want you.’
‘That’s not true,’ Miranda said, rolling her eyes.
‘Sure it is.’ Courtney sat up on her mattress abruptly and shuffled to the ladder before climbing down, smirking at me as I unzipped my duffel bag and started to drop piles of clothes on the desktop beside it. But she didn’t get time to elaborate further, because suddenly a dull bell rang, vibrating through my feet and cutting off the conversation. Without another word, she started heading for the open door, looking cunning as she raked her eyes over my half-unpacked bags.
‘That’s the bell for third period,’ she said, swinging her arms casually and gripping the edge of the doorframe. She looked at Miranda and motioned her head towards the hall. ‘We have English now, and Mr Warner gets real pissed if you’re late for his classes. You’ll have to go downstairs and get directions from the nurse when you’re done up here. Or look at your map, but they’re pretty crap what they print out from the front desk.’
Miranda looked at me apologetically. ‘Sorry, Juli, but Mr Warner does get pretty mad, and…well…I mean, we’ve got really good track records so far.’
I set my jaw stiffly in place and nodded, my stomach clenching in panic but my ego refusing to let on.
Courtney grabbed Miranda’s arm and started dragging her out the door. ‘Have fun, Julianne,’ she said, pressing her lips together as though suppressing laughter.
I watched them as Miranda waved regretfully before turning and hurrying after her friend. I swallowed tightly to control the unexpected anger and disorientation that suddenly rose in my throat, very nearly allowing a few tears to escape, something that I hadn’t done in years. But I checked myself as I scowled at the door after them, keeping my face stony with determination and unzipping the side pocket of my duffel forcefully. I refused to show any sign of weakness. Cowardice was not a part of my vocabulary.
Fight or Flight
The girls’ dormitory complex fell into oblivious silence once the glass door had swung shut after Courtney and Miranda. I finished unpacking in silence – choosing the least mouldy drawer to stuff my clothes in – and then dressed the Dead Bed’s mattress and lay my duffel bag and shoulder pack under my desk. After appraising my bunk one last time, I collected my timetable, campus map and a workbook I’d brought from home, and then headed downstairs. The building was so quiet I could hear the walls vibrate softly with each step I took. The nurse was nowhere to be seen downstairs, though I pushed open the door labelled SICKBAY and peered around inside. The beds were all empty, the little glass-walled office in the corner was deserted, and the quarantine room to its right was standing empty with its door wide open. There was no sound save for a muted tick coming from one of the revolving ceiling fans.
I withdrew my head from the sickbay and turned to the glass door leading outside. I glanced down the eighth and ninth grade corridor as I passed, but was met only with mute stillness. My eyes briefly travelled back up the staircase as my hand rested lightly upon the handle of the glass door. There must have been some unconscious hope in me that someone would suddenly materialise and point me in the right direction.
All the students would be in class now, I thought, my hands moistening a little around the door handle as I opened it. My stomach knotted uncomfortably as I realised I would have to venture out alone to find wherever I was supposed to go. Why Courtney and Miranda couldn’t have waited another minute to show me where to go was beyond me.
I pushed my shoulders back and set my chin determinedly. Don’t be such a coward, I told myself. If I could find my way back to the administration office, there was bound to be a staff member there to show me where to go. Screw those bitches, I thought. I’d survived worst situations than boarding school.
I followed the sheltered walkway back up to where it diverged. The path to the left was covered as well, and led down to the boys’ dormitories as the sign clearly indicated. I took the right path, passing a few narrow garden beds which had bloomed more successfully than those at the front and were filled with succulents and golden cane palms. The footpath led me past another stone building on the left, a small concrete courtyard with faded handball squares painted on, and an outdoor gymnasium and climbing frame sheltered by a large triangular shade sail. My eyes darted around me rapidly, absorbing my surroundings and instinctively looking for trouble. I felt less nervous in the outback at night than I did winding my way through this suburban nightmare.
I paused at the corner of another building. Was this the administration block? I crept around the corner only to be met by another sheltered walkway, and my stomach clenched in sudden anxiety. I gritted my teeth and turned around, trying to remember the way back to the administration office. It had been right across from the front gates to the school, overlooking the small football field we’d crossed. Why the hell did there have to be so much grey stone in this school?
As I lingered beside a wastepaper bin, wondering which direction to go in, I heard voices approach. The obvious answer would have been to follow them, find out who was talking, and ask for some directions. But their sudden appearance took me by surprise, and I found myself crouching behind the bin and peering around the edge instead. I watched as a young boy and girl carrying two stacks of folders passed me along the sidewalk. My brow knitted together: folders meant administration documents. The students were certainly heading in the general direction.
I followed them without notifying them of my presence, walking softly and in the shadows of the buildings. After my initial alarm had passed, I knew I should have just caught them up and asked for some help, but somehow the increasing unease in my chest held me back. Thankfully, they were heading to the front office, and after watching them disappear through the open door, I was able to climb the staircase and enter after them. The air-conditioning was a cool relief to the clammy moisture coating the back of my neck.
Mrs Blake looked up at my appearance in some confusion. ‘Is everything alright, Julianne?’
I nodded. It didn’t seem worth confiding what had happened, so instead I just asked how to find my first classroom. Mrs Blake outlined with a highlighter the route to my English class, and then I thanked her for her help, and headed off with at least a vague idea of where I was going now.
Classroom 2F was not difficult to find. The second classroom complex from the administration office was more decorative inside than the girls’ dormitories, which surprised me. The walls had been painted a dull rose colour, and the wooden staircase at the end of the building which I ascended quickly on tip-toe was varnished. The floors were carpeted and the doors of the classrooms, closed at the moment, were painted white and set with a small glass window each. I could see students diligently at work as I glanced through each closed door until I reached room 2F. I hesitated outside briefly, then took a deep breath, knocked, and pushed open the door.
I deliberately didn’t look at the st
udents – already aware of the precarious state of my stomach and reluctant to give it further stimulation – but I could feel all heads rise in my direction as I entered. The teacher, presumably Mr Warner, was six-foot, grey-haired and bespectacled, dressed in a navy suit and burgundy tie. His face was a similar shape to mine, long and narrow, but his jaw was squarer and his skin deeply lined. He peered at me, his hand poised over the whiteboard mid-sentence.
‘Why are you late?’ he barked suddenly.
I felt my cheeks redden and my palms turn sweaty. I opened my mouth, not knowing what I was planning on saying, but was unexpectedly saved from answering. Courtney raised her hand in the last row abruptly, and called out in a loud voice.
‘Sir! She had to go enrol at the office! That’s the new girl I was telling you about!’
Mr Warner glared at Courtney, but his voice was more relaxed when he spoke. ‘Ah, right,’ he said, nodding slightly. ‘Yes, I remember. Thank you, Miss Fodder. Alright, new girl…you have your books? Yes, good. Find a seat then.’
I looked down the classroom and met Courtney’s bright blue eyes, where she was sitting beside Miranda with an empty seat to her right. Courtney smiled, winked and patted the empty desk beside her, making me hesitate very slightly in a mixture of confusion and distrust. I had absolutely no faith in the consistency of her comradeship, but at that moment she was the only student I knew, and in addition to the reluctant gratitude for defending me – whatever had encouraged her to do so in the first place – her familiarity provided some comfort. I avoided the rest of the students’ gazes as I stole down the aisle of wooden desks and seated myself beside her.
‘Right, where were we?’ Mr Warner scratched his chin and stared at the whiteboard with his head leaning to one side in deliberation.
Courtney leant towards me as she dropped a biro on my desktop, and I looked at it in sudden realisation that I’d forgotten my pencil case. ‘Don’t mind Mr Warner,’ she said quietly. ‘He can’t remember his own birthday, let alone any of his students. We all reckon he’s got Alzheimer’s or something. I mean, my surname’s Goddard, and he’s called me Miss Fodder since the start of the year.’
I smiled a little, trying not to look uncomfortable.
‘Don’t get us in trouble for talking again, Court,’ Miranda whispered, leaning around to look at us.
Courtney rolled her eyes. ‘Relax. Mr Warner’s deaf as a doorpost.’ She turned to me again, clearly having forgotten our less than desirable parting in the dormitory. ‘We always sit down the back in English so we can chat. Lori used to sit with us too once upon a time, but she’s gotten very conscientious in her old age. You’ll meet her later on, Juli. She’s one of the tenth grade leadership team. They had something on this morning, a conference or something, I don’t know.’ She gave a small shrug.
I nodded and zoned into what Mr Warner was saying up the front. Apparently this term we were studying Romeo and Juliet. He’d written a paragraph on the whiteboard but I couldn’t quite make it out from where I sat. Something about the meaning of tragedy, if I’d interpreted the title correctly.
Courtney gestured lazily towards the board. ‘Warner said we’re going to watch the movie in a week or two, the one with that chick and DiCaprio. Our exam this term is an expository essay on the themes within the play.’
‘So…what?’ I said. ‘Love and tragedy?’
‘That’s what I thought. It’s not a complex play. But apparently there’s all these hidden themes about family ties and loyalty and forbidden associations and stuff as well. Don’t worry though, because Warner always gives us a revision sheet a week before the exam. He may be an irritable old git, but he has his good points.’
‘You’d achieve better marks if you just listened in class,’ Miranda said, raising her eyebrows.
Courtney narrowed her eyes. ‘I got an A overall in English last year, thank you very much.’
I looked at the blank sheet of paper in front of me, mentally assessing my current situation of sitting down the back with Courtney and Miranda as they argued quietly about their academic approaches. I knew, unfortunately, that there was no way I was going to do well in English this semester if I didn’t listen in class, even with the revision sheet Mr Warner was going to prepare. But the social consequences of moving down the front at this stage seemed too severe to put at stake just for a good grade in English. So I shook my head slowly and told myself I was worrying way too far in advance. I’d figure out how to pass my subjects later. Right now I just needed to concentrate on getting through the first day.
Courtney elbowed me in the ribs suddenly. ‘What’s wrong? You look pale.’
I glanced at her, widening my eyes. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Good. I got sick in class once and puked all over the carpet. Mr Warner was so pissed.’ She chortled to herself and sat back in her chair, draping her arms over the back.
Miranda glanced at me but didn’t say a word.
‘So,’ Mr Warner said slowly. ‘So, in theatre…a tragedy is a play consisting of tragic events…with a tragic ending…hence the word tragedy.’
Courtney covered her mouth with one hand to stifle the sudden burst of laughter that exploded from her lips. She wasn’t the only one – a ripple of communal amusement travelled around the classroom at the hilarity of the teacher’s monotonous explanation. I smiled a little, the laughter making me feel a little less ill at ease, but then Mr Warner started striding down the aisle towards us, and the smile quickly fell from my face. Even Miranda swallowed nervously.
‘Do you find that amusing, Miss Fodder?’ Mr Warner demanded, raising his thick white eyebrows at us.
Courtney bit her lip to keep from laughing and shook her head.
‘No, I didn’t think so,’ he said. ‘Do you find that amusing, Miss – Miss…?’ He snapped his fingers in front of me as though he was trying to remember my name, apparently not realising that he hadn’t actually asked it yet.
I swallowed uncomfortably as I met his dull, watery eyes. ‘Julianne Page.’
He leant towards me. ‘What? Speak up!’
‘Julianne Page.’
‘Page, hmm?’ He straightened up and pursed his lips, peering down at me contemptuously. ‘Well, Miss Page, do you find my teaching amusing?’
I shook my head. I could feel the rest of the class watching our exchange with bated breath, though I refused to look around at them and betray the fear suddenly swirling in my gut. There was something menacing about Mr Warner. Perhaps it was his height or his cold indifference towards his students – or maybe it was simply sudden panic that he would forget I was new and target me. Unfortunately, this time, that last fear was not misplaced.
‘Perhaps you would like to read out my definition on the board then,’ he said, his tone drawling. ‘Those of you who haven’t copied it down, copy it down now.’ He straightened up and held his hands behind his back, looking towards the ceiling and then closing his eyes as he waited.
I swallowed again, facing the front and trying to repress the tense jiggles that were gathering in my knee-caps. As I narrowed my eyes and peered at the board, the anxiety I felt was very slowly replaced by a convoluted fusion of embarrassment, aversion and anger. Whether the anger was targeted at Courtney for suddenly being deathly silent, or at Mr Warner for asking me to read, or at my mother, or myself, or even whatever cosmic force was regulating our miserable human existences, I couldn’t tell. All I knew was that the anger was suddenly and unexpectedly there, gradually rising and curling in my chest. My whole face heated up as I stared at the whiteboard and tried to decipher the words. Forget about moving closer to the front; Mr Warner’s handwriting was cursive and impossible to read anyway. I felt a shudder run through my body as my emotions churned in a precarious little bubble inside me, threatening to boil over. I clenched my teeth and narrowed my eyes at the board, hoping my resolute nature would somehow prevail over the wild panic trying desperately to engulf me.
‘Tragedy,’ I began, but my voice fa
ltered and a few whispers could be heard from the front of the class.
‘Speak up, girl!’
Mr Warner’s gruff voice cut through my brain like a cleaver, making my whole body tense as though I’d just been slapped across the back. I closed my mouth as my lower lip trembled and my eyes narrowed even further and started stinging with repressed tears. I wrapped my hands around the edges of my seat, my hands trembling as suddenly waves of furious heat began coursing through my body. I felt a sudden and unfamiliar longing to punch something. I tried to make out through my peripheral vision whether Courtney was planning on stepping in any time soon, but this time, she didn’t stir an inch.
I could feel confused eyes on me from all angles of the room. I could feel the redness of my face standing out like a neon light. I could feel my shoulders stiffening to the point where – if I’d been in control of my awareness – I would have worried whether my tendons could spontaneously snap. The whispers around the room were steadily increasing in frequency and volume. No doubt the students were wondering by that point whether I was about to cry, vomit or punch the teacher in the face. I found myself wondering resentfully why Mr Warner didn’t shout at them for making such a harsh noise, until I realised the room around me was silent, and it was my own ears that were ringing.
I couldn’t remember what Mr Warner had asked, and yet somehow I found myself responding. ‘I don’t know.’
‘What do you mean you don’t know?’
His voice was sharp enough to slice through the fragile bubble encasing my emotions, and before I could really give the situation much thought, the anger and humiliation started spilling out at a rush. I didn’t know where the emotion had all come from so suddenly, and I didn’t really care at that moment either. All I knew was that I had to get out of that classroom: away from Mr Warner; away from the students all staring at me so intrigued; away from the panic that was shimmying out of the ground, groping around my ankles, and trying to drag me down into its eddying depths.
