by Shaine Lake
I wasn’t taken aback by that fact. A modern gymnasium would look so out of place in our almost crumbling, antique-like school building. I guess that there was no other option, except to use the one nearest to our place: St. Andrew’s Institution, which was a bus stop away.
“So?” Mandy probed for an answer.
The prospect of travelling down to there sounded more repelling than enticing to me. It seemed so troublesome. And it wasn’t for any good reason, other than to make a fool out of myself.
“I’m not into sports,” I confessed, with the assumption that she would back off.
“Gymnastics is a different kind of sports. It’s not only about being sporty. It’s the grace.” She balanced on one foot and went on to do a twirl, looking like a ballerina. “I think you’ve that quality.”
Touched by her kind words, I found myself having difficulty in outright rejecting her request. “Uh ...”
She jumped in excitement. “I take it as a ‘yes’! I’ll help you to sign up later.”
Throughout the rest of the journey, Mandy gushed about the beauty of gymnastics, her favourite gymnasts and how excited she was to have me joining her. The more enthusiastic she was, the more nervous I got, due to the increasing apprehension of disappointing her with my potentially disastrous attempt at trying out the sport.
When we reached our destination, the school nurse, June, was standing at the doorway, which was partially blocked by a stack of cardboard boxes. Being busy with the checking of the medical supplies that had just arrived, she told me to wait inside for a while.
Before entering the room, I turned to Mandy. “I’ll be fine here. You can go back to class.”
She smiled and patted my back. “Okay. Take care, ya?”
“Sure.”
After Mandy headed back to the classroom, I went into the nurse’s room: a quiet place that had a tall, old fashioned cabinet filled with medicines and first aid kits, and a single size metal frame bed placed near the opened window. The atmosphere there felt cold and sterile.
I sat on the bed, facing the window, and my legs were hanging off the side of the bed. I felt lonely in there, but I appreciated the tranquillity.
Then I heard the sound of the door opening.
Chapter 6 Evil?
I spun around to see June shoving the boxes into the room. A woman in the mid-forties, her well-groomed outlook and serious demeanour were flashing red lights about the dangers of messing with her.
“What’s wrong?” asked June. Her expressions seemed to indicate that she wanted me out of there.
Feeling a lump stuck in my throat, I saw no good reason to tell her the truth. “Feeling weak,” I stuttered.
The woman walked over to my side and then pulled a nearby foldable plastic chair to the side of the bed, right beside the window, before settling down in it.
Staring at me in the eyes, she remarked, “If you keep this up, it’ll become a bad habit.”
I blinked my eyes in bewilderment.
She grimaced. “You can’t be using this kind of excuse to skip classes.”
What? I wasn’t doing that! What made her thought so?
As the dumbfounded me glared at her, I began to hear scratching sounds … from inside my ears. Those gritty noises resembled those produced by someone clawing desperately at the rough walls. The creaking of the wood lurked in the background. They were scraping against my eardrums, seeking to pierce through the thin membranes and drill into my brain.
“Are you listening to me?” interrogated the nurse.
I made a small nod while gnashing my teeth, trying to maintain my cool amid the disturbing, torturing effects of the sounds.
“Are you from class 1/8?”
Did she think that only students from the last classes would skip the lessons? How could she assume that?
The anger was boiling inside me, yet I couldn’t find the willpower to rebut her.
When looking out of the window, hoping that the greenery outside could calm me down, I saw a hand reaching for the window sill from below. Tar-black smoke swirled around that hand, corroding the window frame it had touched.
That was the third floor. How was it possible?
Another hand appeared and stretched towards June’s face. I pressed my lips tightly together to prevent myself from screaming … would have shrieked like mad if I was the target instead. I wanted to know more about that girl, but it didn’t imply that I wished to come face to face with her.
The noises, the accusations and the ghostly sightings, they gnawed on my nerves. I couldn’t take it anymore.
I stood up. My brain was in shambles as I stared blankly out of the window for a second before running out of the nurse’s room. Whatever June was saying didn’t reach my ears. I charged down the corridors to get back to my classroom, never stopping once to take a break.
After what I had done, there was no way for me to ever step into the nurse’s room; even in the case where I was dying. The school probably wouldn’t care if one of their average students was gone. I would count myself lucky if June didn’t report me to the principal for unacceptable behaviour towards school personnel.
Panting from the strenuous jog, I barged into the classroom during the middle of the History lesson. By that time, the sounds in my ears were gone.
Strangely, the ghost was standing at the adjacent corner away from the door, beside the teacher’s table. Still looking at the corner and facing away from everyone else.
Her new location was brighter than the previous one, shattering my theory that she could only stay in dark places. However, a gloom blanketed over the corner she was standing at. The air molecules around there seemed to be wiggling in protest and agitation.
Why the change of position? Did she crave to be noticed by me?
Everyone was shocked by my sudden intrusion. All stared at me.
Mr. Schmidt broke the uncomfortable silence, “I heard you weren’t feeling well. Glad to see that you’re still eager to attend my lesson. Go on.” He stuck out his chin towards that empty seat of mine.
“Thanks,” I mumbled with a sheepish, reluctant smile on my face before scurrying to my place.
While I was grateful to the teacher for not questioning my strange behaviour, I still found his lesson boring. Not to mention that the corner girl standing near him was distracting.
It was unnerving to have her hovering behind me, but it didn’t get better when she was within my sights throughout the lessons. Then again, it beat facing those judgemental people.
Halfway through the ordeal, I rubbed my eyes in tiredness. When I looked up again, that girl was gone.
The next moment, something warm rested squarely on the back of my neck. It felt like a hand. I began to tremble due to the chill emanating from the core of my body.
Then I remembered those words.
“The greater the fear, the weaker you’re against them.”
I tried to steady my breathing and focus solely on mentally repeating the words, “Get off me. Get off me. Right now!”
It appeared that the chanting worked since the hand slid off my neck. However, the presence was still there, observing my every movement and waiting for me.
Chapter 7 Excuses?
Huddling in a corner of the top deck of the bus, I gazed out of the window to admire the city bathed in the light from the street lamps and the rising sun that couldn’t be seen in the sky yet. I disliked the scorching hot sun, but I was scared of being trapped in the eerie darkness of the night. So my favourite times of the day were dawn and dusk. I came to appreciate them more because they occurred at the timing when I was on the bus, with no need for interaction.
I was in a better mood those few days because there was no sighting of the standing girl right after I had said that chanting. In fact, my mind was preoccupied with the upcoming gymnastics session. The anxiety was getting stronger since I had just a little more than thirty hours to go, before disgracing myself in front of the gymnasts. I hoped that I could
get through it with no mishap.
It was strange that the bus hadn’t moved off even though the “Door Closing” notice had flashed on the LED screen attached to the ceiling of the bus. Amid the roaring of the engine, I heard the passengers climbing the staircase to get to the upper deck.
Among them was that boy, the one from St. Andrew Institution. The one who always carried a guitar case. The one whom I had been looking forward to see on the morning bus.
I couldn’t say that I had fallen for him, but seeing him brightened up my day a bit. Furthermore, it took away part of the apprehension of going to school.
However, one look was enough. I dared not stole a second glance at him. He could brand me as a stalker or creepy admirer if I was caught red-handed.
After a while, the engine of the bus finally started running again. Throughout the trip, there were instances where the bus had difficulties moving off. I was beginning to panic over the possibility of being late for school.
Please … reach my stop before breaking down for good.
Alternating my gaze between my watch and the window, I was getting impatient. I observed the reactions of the passengers through the reflections on the closed window beside the seat in front of me. Many of them were fidgeting in their seats. Some were throwing glances at their watches or handphones.
That St. Andrew boy, who was sitting in one of the seats on the opposite side, seemed unfazed by the situation. Three rows ahead of him, there was a girl in the same uniform as me. She was looking out of the window. I couldn’t catch a glimpse of her face due to the angle, but I felt relieved knowing that there was another fellow schoolmate in the same boat as me.
When the bus was one stop away from my destination, I got up and made my way to the staircase. It was safer to get prepared for the alighting from the bus so that I wouldn’t trip and fall in a last-minute attempt to rush to the exit. Embarrassment was the one thing I absolutely dreaded.
A sudden brake wrenched my hand from the railing and sent me lunging forward to crash into front windscreen.
All had happened too fast for me to register what was going on until I plied myself away from the cracked laminated safety glass. My head hurt. I tried to snap out of the partial daze I was in. Through the front windscreen, I saw a young woman trying to steady herself on the bicycle, right in front of the bus.
She displayed a vulgar hand gesture at the direction where the bus driver was seated. Then she rode away by cutting across the path of the bus to get to the other side of the road. A car managed to swerve away in time to avoid smacking into her.
How was it possible to do all the wrong things, without guilt or even shame?
There were people around me asking if I was alright. They were reminding me of the insane amount of embarrassment resulted from making a fool out of myself in the full view of the public.
They must be secretly laughing at my clumsiness. I wanted to be out of there!
“I’m fine,” I insisted while pushing my way through to the staircase, avoiding eye contact with anyone.
“You’re bleeding.”
Who said that?
I touched the right side of my forehead where it hurt the most with an itch lingering around it. My fingers came into contact with something wet, warm and viscous.
I knew what it was.
Seemed like the gash was a small one since I didn’t feel any blood tickling down my face. Luckily, with exception of a bloody smudge on the windscreen, no blood was spilled on the interior of the bus. I had no time to clean up my mess.
After plucking off my hairclip to let down my long fringe to cover my face, especially that wound, I charged down the staircase. I didn’t forget to wipe my blood-stained hand clean with a tissue pulled out from my skirt pocket.
“The engine is dead,” announced the frustrated bus driver just as I reached the lower deck.
Why was I so unlucky?
The passengers erupted into commotion. Complaints and grumblings filled the air. With only ten minutes left before school started, I couldn’t afford to wait for the second bus. The penalty for tardiness was harsh—a warning letter, and once the student had gotten three of them, she would be expelled from school.
Without a second to lose, I dashed out of the opened doors and ran towards the next bus stop, which was about fifty metres away from my school. I hoped that my running would cut short the timing required to get to my destination. No matter how much I had tried, I was still slow. Could I make it on time? The world around me was spinning. The air was sucked out of my lungs. At the same time, I could almost taste the bile rising up to the back of my mouth.
When I did make it, I was greeted by the sight of the school councillor standing at the school gates. The vice-principal was there too. Despite his stern looks, with a moustache to accentuate those, he was quite a friendly person. The real bad news was that Mrs. Olsen was with him.
The foreboding feeling deadened any physical discomfort I was experiencing.
The school councillor informed with a straight face, “You’re late for school. I need your name and class.”
Shaking my head, I squeezed out the words, “It’s not on purpose …” I tried to catch my breath. “It’s the bus.”
“Enough with your excuses!” barked the principal. Her loose jowls were trembling, most probably from anger.
I lowered my head and explained in a choked voice, “No. It really broke down. Another girl was with—”
“Where is she?” the unconvinced woman asked and folded her arms.
That girl was nowhere to be seen. My only alibi was not around. A small matter, such as bus breakdown, wouldn’t be reported on the newspapers. Then I thought of calling the bus company to confirm that the incident did happened.
“Can check … with the bus company?” I suggested while looking at my feet. My breathing was erratic and shaky.
The old lady made a loud sigh. “First, you tried to divert the topic with a lame story about a girl taking the same bus as you. When very few students here live in the same district as you. District 16, right?”
Her assumption was dead wrong. I felt crushed—she didn’t believe me based on my background. I knew that my belongings made it obvious that I didn’t live in District 9 or 10. Maybe my demeanour also cemented that image. But how could she presume that I lived in the rural zone?
That awful feeling was made worse by the fact that the last few girls leaving the open-air car park—used as morning assembly grounds—were looking at me.
Mrs. Olsen continued her assault, “Now you’ve the cheek to tell us to take the trouble and call the bus company to verify your words. Girls like you are so terrible. You should just admit your wrongdoings instead of shrinking from them! How did someone of your calibre and upbringing get into my school?”
“How did your daughter get into the top class? She falls asleep during classes and never does her homework. She can’t even answer a simple Maths question!”
The memory of my elementary school teacher’s complaint to my mother … it had never left my mind. He never bothered to ask for the reasons to my actions. I didn’t do those on purpose, yet only my parents knew. They did stand by me through those awful times.
However, I found it increasingly hard to confide in them. I had grown up already—I couldn’t be clinging onto them like a kid. I just had to bite the bullet.
“I’m sorry,” those were the only words I could utter in spite of being maligned. I tried to keep my mind blank so that no thought could trigger the tears to flow out.
The fierce principal pointed at my hair. “And what’s this? You know that long fringe is not allowed.”
“I’m sorry …” I didn’t know what else to say.
“Cut it or clip it up.”
“I’ll borrow a clip.” I didn’t want anyone to see the wound. The last place I wanted to go to was the nurse’s room. That June would assume I had intentionally hurt myself.
The vice-principal, who had been silent the
whole time, intervened, “She’s going to miss her classes.”
Mrs. Olsen glared at me and said, “Give me your name and class. Then get going!”
I turned to the school councillor. “Natalie Blythe. Class 1/5.”
The girl jotted down the details and then sent me off after an approving nod from the principal.
I felt relief when released from the interrogations. Though with that relief came the sadness and realization that I was well on my way to get kicked out of Lawson Girls’ High.
Mom and Dad would be devastated. I would be nothing if I couldn’t make it through high school. I would be tagged as a loser forever. All the girls would avoid me like plague.
How I wished that there was some form of sorcery that could make me disappeared from this world, without any pain and agony. Life didn’t seem to hold any meaning to me anymore.
After wiping away those tears that broke out when I was alone in a hallway, I became aware of the pain caused by the wound. I continued to walk, like a mindless zombie, while getting a plaster from my bag to slap it over the bleeding area. The reason for doing so was to stop the bleeding so that no one would notice it. It didn’t matter to me if it got inflamed.
When I turned around a corner, I saw her.
That ghost was standing at the other end of the dark, windowless corridor lined with rusty lockers, beside the stairway that led to my classroom. She was facing the wall, not moving one bit.
I began to walk towards her. Inside me, there was a fear of the unknowns. At that moment, it was eclipsed by my need of someone who could understand me or fulfil my wish of fading into obscurity.
Why are you following me? Can you hear me? Can you bring me to another world?
There was no reaction from her.
Face me if you can hear me!
Regret set in the second I was surrounded by a cacophony of groans. Those sounded like the slow turning of a wooden wheel. It was as though the wooden planks were going to snap due to the pressure.
