Chapter Text
The red of the cherries shines with the early sunlight, bloody pearl earrings dangling from the tree in the wind’s peaceful rhythm. Outside, it was calm the way only colorful paintings could.
Wouldn’t say the same for our classroom.
“The year will be ending soon”, Ms. Grayson tried to say while entering the class, which was already this messy in the first period. There’s intense talks everywhere, groups laughing, people sitting on their desks, some playing on their phone, and I swear I could sense the intoxicating smell of fresh nail polish too.
She stops at her desk, supporting the weight of her shoulders on her wrist. Is easy to sense by the way her nose wrinkles she’s about to explode, and as expected, I’m the only one watchful enough to cover my ears before she blasted a shout.
“The year will be ending soon but y’all still have work to do! So SIT DOWN before I make your school year last LONGER THAN IT SHOULD.” And this easily, the class’s silence is set, just like my headache. What a perfect way to start the morning.
“So, as I was trying to say, the year will be ending soon, and along with it there’ll be a prom to celebrate the third year’s graduation.” And then everyone is shouting again, excited by the great ball me and the student council have been planning in the last couple months. Decoration, DJ, photographers, food… It took us a lot of work, but gladly I could conduct us into finishing setting things beforehand. All we need’s to buy the supplies and-
“But it’s also important to mention your class will be responsible for collecting money to pay for the ball until Saturday.”
WHAT?
They didn’t say anything about collecting money, I carefully went through all the requests during the council meetings, there’s no way I missed something so important, right?
I raise my hand, trying to mask my concern the best I can. “Excuse me Ms. Grayson, but the council was notified the school would cover the event, we set everything counting on this.”
The teacher looked away and clasped her hands. “Well, we were going to, but the soccer team needed some extra help with funding their final season game, so you’ll have to work with the alternatives.”
And now you’re telling me we have only six days to fix this?
A wave of complaints rose, such as “I already paid for my gown, I’m not paying for the ball!” and “The soccer team hasn't won a game since forever!”
My head spins and shouts. This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening, and in a pitiful attempt to hold onto hope, I ask, “Wait, at least- there needs to be at least a bit of money left, right?”
She locks her gaze on mine, eyes wide and mouth thin. We stood there for a whole minute.
“Right?”
The stillness on her face was answer enough.
I can’t believe it. Months of organizing only to be left with no money nor time enough to collect all of it back. Now we’ll have to start everything again in record time and probably tone down everything. I can’t believe I sacrificed hours of sleep to set things before it’s due and now it’s all wasted because we. Have. No. Money.
I’m brought back into reality by a voice coming from behind, the only one imposing enough to make all the rumbling go quiet.
“Ok, the whole football club thing is shitty, but how will we get so much cash in only one week? A prom costs, what, $2.000?”
I turn to face her, and just as I presumed, here comes Vi, incapable of doing so simple as sitting straight on a chair. I never talked to her; all I know is that she has got into enough fights to make it impossible to forget you shouldn’t cross her way.
“Actually,” I say, daring to look at her eyes, “the budget was $14.700.”
She scoffs and rests her hands behind her head, her posture making the chair lean back in a dangerous angle. “THE FUCK? Who the heck needs so much money for a prom ball? Are you people really so desperate over wearing some fancy clothes and dancing? I’m out”.
I get up, cursing myself for the horrible decision of glancing at her bruised knuckles, and my stomach curves around itself. But it doesn’t matter how many punches she might’ve struck; I’m not letting her mock my hard work as she wishes.
“As class president, I worked too hard on making sure the prom is perfect for all, and I won’t permit a delinquent like you to ruin all of it.”
Before I can process the rising murmurs, she gets up abruptly, the loud thud of the chair against the ground pricking my head. Before I can even blink, she’s a breath away from my face.
Looking up closely, her furious eyes and showing teeth successfully live up to her reputation, even though she’s a little smaller than me, which is something I’ve never noticed. Her voice comes out a string of raw anger. “What did you just call me?” I’m looking down at her, aware all over, standing still but ready to back off at any movement.
An unexpected startled voice snaps me out of the trance. “There’s a baking contest!”
We both look at the girl, and suddenly the tension is undone. For now.
The teacher was glad for the change of subject. “W-what are you suggesting?” She questioned while side-eyeing me and Vi.
The girl took a moment to find courage and kept going. “There- there’ll be a bakery contest in the park next Friday. The prize is $15.000, and I thought the whole… I mean… the whole class can sign up as pairs, so our chances of winning are bigger.” By her nervous tone, it’s safe to say we might’ve exaggerated a bit.
“That’s a great idea!” I say in reassurance, and the girl relaxes a little.
But the barely stated peace didn’t last long when another voice, one I knew so great, stepped into debate.
“What?! A bakery contest at Friday? We already do schoolwork during the week; I won’t be canceling my weekend to bake cakes! What am I? An 80-year-old grandma? You guys have fun, but I’m not doing it.”
That girl would be Nicolle. I notice the nail polish on her desk is mirrored in her hands, it’s pretty, but her beauty shouldn’t be trusted. Even though she has those deep eyes and nice legs, she’s still a terrible person.
Vi turned to her and said, without skipping a beat, “Watch out, pretty girl, if you keep complaining you’ll get wrinkles all over you face.”
No. No, no, no, if Vi and Nicolle start arguing things will quickly get out of hand.
“’Pretty girl’? I’m sorry honey, but I have a boyfriend.” Vi’s face twists with anger and Nicolle gets even more excited. “Wow, what a scary face! Watch out girls, the lesbo is getting out of control here, just like her temper.”
Another loud thud strikes as Vi points at her from across the class.
“I’LL SHOW YOU SOME TEMPER.”
I grab Vi’s arm before she does something reckless. We have to go back into focus-
Wow, her arm is firm. Does she have muscles?
Wait, that’s not the point here.
“Either way! This event is of great importance, and the whole class will help, including you both.”
“Okay, okay, let’s all calm down now.” We hear the teacher say to get our attention. When silence is finally at sight, she turns at me, takes a deep breath and forces a smile. “Caitlyn, since you are so passionate about making Violet work in the competition, why don’t you sign as a pair?”
“What?!”
Only then I realize my hands are still on her arm. By the way Vi brushes my hand off, she seems to realize it too.
“Wait, I didn’t agree with this sh-”. She tries to protest, followed by countless whimpers all around, but I guess the teacher is finally not having it.
“EVERYONE will have to participate in this project.” She said, her head up with lifted hands as if begging God to spare her from this mess, turning to look at us at last.
Praying doesn’t seem a bad idea, no.
“Also I have to remind y’all your participation on this project will be graded. Listen very carefully, I shall say this only once: It. Will. Be. Graded.” She warned, putting emphasis in the last words with interleaved claps for good measure. “Did I make myself clear?”
A coral of lifeless “yes” echoed, Vi being the only one grumpy enough to not answer.
“Great! It’s settled then. You’ll form pairs, sign up for the baking contest, and prepare your cakes.”
I look at Vi again, eyes wide and jaw tight, cropped red hair with a side buzzcut; short but full of rage. Her shocked face is probably the only thing we’ll ever share in common.
This will be a long, long week.
I’m caught out of guard when the lunch bell rings, the deafening sound crawling through my ears. A sheer runs up my spine, the phantom of a movement I came to know pretty well rising to the surface. There it is, the silence before the explosion, where you’re aware, but never prepared enough for what’s about to happen.
It reaches my nape.
Shoot.
My neck starts repetitively twitching forward and my breathing turns sharp and short in the rhythm of muscles going tense, all followed by the pain of screws being pulled tighter and tighter circling my neck in a sick game of “how long would it take before it breaks?”
Come on, not now.
My view shakes, following my head moving up and down, but I don’t need much of a clear vision to know the teacher looks at me side eyed. His eyes might be focused on paper sheets, but sometimes they lift to stare back, unsettled.
If you find this unsettling, try to be the one almost hitting their head.
Still, he doesn’t move to get me help or even ask what’s happening, which’s something I’m satisfied about. I’m panicking already and trying to explain myself to someone is the last thing I should be focusing on right now.
The sound of the bell is still on, and I try to tone down the jags to be as unnoticeable as possible, even as it keeps proving to be completely useless.
Breath, calm down, and it’ll stop.
My body continues to uncontrollably move even when the bell stops, the student’s steps and chair dragging setting off a new type of alarm in my mind.
Get up, get up!
I can’t.
A neck bone cracks after a too abrupt move to the left, and all I wonder about is how much longer this will take before anyone else notices, before someone bold enough to not only stare this time, but also shame and mirror my movements while making mocking faces at me.
I need to get out of here, now.
I stare at my legs as if focusing enough would scare them into doing what I want. I look at this bridge of a problem, a block that should be easy to cross the same way getting up and taking a step forward would; but before my eyes the bridge is gone, and all that’s left is a wide dark abyss I’m expected to jump across like it’s nothing.
It should be nothing.
I keep staring down at the swallowing dark, waiting for a leap of faith, my deep breathing the only thing grounding me to control.
Breathe in.
The air runs inside my nose.
Breath out.
And leaves through my mouth.
You’re safe,
you’re safe and everything will be okay.
I keep up with the breathing exercise, and little by little, the jags fade, big and threatening waves turning into calm and harmless sea foam.
I finally manage to get up, my feet losing balance only for a moment. My vision locks to the ground to prevent myself from accidentally glancing at someone’s expression and getting even more paranoid. While cautiously walking among the others, the sensation of my hands softly clasped and deep breathing guide me to the bathroom, my pace as methodically quick as I think an unbothered person would.
I’m glad to find the place empty, not skipping a beat before I lock myself in one of the cabins, telling myself hopefully nobody saw what happened, hopefully I can fix all this prom situation and soon enough all the stress will – literally – leave my back.
My nape switches between screaming out of pain and relief when I forcefully face the ceiling, something I always did to “balance” the repetitive downward movements of earlier. I don’t know for sure if it works, but it does help to fade the tension.
After some massaging and one last deep breathing, I have recovered enough to leave the bathroom and eat something.
But just my luck, my door isn’t the only one to open, a synchrony only the devil could pull up. Nicolle closes the bathroom door behind, her chin tilting slightly up when she sees me.
For a brief moment none of us moves, a wolf staring at a fox, both wondering which one will first step into chasing.
Hunger wins over cautiousness when I avoid her stare to lock my eyes in the sink in front of me, the running water harmonizing with the loud thud on my ears.
I raised my gaze to find her reflection standing behind me, only then realizing what I thought would put an end to this affair turned out to be a fox’s first step.
And the wolf was ready to chase.
She calmly steps closer. “So, guess we have a bit of a problem with the ball.” I follow her through the mirror, unconcern is a mask that comes easily, the cold sweat of my hands ever betraying me.
“It’s just a setback, I’ll take care of it.”
She answers with a low hum. “Kiramman, Kiramman, always so committed.”
Nicolle lifts her hand and starts caressing my shoulder.
My knuckles go white around the sink.
“I was really looking forward to this event, you know.” She whispers too close to my ear and I look away from the mirror. “I even bought a dress,” My back goes stiff when her hand shifts, her index slowly tracing down my spine in a hazy touch. “it has a long open back, just the way you like it.”
I turn and hold her pulse down, my tight grip making her whimper out of pain. My words are a growl between my teeth, eyes pierced on hers. “I’m not like that anymore.”
She closes the gap between us, my soul a toy between her playful smile. “Oh Caitlyn, you think I don’t notice the way you stare at me and the other girls? You can try to hide it as you wish, but at the end of the day you’re just like that girl Vi; can’t even control yourself.”
I can feel my hands shaking and the idea she might be feeling it too makes it even worse. “It all happened months ago.”
“But I still remember every bit of it, and I bet the school wouldn’t forget it either.”
My grip starts to go loose. “Please, please don’t-”
She yanks her pulse out, the sight of redness around it making me a bit triumphant beside the odds. Nicolle won’t say the truth behind it nor what happened here, not if it compromises her too.
At last, she puts on a sarcastic smirk. “Just make sure to get the money and you’ll still leave this place as everyone’s dear Miss Perfect, all right?”
I nod in response.
Satisfied, she pats twice on my cheek. “Wise choice, Kiramman.”
I watch Nicolle casually wash her hands and walk away; silence follows, but I still hear her words echoing as I embrace myself, trying to shift my senses to the brush of hands in my arms.
All I need is to sit in a quiet place and eat, even for a minute.
Exhaustion lays on my shoulders, but with a mission in mind, I finally get to move towards the cafeteria.
Augh, my head hurts.
I get to the cafeteria and fetch the biggest sandwich my eyes land on, my hunger making it look tastier than it might actually be. I know, because I swear I saw sparkles dancing around it.
There’s a hidden garden behind the school, the perfect place to run from everything. I look around to ensure no one follows me, the hollow on my stomach complaining the everlasting journey.
I get to the side of the building and find a grass square, it’s amount of weeds hinting the years of neglect; it’s a dead end for some, but not if you found a gap in the iron grid some years ago out of despair for a place to hide, glad for the curtain of trees and bushes covering it.
Soon I’m caught inside a green tunnel, the trees’ shades are a cool cover to the skin, and not so far there’s a welcoming sunlight, calling for the secret it holds. My steps go faster as I try to calculate how little of the break still remains, knowing pretty well it doesn’t matter because as soon as I step into the sun, my body blooms in relief with its touch and I open my eyes.
Only to find Vi punching someone to the ground.