Monday 13th May, 2019
I rushed into school.
The office had been easy enough to find. A few kind students had been more than willing to show me the way.
A purple-haired, plump office lady handed me a map, with the necessary buildings circled according to my schedule, which was also handed over. "But, honey," she said, "it's always assembly before lessons."
"Assembly?"
She nodded, "yes. Main hall. It's circled."
Then a few more students piled in, forcing me out. Now every white-floored hallway looked the same, lined with classroom doors and dark brown lockers. There was nobody milling around; nobody to grab and ask for directions. A sweat was breaking out on my forehead, and I shoved my glasses further up my nose as I rounded a corner.
And stopped. Two large oak doors were closing. Lurching forward, I managed to jam my arm between them with a gasp; they swung open, revealing two wide-eyed teachers, mild disapproval written across their faces.
"The new girl?" One of them asked; a grey-haired, bushy-eyebrowed man. I nodded quickly. "There's an empty seat over there," he said, pointing to an empty chair in the aisle, three rows from the back. I hurried to it, sitting down without much noise. That's when I saw them.
The tapestries. They lined every wall, some bursting with colour, others black as night. All praising, sending religious messages. They were so intricate, weaved and knitted, huge and hanging from the ceilings. When I could tear my eyes away, they landed on something at the front of the vast hall, in the middle. Suddenly the blue plastic chair I was sat on was very uncomfortable.
A tall, white marble alter stood. Just like in a church. Now that I look, this hall was set up like a church. With a shudder, fighting to urge to run, I watched the headmistress take her place behind it.
I sat, frozen as the realisation washed over me and I got to grips with just how religiously orientated Grove Hill was - extremely. Soon, the headmistress was braced, holy book open, her red-painted lips moving as she recited a passage.
Then, as if they'd all heard a signal, every head in the hall bowed. And the prayer began; every voice joining in perfect synchronization. I don't think one person missed a syllable. A religious choir of students. I'd never felt so out-of-place - at least my parents knew better than to drag me to Church with them.
I was trapped. Discomfort was about to swallow me, when I heard that sound. A harsh, cold laugh - the exact same as before.
My head turned; sure enough, sat on the very back row, there they were. Four of them. Yet, all I could see was one; black, curly hair stuck up on his head, as wild as his eyes. They were fixed on me; blushing was inevitable. Now, looking into his eyes, I must have misheard the laugh - it wasn't amused at all. It was frustrated; a cold bark of confusion.
I'd expected him to look away in embarrassment at being caught. But he didn't move an inch, eyes getting darker and narrower every second. I realised that he was concentrating. His mouth twisted, wide and strangely soft for such an angular face, with the effort he was making.
The voices sang "amen", louder than before. My gaze tore away to see everyone standing, filing out through the side and back doors. I couldn't feel eyes on me anymore, and when I looked back, he was gone. Not one of his friends remained.
My legs wobbled as I moved out of the seat, following two girls with pink hoodies on. I focused on that, on their dirty trainers as they walked. But his eyes were burned into my mind like a brand. Why was he staring? What was that intense, frustrated look in his eyes?
And the most troubling - why wasn't he praying like everyone else? Granted, his all-black attire made him look like he'd burn down your house for fun, but he didn't even seem aware everyone else was praying, and to laugh in the midst of it--
I shook my head. No. He was obviously just strange, and bored. It was nothing to do with me.
With the map stuck firmly under my nose, I managed to navigate my way around. A locker key was in my pocket, but I wasn't about to go searching around school for one locker. I was just asking to get hopelessly lost.
A few of the nicer students stopped to ask if I needed directions; most of the time I did. The classes, at least, were normal. I sat next to someone in every lesson; some smiled, some spoke, some ignored. Either way I didn't mind; fiddling with my glasses, naming exercise books and trying to make conversation filled my morning.
As each class went, the dark eyes that had haunted me since assembly started to fade, until they were nearly gone.
At lunch I went to find the only place I could think of to make me feel comforted in a school like this, where they had religious quotes plastered to the walls and an alter in the hall and teachers who looked at you like they knew straight away that you were an atheist.
I sighed, watching as everyone flitted off in their groups for lunch, spreading out on the grass outside school. I pushed my hair behind my ears, and then decided it was too hot and tied it back in a tiny, spikey ponytail. Even now, only hours after starting school, I felt eyes on me that I hadn't when I first walked in. I hadn't told anyone that I was an atheist, but somehow it was like everyone already knew.
Scurrying along, I followed signs that directed me, finally, to the only door I was happy to see. Sighing with relief, I scanned the word above the door - 'library'. Pushing it open, I was immediately engulfed by that musty, bookish smell. Something good.
It was big - all four walls were shelved to the ceiling, with rows of more shelves taking up the middle, angled to make a square around an empty space, filled with plastic blue chairs and small desks. Blue carpeted floor ran throughout.
A long desk sat at the front. "Excuse me," I tapped my trainer on the floor as the bald man staring at the computer looked up.
"Yes, hon?"
"I was wondering. . ." Why were my palms sweating? "Well, I was going to ask. . ."
"Yes?"
"Do you need any helpers in the library? Like, at lunch?" The man's blue eyes creased as he smiled.
"That would be lovely! We'll put it on your record, if you like."
"No," I shook my head, "that won't be necessary."
He smiled again, gesturing to the empty library. It was so quiet; to anyone else, I supposed it might feel awkward. "Go ahead."
I turned to leave, but his voice stopped me. "Are you the new kid?"
My head nodded automatically. He paused for a moment; seeming to look at me in a different light. "How's your first day going?"
"Fine," I made an effort to smile. "Good, actually."
He nodded like he detected a lie, and I could have sworn there was pity in his milky grey eyes. Yet, as soon as I was amongst the book shelves, I felt at ease. No eyes on my back when they thought I wasn't looking, no groups of friends whispering as I walked by. No hard, cold laughs behind me.
I shook my head, feeling a heaviness in my heart.
The town was great; it seemed to be frozen in time, in an era I'd always felt would suit me better anyway. I guess I'd automatically expected to fit in, just because I felt like I should. But the chorus of "amens" in the hall this morning, pockets of established friends watching me and the sympathy in that man's eyes all pointed to one thing: I was an outsider here, whether I liked it or not.
+ + +
Later, at home, I sat at my desk and huffed for the fourth time.
Then, knowing it was no use, I rifled through my box of tapes again. Not one blank left. Stopping, I listened. The faint sound of the TV could be heard from the living room; that was my parents sorted for the night. The clock read 10:15pm. Darkness could be seen out of the window, just next to the desk.
Chewing on my lip, I debated whether to go out or not. I was never one to wander the streets at night; more the indoors type. But, looking around the bare pastel green room, only oak furniture for company, I felt miserable.
Standing, I flung a black jacket on, grabbing cash off the side. I needed to get out.
My mother's head craned around at the sound of my footsteps, a woolly cardigan wrapped around her skinny body - I didn't inherit the thin gene. "Going somewhere?" Suspicious, of course.
I hesitated. My Dad looked now, four piercing eyes on me. "I've ran out of tapes. There's a convenience store just down the road."
"It's past ten at night," Mum noted.
"I'm seventeen."
"It's dark."
"There are streetlights outside."
Dad cleared his throat, "Julie," he put his hand on Mum's shoulder. "Go, sweetheart. Come straight home."
"Sure," I agreed. Where else was I going to go? Crawling the streets? The paranoid part of me suggested taking torch, or weapon of some sort. . . I was out of the door before I could overthink myself into not going at all.
Outside, the air chilled me. It hadn't been the best weather that day, but it was cold tonight. Pulling the black jacket closer, I started walking.
Remembering the way from driving around, I walked, but began to doubt my mediocre memory when I couldn't see it after ten minutes. Turning a corner, the white-blue light of the convenience store came into view.
Pushing the glass door open, it was deadly quiet. I supposed not many people were out at this time on a school night; the streets had been deserted. Moping around the store, I passed the food and papers and drinks, but no tapes. After ten minutes, I adjusted my glasses in frustration and gave up.
"Excuse me," I leant over the till, spying a young boy crouched underneath, blonde head bent over a games console.
He looked up. "Yes?"
"Do you sell tapes here?"
He rolled his eyes, standing up. Mild anger burned inside me, a knee-jerk reaction to bad attitudes. "How many?"
"Five, please." My eyes found my reflection in the shop window; bronze hair like a nest on my head. The short length meant it never stayed still. Sighing, I raked my fingers through it before passing the money over. The boy bagged it in a hurry. I was in a hurry to get home myself. Pushing the door open, I stood outside for a few moments.
Out here, the store being the only building, it didn't have the retro 50s feel everything else here had. Now, it was just a dark street, empty, pools of white and orange from the streetlamps spilling on the pavement. Shadows gathered, and I clutched the bag and walked.
Five minutes later, I was half way home. Halfway safe. I looked around for the sixth time, pulling my hair out of the ponytail and letting it fall around my face. Like it would protect me.
That's when I heard the sound. That same damn sound.
The cold, hard laugh, echoing from somewhere nearby. I should have kept walking - I should have ignored it. It's in my nature to run at the first sense of danger. It always has been.
But not tonight.
What the hell was I doing? My head whirled, screaming at me to turn back, yet my legs carried me forward the few steps, and then stood at the mouth of the wide alley. It sat between two houses, a fire burning in the middle.
I could feel the heat of it, orange light flickering over the brick houses. In the black night, it seemed brighter and more dangerous than I'd expect. It wasn't the fire that had me stuck, though. Four tall boys leaned against one brick wall, all eyes trained on the only other person there.
The fifth boy was weedy, short and trembling from head to toe. His shaggy brown hair glinted in the fire light. I watched, wide-eyed, as he cried out, "please, no!"
A different laugh came now, high with amusement, booming. "Do it." The ginger one said. I squinted my eyes; they all wore black, but in different ways. This boy had silver chains hanging from the pockets of his leather jeans. His black eyes were wide with delight.
There was a sob from the weedy boy; on the other side of the fire, he bent over and picked up a long knife. It shone silver, menacing. My legs felt like they'd turned to stone. Heart hammering, I didn't realise my palms had begun to sweat.
The young boy trembled violently as he got a better grip of the knife, and pressed the tip of it to the palm of his hand. I looked back at the boys in wild desperation - what the hell were they doing? Why didn't they stop him?
But all of them seemed to be enjoying it, engrossed as if they were at a circus. Sick.
When blood, black in the dimness, started pooling in the boy's palm, dripping from his fingers, and his anguished cry filled the air - that's when it happened.
The plastic bag fell from my wet palm. I wasn't fast enough - it dropped, the sound of tapes crashing on concrete painfully loud. I was paralysed; looking up from the ground, I found myself staring at five pairs of eyes, all looking at me.
I could only focus on one. They were darker than the rest, rounder. Black curls, tangled, fell into them.
I snapped. Swiping the bag off the floor, I turned and sped away, pumping my legs as fast as they would go. I could barely hear the commotion behind me over the thundering of my heart. All there was was an empty street; the thought of banging on someone's door flashed through my head. As my vision blurred, the shouting behind quietened. Maybe they were gone. . .
Suddenly, someone was in front of me. I stopped dead, a scream lodged in my throat.
"Stop," the voice commanded. Deep, chilling. He stood under the white streetlight. Strangely, I knew exactly who he was. The wild black curls gave him away.
"Stay away from me," I choked out.
"Stay away from us." He leant on the lamppost, ill at ease. His casual stance just made me more uncomfortable. Silently, I ran through exit strategies.
Standing just three feet away from him, he was taller than I thought. Taller than six foot, putting by 5'9 to shame. He wasn't weedy either; a black short-sleeved t-shirt showed leanly muscled arms, black jeans hugging the shape of his strong, long legs. It shocked me how unbelievably attractive he was.
I shook my head.
"Get out of the way."
"No," he said, the power in his voice rooting me to the spot. "Not until you tell me why the fuck you were spying on us."
"I-- I wasn't spying on you."
"What were you doing then?"
I held the bag up. "Buying tapes! I was buying tapes, and on my way home I heard laughing."
"So you followed it?"
I nodded eagerly, but the hope he might let me go faded as he began to shake his head, taking a step toward me. My heart jumped.
"Stay back," I warned.
He laughed then. Hard, bleak. "You should have thought that yourself."
"What were you doing to that boy?" I blurted, and immediately wish I hadn't. He tensed, before shrugging. He didn't seem as casual as before, though.
"Just harmless fun."
"Harmless?" I said loudly, incredulous. "I don't think harmless is the word."
"What word would you use?"
"Dangerous," I said breathlessly. "Mean."
"Mean?" He asked, and a laugh burst from his lips. It was different this time - louder, warmer. Like he was actually amused. But then a coldness took over his face, and he moved closer.
He loomed over me; up-close his straight nose was smaller than the average man's. Soft lips sat beneath, widely set. I supposed they could look quite endearing, if it wasn't for the way they were twisted in a snarl.
"You haven't seen mean yet, honey." He whispered.
"Go away."
"I intend to," he drawled, leaning away. "But you're a stupid little girl," the patronization hit me like a slap, "and we don't tolerate them in this town. There's a curfew."
"A-- a curfew?" I stuttered; I couldn't help it. The wind just blew his smell at me, spiced wood.
"Yes. A curfew. You shouldn't be out after dark."
I don't know where the next words came from. "Who says I can't?"
His teeth flashed white in the darkness as he grinned. "Me."
And with that, he walked away. Before I knew it, he'd rounded another corner, and I was left alone in the street.