KRISTINA NAOMI YAGAMI
"The case exploration method's first step is to factor it… blah… blah …"
I zone out, halfway through reading the formulas on the board. Sir Herbert's chicken handwriting makes no sense. At all.
I scrutinize his writing the best I can to decode the weird piece of art, but my eyeballs burn. Nothing comes into mind.
I don't understand how Algebra works.
I play with Edmer Cower's handkerchief, my seatmate, underneath the table, knowing he isn't aware has been missing from his bag since homeroom. He's oblivious as he gets.
The front door violently jolts, which earns a few of my classmates' snide remarks. I glance at the door.
Geez, whoever they are, don't they know how to knock?
Cedric Newman, whose three seats away from me and closest to the window, unlocks the door with a sigh. I lean next to Edmer to check who's behind the door. I can't make out anything with the blue curtains blocking the windows, "Ced, who's at the door?" Sir Herbert asks from the board with his back on him.
Don't forget the signature chicken writing.
You never forget his handwriting. You just don't.
No offense to the professor, but if he doesn't change his handwriting soon, I will fail this class. No one will pass his class if he's the only person who can decipher every word.
In contrary to what I just said, maybe he doesn't understand it, too.
Cedric steps out of the room only to return with a bitter look, "I don't see anyone." he informs, "Lock the door. It must be those cheeky troublemakers again," Sir Herbert incoherently mumbles. Cedric returns to his seat.
I catch Edmer's stare on my face. When we lock eyes, I raise my brows and lithely hide the handkerchief behind my back. His eyes squint - reminding me much of Carlo Hangman's. I smirk.
"Give me back the handkerchief, Yagami," he demands with a groan.
"Nice try, Cower, but I don't have it." I lie between my teeth. He rolls his eyes and suddenly snatches the handkerchief from my back. He doesn't even hide his frustration.
I roll my eyes. What a killjoy.
Sir Herbert continues writing on the board and Edmer does the same in his notebook. This allows me to wrap my fingers around Edmer's black, G-Shock watch. Just when I feel the watch, a hand grabs around my wrist. My mouth shapes into an O, but before my voiced cracks, someone beats me to it.
"Aaaahhh!!"
I lift my head to look for the source of that scream. I roll my eyes when I found who. It's only Julianne Parker. The class bitch.
"Sir Herbert, he pinched my butt!" she points a finger at him. He raises his arms up when she does. "No, I didn't!" he denies. I roll my eyes again. Everyone knows how perverted that rascal's mind is.
I wipe the sweat from my forehead.
Thank God, Julianne beat me first. If it were not for her, Sir Herbert would have given me a detention slip. But then again, Julianne never gets reprimanded. The discrimination, baby Jesus.
I'd rather stuff my face with Saburo Ōji-san's broccoli juice than stare at Sir Herbert's wrinkles all afternoon, thank you very much.
The door jolts again, but this time, it's more violent. But what bothers me now is that it came from the backdoor.
It clutters violently at repetitive intervals. I almost believe the stranger is creating drum patterns for the upcoming band auditions. Sir Herbert ignores it as you'd expect, but when the class erupts, he finally turns around to address the issue.
If my cursive handwriting is worse than understanding ancient hieroglyphics to save your future beau, Sir Herbert's chicken handwriting is the King of all Evil. Believe me when I tell you it causes hallucinations the second you see it. I'm not exaggerating.
For example, Mandarin. Yeah, Mandarin makes my headache. Especially when people talk, you don't know if they're making up gibberish or telling you to get out of the way.
"Remmuel, check who's outside the door! Please!" Sir Herbert orders again, this time off–tune. I snicker. It reminds me of my voice whenever I sing in the shower. Ha, splendid times.
Edmer shoots me a look.
"What?" I snap.
Remmuel jumps when the door jolts against his touch. I laugh. He ends up sitting on James' lap.
James pushes him to the floor, "Ew, man! I know I'm handsome and all, but no thank you! I'm not gay!" he groans in vain. This earns him a slap from Remmuel.
That's when the screams start.
A little boy covered in blood from head to toe, almost like paint enters the room. I would think it's red paint if it weren't for the distinct smell of iron wafting in the air. The kid falls headfirst on the floor, next to the trash bins. Julianne leaves her seat and ends up on the other side of the room in a flash.
Regina and Mickee scream and hide behind the boys in the middle row. The boys howl like wolves, no doubt a powerful belief this is all just a prank.
It's not yet Halloween.
I stare at the kid whose half-unconscious, barely alive. It's hard to see through all the blood without the sudden urge of puking your brains out - which goes for Edmer.
"Remmuel, who is that?" Sir Herbert asks without turning around.
For Pete's sake, for once, stop writing on that damn board and pay attention to something else!
I don't approach the kid, too afraid of what could occur next. I freeze in my seat. There's something wrong, but I can't point it out. It's in the pit of my stomach, which churns like acid on the skin.
"Sir!" Remmuel calls in a high-pitch tone. He trips on the way and crawls as fast as he can away from the kid. I can make out our school's logo on the boy's white polo. He must be in middle school for all I know.
The question is, what is he doing here on the fifth floor? Why is he covered in blood? Did he kill someone? Did something happen? Did someone die? Is there a zombie apocalypse downstairs as we speak? Is it the end of days? Is there a shooting downstairs and we're all oblivious up here?
The boy moans.
The class erupts in screams.
Sir Herbert finally turns around, but when he does, his gaze lands on the poor boy. "Oh, for the love of Mary Immaculate, what happened?! Reed, Caldow help the poor boy!" he panics. Remmuel and James hesitate, but when Sir Herbert gives them the look of Mother Gorilla, they scurry like mice to help the boy up to his feet.
They wrap the kid's arm around their shoulders. But when they do, the kid groans in pain, almost like a whimper.
That's when I see the large gash on his neck. There's missing flesh from his neck and blood gushes out like water. Something's not right.
"R-run…" he whispers something, but it's almost too inaudible to hear. "What did he say?" Remmuel asks James, who's also confused.
"Run. The undead has risen."
"Ahh!" I gasp.
My chest feels like it's about to explode. My head throbs and I find it difficult to move. I fall back on the bed.
Just a dream, it's just a dream. I look around and find comfort in the familiar enclosure of my room.
Oh, my God. Why would I dream of such a thing?
I check the alarm clock beside me. 5:25 a.m.
I still have an hour and thirty minutes before school starts. Thanks to my nightmare, I'm up before my grandmother. I crawl out of bed, but I fall on the carpet instead. "Okay, ow," I rub my nose.
My gaze falls on the enormous mirror, and a hideous reflection stares back at me. My hair resembles a birds' nest and black violet rings surround my eyes. Just a little more and I can cosplay as a raccoon.
Or maybe the dead.
I immediately shake the thought away from my head. Stop with the undead, Kristina! Now is not the time to think about nightmares.
I wobbly stand up, only for the carpet to catch my ankle and pull me back to the floor. I moan in pain. Just great–today isn't my day, is it?
"Magomusume, nani datte?!" Granddaughter, what was that?!
I blink. Uh-oh, O bāchan's awake.
"Nani mo, O bāchan! Watashi wa chodo kapetto ni ochita," Nothing, grandmother! I just fell on the carpet.
I crawl back on my bed and mourn my throbbing ankle. Ugh, my ankle.
My phone rings. Oh. It's just my alarm. I need to stop thinking a zombie apocalypse will happen soon. I breathe through my nostrils. Stop thinking that will happen, Kristina. Relax, it's just a weird nightmare.
There's nothing to worry about. Nightmares don't happen in real life. God, I'm such a paranoid.