For who hath despised the day of small things? For they shall rejoice, and shall see the plummet in the hand of Zerubbabel with those seven; they are the eyes of the Lord, which run to and fro through the whole earth.
--Zechariah 4 vs 10 (King James Version)
It was a slow drive to Mayhaven—but not because of traffic like you'd expect. There weren't many streets that got full in the morning between their house and the school, so they could safely get there within thirty minutes. It was pretty obvious her mom was going slow on purpose. Well, maybe not on purpose to her.
Even from the backseat, Jordan could tell from the way she pulled on the steering wheel and didn't hit the gas all the times she could—that, and the fact a couple other drivers had either shaken their fists or given them a sideways glance as they passed by.
She thought she had an idea on what was going on. "Mom?" she called.
Her mother jerked, then gripped the steering wheel even tighter, panicking, "What's wrong? Am I going too fast?"
She was pretty sure they had been staring at the same billboard for the past five minutes. Jordan slid closer to her, leaning through the middle partition, "What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing." Her voice was taut, she was clearly trying to force some pep into it, "Ready for your meeting with the principal?"
Jordan groaned and placed her head against the back of the leather chair. She wished she'd brought up anything but that—she'd been trying all morning not to think about it.
"You'll do fine," her mom said, "Just try your best."
Jordan roused herself, "Don't change the subject—you're driving like the Tinman," she pointed out, "What's going on?"
Her mom sighed, "Nothing," she repeated, this time her tone wasn't so peppy, just tired, "It's just— I wanted to talk to you," her fingers eased a bit, and she asked another question, "Remember last time we did this—for your old school?"
Jordan's heart sank a little; so she had been thinking of that.
She thought about what she should say, I'm ready this time, I'll give it a hundred and one percent, or maybe what was nagging most on her mind— I'm sorry. Instead, she answered, "Yeah."
The look on her face must have been pretty sad because her mom went, "Oh, Jordan," and tried turning around to face her, then realised they were still on the road. "You know what—" she muttered to herself and pulled over.
"Listen, honey," she pulled off her seatbelt and turned in her chair, "I'm not trying to blame you—I don't even know half of what happened there. What I do want to know is… are you sure you're okay with this?"
She winced, those didn't seem to be the words she'd intended to use, "OK, it's a little too late to be asking you that—" she paused and rubbed her face, then explained, "I mean—it was just like this last time, right? Does it feel like I'm bundling you away or something? Was that why--?"
She didn't complete the last one but kept gazing at Jordan.
In other words, thought Jordan: was it me? Was it something I did?
No. Jordan could answer it with all the conviction in the world. Somehow, making her mom think like that—ask herself those questions brought a terrible feeling from the pit of her stomach. Her mom was amazing, so why was she actively running for world's worst daughter?
She couldn't let anything like that happen again.
She forced a smile, "It's completely fine, mom—I'm fine."
I promise.
She intended to keep it—desperately.
Her mom reached forward and cupped her chin with a hand, smiling sadly, "Maybe it's me who just can't let you go. It's not even boarding school—" Jordan knew she was reminding herself, then pouted playfully, "But you're growing up so fast."
She turned and put her seatbelt back on, "Alright, let's go," she sounded happier, free, relieved, "Don't worry—" she added as she started up the car, "—I won't leave till it's over."
Despite their pace, they'd gotten there a little early— the thought of the meeting with the principal still made her break into a cold sweat, but though she wouldn't admit it, her mom being there was more comforting than she could describe—whatever it was, they'd face it as a team. Even though she was the only one going in.
She hugged her goodbye and stepped out of the car. By the time she got to the entrance, her mom had parked at the side of the building.
The principal's office was a glasshouse in a brick building. It was the only section of school made of glass everywhere from walls to ceilings, about the size of one of the classrooms. Yellow satin curtains covered the entire thing for privacy, and the only entrance or exit was a single panel door—also glass.
It more or less spoke of the personality she'd come to learn of the one who owned it—completely transparent, yet not.
She knocked on the door, and entered after hearing a Come in.
Mrs. Adegoke was middle-aged, plump where Mrs. Alero was thin, and smiling where the other woman was grave—but, as Jordan found out on her first day of probation, that wouldn't stop her from rapping a ruler on your fingers if you weren't paying attention.
The cheery disposition allowed her to be on more friendly terms with the students, but she also had a record of holding back an entire class a term because of a practical joke on a teacher, giving a staff member final notice for making fun of a student and once, after a celebratory pep rally, a couple of students had complained about the mess in the gym and she'd allocated everyone two extra hours of P.E to enable them clean it up themselves. All in the same school year.
She could go from smiling to sending someone to the pits of despair in a split second— just wearing a red and white polka dot sundress and hat didn't make her any less scary.
"Hello, dear."
Jordan had to keep herself from flinching. Nice felt very unsafe with this woman.
The lady smiled, "Oh, you know I don't bite—relax." She waved an arm and smiled to herself, "You see, this meeting is just to show we've had one since you became a student—for the record books—the school board seems to have a thing about that. I don't have much to say to you—"
On the inside, Jordan let out a sigh of relief. Outwardly, she didn't move a muscle.
"So," she continued, "Is there anything you'd wish to say to me?"
"Nothing, ma'am." Jordan replied. She immediately went oops—she'd been too quick.
The principal glanced at her carefully, "Is that so? Alright, I think that would do." She looked down a file, "I suppose I can assign you twelve self-study lessons in the week, or extra lessons in classical music studies, or perhaps even place in you in JS2 classes once every month."
What?
Jordan stared at her, dumbstruck. Was it her, or did the principal's eyes have a mischievous glint to them?
"What? Are you going to keep staring at me? You don't like that, do you?" The woman sighed when she still didn't much in the way of a reply, "Word of advice—if your principal's asking you for what you'd like, I'd suggest you speak up."
Jordan's throat managed to open at that, "Uh, well, I don't really know what to say."
The principal let out an Aha. "Now there's a start—I don't know about other principals, but I don't like to have students in front of me like little parrot-boxes. Even saying I don't know—that at least shows you're thinking."
"O-Ok, ma'am." It seemed like the safest reply.
The woman looked like she was tired of teasing her. She pointed to a Mayhaven branded gift bag on the floor beside Jordan, "Those are the rest of your things—binder, I.D card and of course, a student pin—our speciality here. These—you can receive only directly from the principal."
Jordan drew out the pin, a little golden circle embossed with JW surrounded by Mayhaven's insignia.
The principal kept speaking quickly, like she'd suddenly run out of time—Jordan would say she'd just lost interest—sorry, she wasn't the best conversational partner, "For you, the usual, and yet, unusual speech—you've put in the work to clear yourself of probation, and unlike most here, you had to earn that pin in more ways than one. The reasons why you had to expend so much extra effort are well known to you, but in my experience, starting again is always the hardest—it takes a lot of courage and perseverance, and so it remains up to you whether you repeat the mistake or not. What I'm trying to say is—of the things you have toiled so hard to come out of, don't put yourself back in." She shook her slightly greyed head, wrinkles deepening, "I've seen it happen many, many times."
She continued, "Your quietness is a boon to your teachers, but you must learn when to speak up too—be neither a parrot, nor a mouse, show us here what a Jordan is." She seemed to notice Jordan was having a bit of trouble following so many words anymore, "Excuse me for making you try to glean so much wisdom in so little time—you may go now."
Jordan rose and curtsied in greeting to her, then headed for the door.
"And Jordan—?" she turned from opening the door, the principal peered at her over her glasses, "I'm glad you were bold enough to try again." Then the mischievous twinkle was back, and she shooed her away, "Go on now. Classes await." Items in hand, she did just that.
She ran over to a wall of windows overlooking the parking area and found her mom's Camry—it was one of the only ones there. She waved the binder and guidebook and flashed the I.D card around her neck, silently screaming.
The car door opened, and her mom waved back just as madly with both hands, mouthing Way to go.
Cringy yes, but neither of them cared.
They were like that for a few seconds before her mom probably thought it wasn't the time to linger. She waved one last time, revved the engine and was soon out the school gates.
She made it. First victory—score one for Jordan.
She spent a couple of seconds outside her classroom door just shuffling on her toes and clearing her head. It was like the first time all over again— but this was a new school, a fresh start. Well—if you didn't count Bren.
Still, there were no "sins of her past" to find her here, as the chaplain at her old school had put it.
Now let's see what freedom looked like.
She took a deep breath and stepped through the door—victory number two.
The other side of freedom wasn't bad, but it wasn't all that either. Classes were normal—basic science, tech, maths, and the like. The class teacher had had her stand up and introduce herself before any of them started—you know, the usual routine—she got through it pretty well—no one gawked at her.
Another plus was that Bren and her friends weren't in this class— they were all the way down the hall. And the best part? Mrs. Alero was in charge of their class. Apparently, she'd applied for the role over the weekend and Mrs. Adegoke had given the approval immediately. Now, they couldn't do anything to her in broad daylight—if anyone could love that old crow, Jordan was certain it would first be her.
As for the actual learning, she just needed to get back into the rhythm—four periods then a short break, followed another three before lunch, then finally two more before the day ended at three o'clock… for everybody else, that is. They were final exam candidates, which meant a thirty-minute break, then classes till five. Brutal— and those in the senior department, SS3, had it even worse: six-thirty.
The short break came, and she was approached by the class captain, a dark, lanky boy with glasses and a clean accent, along with a handful of other interested students. He introduced himself as Rereloluwa, but most of the other students, and even teachers, called him Riley—don't ask why. He'd come to embrace it.
He explained a few of the important class rules, the timetable and everything else she needed to know. As he talked, she took a sweep of the classroom—there was someone else she knew that wasn't here, and an empty desk at the back corner. It couldn't have been an extra—they'd had to bring in hers from another classroom.
She asked about it.
"Oh, that?" Riley was about to say something, but another girl cut in.
"Oh, I wouldn't worry too much about it, if I were you," she seemed to be holding back laughter, "The owner's set in a world of her own, but she always returns to it in due time." She sniggered like it was some kind of joke.
Jordan didn't get it.
Riley's eyebrows came together, "That's enough," he chided and turned back to Jordan. He looked a little helpless, "Yes, our last classmate is a bit troublesome, but she doesn't cross the line… too much," he let out a sigh, "If she would just come for class more often though."
That was surprising. Private schools weren't very convenient for students to play truant—first, once they were through the school gates in the morning, they were only allowed to leave with their parents (and even if they made it outside, the uniform would sell them out). Next, while in school, there were literally no places to hide— any teacher or prefects around would immediately send them to class, the sickbay would eventually catch on, the librarian wasn't anyone's friend at that point and, even when you succeeded for a little while, getting caught later was even worse (believe her, she'd tried everything). Unless Mayhaven was really careless, to disappear for so long didn't seem plausible.
Riley elaborated, "Most of the time, all the prefects and teachers know is that her mom drops her off in school every morning. Where she hides most of the time—?" he shrugged. "And where we do know—no one likes going there, so they all just leave her alone."
"Yeah, just watch out for it," the girl couldn't resist adding in again, "That desk could be empty for half a day or an entire week— it's very entertaining. Especially when Mrs Alero drags her to it by the ears."
"Do you want to be on cleaning duty for the entire week, Murewa?" Riley threatened. She yelped and ducked away, leaving him shaking his head, "Who said there was only one troublesome student in our class?" It was just Monday, and he sounded tired already. Jordan sympathised with him—heavy was the burden of the responsible ones.
She wanted to hear more but the bell rang. She looked at the schedule—fine art, and Riley was already announcing for them to line up and go to the studio.
Lunch came— one bad thing about resuming so late into the school year—everyone had already formed their little cliques and groups and getting into one was surprisingly hard. After getting enough awkward stares at the cafeteria each time she asked to join a table her classmates were on, finally one girl was nice enough to invite her to one—the seat at the very edge of the table. Jordan resolved to finish eating quickly and excused herself—she didn't want a place out of pity.
Back at the classroom, which was empty except for her, the desk at the corner still hadn't been touched—it was safe to conclude that whoever the owner was, they weren't coming today.
She sat down, reached into her bag, and brought out a notebook.
Alright, confidentiality notice—if her mom, actually if anyone, ever saw this, they'd freak—so you couldn't go blabbing about it, okay? Sworn to secrecy.
Alright.
She'd been having this stupid dream over and over, even last night—what were the odds of it happening the entire weekend straight—but she could never remember all of it in the morning. By Sunday, she was tired of waking up in a cold sweat while grasping at straws on what exactly she'd seen. Then her mother had done this superpowered mom thing where she knew something was bothering her, even when she didn't say anything and so, even though it wasn't really her style, she placed a notebook under her pillow at her suggestion and resolved to write down everything she remembered immediately she opened her eyes.
When she hadn't been able to get down a better description than coal black eyes and tarry skin—she figured she wasn't any good at it and turned to drawing, and found she was terrible at that too. But aside those two, she couldn't think of any other way, so she kept at it since then— over and over, any chance she got. It got a little fun sometimes, looking at the drawings and laughing. Other times, she wanted to send the book sailing halfway across the room like a Frisbee.
Yeah, something you don't want anyone else to see—that's the perfect thing to bring to school, Jordan, is what you're probably thinking.
She agreed with you, but she'd had a particularly vivid one that morning and she didn't think she had the patience or memory to guarantee she could wait to work on it at home, so she'd thrown it in her bag without much thought… and promptly forgotten about it till now.
Well, anyway…
She picked up a pencil and turned a blank page.
Today was a Frisbee day. When she raised her head twenty minutes later, it felt like she'd just been through a long war. The picture danced in her mind, getting clearer and fading out at the same time. She'd never envied those master artists more—do you know how frustrating it was to have something in your head and not be able to get it down?
She squinted at the drawing—smudges aside, it looked just barely, barely passable—at least it was better than her old ones—those, if she'd used a pen, would have probably been more like the ink paintings they used for those psychiatric tests. This one, she could recognise a little, and it didn't look like a stick figure on all fours. Too much.
She could make out the five-fingered hands tipped with claws, and the knobbly knees and remembered the eyes that were somehow even darker than the face—suddenly, she didn't want to look at it anymore.
She definitely wouldn't be showing it to her mom.
She closed it and sighed. The book wouldn't be going flying after all.
Just as well too—the door opened—people had started coming back to class. She put it back in her bag. She'd work on it later.
It wasn't her fault— if she'd known—Nobody told her you shouldn't give dreams power that way.
She glanced at the clock, and then rechecked her timetable—they still had another twenty minutes left. Good, she wanted to go somewhere—it was better than sitting around.
A few minutes later, red sand crunched under her feet. There was still a better part of the break left, and she was tired of wondering.
She reached the base of Big Boy and craned her head to the top, shielding her eyes from the sun. She didn't see anything, so she circled round it. Then, almost directly opposite she'd met her last time, a set of legs wearing black stockings and Mary Janes dangled from another ledge—Bingo.
The girl was crazy—the rock she sat on was bulkier, steeper, and more uneven than the other one—and about a meter up higher. Was Big Boy even that stable up there?
Before she said anything, the girl's voice flowed down, "Visiting already?" she feigned surprise and then smiled, "Or have you just come back to pay your respects?"
Yeah, she talked a little big for a thirteen-year-old. Hadn't anyone told her that line hadn't been cool for a while already?
Sarai lifted herself from lying down to sitting on the rock, legs still swaying in the air. Jordan got anxiety just looking at her, not to mention trying anything like that, but Sarai seemed like she had pretty good control of herself. She was clad in the standard green and purple uniform same as Jordan. Her short black hair fell around her face in waves while her hazel brown eyes were strikingly sharp in the sunlight looking down. That permanent smirk was plastered on her face.
The top button of her shirt had been undone yet the collar was folded down like normal, as if that somehow made it better. Her blazer was hanging above her. Her tie was placed neatly beside her on the rock.
Jordan couldn't help thinking, was she really a student here? What if she just had a uniform and a hobby of rock-climbing?
Then she caught sight of a golden pin on her shoulder, glinting in the sun against the white of her shirt. She really did belong to Mayhaven.
With neither of them saying anything, the silence got awkward really fast.
Sarai frowned. Just when Jordan thought, "Are you here just to gawk?" would be the next thing out of her mouth, her smirk came back, "You did finish cleaning that library, then?" she appraised her from head to toe, "Not too bad for yourself. Welcome aboard."
"Thanks," Jordan said. Somehow, she wasn't so excited with the greeting.
If Sarai noticed, she ignored it, "Which class?"
"3-A"
She smiled, "Seems I'm owing you a greeting then—I have a new classmate." Jordan had been right.
"Though if you think about it," Sarai kept saying, "I was actually the first one to meet you."
"But let's leave that at that. See you in class, whenever," she put her hands behind her head and laid on the rock again. Jordan read that as an end to the conversation and would normally have walked away, but this time, she was curious enough to break that social convention.
"You don't like classes here?" she asked. It was the only thing that came to mind.
Sarai lifted her head slightly, "They're cool," she said.
No point in letting her go like that. "But you don't attend them?"
The girl shrugged, "It's just like everywhere else—always teaching me things I already know."
"We have exams coming up at the end of the year," Jordan didn't think she'd need to remind her, "Don't you think you'd need the coaching?"
"Nope." She replied, popping the p. "And I do attend the evening classes—sometimes."
Jordan folded her arms. Somebody's confident.
"Then why even bother coming then?"
She raised an eyebrow and looked at her, "You try convincing your mom to let you stay home from school for anything that isn't life-threatening." She had a point.
Sarai turned her eyes above, "I'd probably be able to convince her—I'd scream and pout and beg, and maybe she'd let me. But she wouldn't be happy about it. So, for now, I'll just grit my teeth and bear it."
"What about your dad?" Jordan asked. For others, involving their fathers would be even worse, but she'd always had a friend in hers—even if he didn't support her, he would at least make sure her voice was heard. Maybe it was the same for Sarai.
The girl wrinkled her nose and said dismissively, "Don't know him. Never did."
Guess not.
Jordan realised it might have been a little insensitive to have pushed the conversation to this point. When she said, "I'm sorry," it was for both those things.
Sarai shook her head, "No need to be." She turned over on her side and put a hand under her chin and nodded to Jordan, "What's your dad like? For you to talk about them so fondly—he must be doing something right."
The topic still stung a little for Jordan, but she wouldn't run from it—she'd had months of counselling.
She rubbed the point of her shoe into the sand, "Yeah." she said quietly, "He passed away a little while back."
A small Oh came from Sarai. "I'm sorry too then."
And in that not awkward-at-all silence, Jordan's watch started beeping—they had ten minutes.
"Got somewhere you need to be?" Sarai asked.
"Class is starting soon," she replied, a little careful—she'd said the word so many times in their conversation that even she was beginning to get a little tired of it.
Sarai let out a breath. "Know what—" she said as she got up, "— you've nagged at me so much, I think I'll just attend the afternoon classes with you." She paused from adjusting her shirt, "What?"
Jordan had been caught staring at her. At Sarai's question, she shook her head, "Nothing."
Did whimsical even begin to describe this girl?
"Hopefully, they're as important as you make them out to be." She thought out loud as she fitted her tie, "Let's see—Monday—we have… English, Social studies, and French…" she sighed, "Alright, I think I can get through that."
She unhooked her blazer and put it around her shoulders, "Mr. Benall will have our heads if we're late though."
Then hurry up and get down from there, Jordan thought.
Sarai seemed to hesitate a bit. Jordan wondered what could be, and then she remembered. Don't tell me.
"Do you want me to close my eyes again?" she called. She almost couldn't believe it—they were in danger of death by lateness and that was what she could think about?
Sarai didn't answer. She walked to one side of the rock she was on, like she was maybe planning to come down that way. Jordan wouldn't put it past her, but she only looked over the edge and stepped away.
But… why was she still walking backwards?
Jordan backed up a bit, trying to get a better look at what she was doing up there.
Sarai didn't stop and quickly reached the back end of the rock. Then she waved at Jordan, smile full of mischief.
She spread out her arms.
It took Jordan a second to guess what she was going to do. No way—she wouldn't.
But yes, she did.
Before Jordan could blink, she threw her head back and tipped backwards off the rock.
Jordan's jaw dropped open, amazed. Then she remembered it was about a three-meter drop. She sprinted for Big Boy, no idea when she'd started yelling.
She circled to the back, calling her name, and scanning the ground for any sign of her. There was nothing.
She paused, putting her hands on her knees. Then, she looked up—the rock Sarai had been sitting on was also visible from here. But at this side, another rock underneath it jutted out, forming a narrow ledge only about an inch away. A face with two hazel brown eyes twinkled at her from on top it.
And then, she laughed. The girl was crazy enough to laugh at her.
No, she wasn't just crazy—Sarai Greene was insane.
Not funny. What's wrong with you? All things Jordan wanted to yell at her but didn't, instead she turned around and started walking away.
The laughter died down from up there and Sarai reached the ground in just a few seconds—record time—Jordan still didn't know how she did it. She jogged up the path and caught up with Jordan, putting a hand on her shoulder, "I'm sorry," she said between breaths—Jordan wasn't sure how much she meant it. Then she laughed again, "But I got you good, didn't I?"
How did leave me alone sound?
Jordan still didn't say anything to her. "Come on, the cold shoulder?" Sarai half-whined, "Don't be like that." She poked at Jordan's sides, and quickly learned she wasn't ticklish. That didn't stop her from trying other places though.
As they passed the field, they met a couple of students coming off it— real athletic guys and girls, the kind willing to give over lunch for extra practice. There was a guy who didn't really fit in with the picture—while others were getting rid of sweatbands and untying blazers from their waists to put them back on—he was spick and span, not a crease or rumple in sight. Coming in the same direction with them, he stuck out like, well, like a sore thumb. He looked just as sour too.
There was also this younger, scrawny kid in the middle of them that she only noticed when someone tossed him an empty water bottle. His arms were full of them and the like—jerseys, snack packets, other things a team could need, and he shuttled around them like a busboy. A few of them said hi to Sarai—Jordan was ignored, of course.
They approached the final corridor and Sarai finally gave up when she hadn't been able to get other than a tiny smile out of her, instead she just raised a finger and vowed, "I'll make you accept my apology somehow."
Jordan said something then, "I just don't want you doing something like this again."
The girl pouted, folding her arms to consider it, then let them drop, "Oh, alright." She didn't look too happy about it, "I'll still find another way to make it up."
"Buzzkill," she added playfully and stretched out her hand, "And with that, all's forgiven, right?"
Jordan shook the hand. And they walked into class together, a few minutes before their teacher.