Sharada
Don't mess with her
Standing in front of the school gates, Myriam takes in a sharp, shaky breath. Here goes nothing. She walks towards the main entrance staring straight ahead, fully aware of the eyes bearing holes in her back and head. She hurries off to the area labeled Office, thinking that would be where she would find her schedule and shit. Barely at the counter, the secretary glances up from her perfectly manicured nails. She looked about fifty, with enough silicone and Botox in her face to make Pamela Anderson’s tits jealous. She was probably trying to look about half her age. Not exactly what the result was. The secretary, who Myriam knew by now, thanks to the plate on her desk, was named Nancy (why are half the secretaries in the world called Nancy?) clicked her tongue and snarled.
“You’re the new kid I guess.” Myriam simply nods. Nancy then sighs and looks through her files. “Name?” Myriam barely has the time to open her mouth before she hears a faint ‘Oh, fuck the name.’ and gets a bunch of papers shoved at her. “Here you go. Welcome to Belleville High, hope you enjoy it here, blah blah blah…” She then resumes to playing with her nails.
Just then, the bell rings and the halls become empty in a matter of seconds. Myriam groans softly. She’ll have to face homeroom at least ten minutes late. Just what she needed. She looks down on her schedule to check her homeroom number. Room 153, with Mr. Desván, her science teacher. She started to giggle. She knew enough Spanish to know the translation of his name. Why oh why did her previous and present science teachers both have names to be translated as attic in English? Honestly, Grenier and Desván, kind of pathetic, don’t you think?
She glanced up at the first door she saw to see where she was located. White numbers on a black plaque over the window on the door indicate 137. Promising. She walks up to the door next to it. 139. Even better, she was going in the right direction. She kept walking towards the other end of the building, her nervousness becoming more and more apparent. 145…147…149…151… There. 153, unmistakably stamped over that damn door she has to knock to right now. Thinking about it for a second, she decides not to care at all, and carelessly swings the door open in the middle of the teacher’s speech. The room went deadly quiet, except for a lone pencil scratching on paper. Just then the intercom buzzes and Nancy’s droneful voice fills the room.
“Mr. Desván, you have a new student today."
With that, the intercom clicks off. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence (for everyone except Myriam; she was casually leaning on the wall, waiting to see what would happen) Mr. Desván finally spoke up.
“Well class, it looks like we have a new student with us today.” The whole class, including Myriam, looked at him with a ‘well-aren’t-you-a-genius-to-have-figured-that-one-out’ look. Not noticing this, he turned to Myriam. “I’m Mr. Desván, pronounced des-ban, but you can call me Mr. D if you want. Everybody already does.” Myriam just nods. ‘Mr. D’ was probably in his mid-thirties, with red-blond close-cropped hair. How did we call this shade again? Strawberry? Right, strawberry blond hair, sea green eyes, a nose that looked as if it had been broken many times, thin lips and sharp cheekbones which supported the lightest stubble of a beard. All in all, he had the face of a man that saw too much in his life. He was wearing a long white lab coat (Well no duh Myriam, he’s the science teacher) over a cream turtleneck and denim jeans. Myriam thought that she could have had much worse for homeroom.
Looking around, he adds “I would’ve usually made you choose where you sat, but we only have one free desk left. You’ll be sitting next to Frank, at the back.”
Half of the class snickers at that point. Wondering what it was all about, Myriam glances around to finally notice that Frank kid, sitting hunched up over his desk, scribbling on a piece of paper in an uninterested fashion. He had black hair that swept across his face, a fringe barely covering his right eye. A nose ring glistened and contrasted well with a lip ring from the opposite side of his face. At the sound of his name, he quickly glanced up, stared at Myriam for a moment or two, giving her the time to let his mesmerizing brown-green orbs lock into her dark chocolate ones, then glanced back down again. But not before Myriam, feeling the tiniest stirring in her chest, noticed what seemed like the after-math of a black eye and a not-so-well healed split lip. A line from her first day in this town drifted back to her mind.
…After we’re done, they’ll be praying to their little Emo God up there and wishing they had slit their wrists sooner…
Myriam was suddenly griped by a wave of guilt. He was one of the guys those idiots had mentioned in the park. She could have stopped that, right? She could have kept them there. Then what…?
She sighed inwardly and started to make her way to the back before her teacher stopped her.
“Wait a second. We don’t even know your name here. I guess your registration papers aren’t in yet.” He gave an obviously fake sweet smile. Myriam’s instincts told her something was terribly wrong, but she shrugged it off. She parted her lips to answer when a low murmur met her ears.
“Sharada.”
“Sharada, interesting name. Well then, why don’t you go sit down now?” With that, Mr. D waved her off. It took a second or two for Myriam to realize what was going on. It was she that had murmured. But she didn’t even know it was her. It didn’t even sound like her own voice! She shrugged to herself, deciding not to correct him.
She was lost in her thoughts, so it wasn’t surprising that when a jock grabbed her arm whilst she passed the second row, she jolted as if she had been electrocuted. She slowly turned her head to face the boy who had stopped her, examining him, all in a matter of seconds. His perfect lenghted curly brown hair, his dark emerald slightly blood-shot eyes, his too-small nose and luscious lips, his baby face that looked like he’ll never have to shave. His basketball varsity jacket read ‘Jackson’ on the sleeve. He looked at her, grinning like an idiot. She blinked once to show him he could talk.
“Hey um…you? Yea, keep an eye out for that emo kid, will ya? We don’t want blood all over the floor. He better slit his wrists between classes.”
With that, the whole class started laughing, with the exception of Frank, who stopped doodling and was now clutching his pencil like a life preserver, shaking oh-so slightly from the grip. Myriam looked back down on this arrogant boy with a face of stone, but her eyes betraying utterless annoyance. How dare he? All through her life, she had been insulted and treated like dirt, up until a year or two ago, but never did she accept in being used as a simple tool for someone else’s humiliation.
This ‘Jackson’ dude, who had turned around to savour the class’s reaction, finally turned back to Myriam. His arrogant, king-of-the-world-esque features quickly shattered to a troubled -almost fearsome- expression under her glare. Her let go of her arm, finally realizing he still held on to it. Myriam swept her gaze over the now dying and uneasy laughter coming from a few leftover fools, and made her way to her now assigned desk.
Sliding into her chair, she props her elbows on the desk, drops her forehead on her knuckles and sighs silently. She looks up to stare out the window like she usually does, to realize that Frank, who was the only thing separating Myriam and the window, was staring at her with a mixture of curiosity, disbelief, and a hint of fascination etched across his face. Their eyes met for less than a second; Frank’s face gained a little color before glancing down again. Myriam stayed fazed for a second, for the moment their eyes locked a second time, she had felt some sort of buzz in her chest. It wasn’t from nervousness or whatever shy emotion, she knew that much. Hell, she’d experienced that much, too. She recalls what she had felt the first time their eyes met. Odd…
The loud shrill of the bell interrupts her train of thoughts, and she springs from her seat and out the door, not noticing Frank who had been on the verge of starting a conversation. His face fell; he really wanted to know more about this girl. What was her name again? Sharada…
“You’re the new kid I guess.” Myriam simply nods. Nancy then sighs and looks through her files. “Name?” Myriam barely has the time to open her mouth before she hears a faint ‘Oh, fuck the name.’ and gets a bunch of papers shoved at her. “Here you go. Welcome to Belleville High, hope you enjoy it here, blah blah blah…” She then resumes to playing with her nails.
Just then, the bell rings and the halls become empty in a matter of seconds. Myriam groans softly. She’ll have to face homeroom at least ten minutes late. Just what she needed. She looks down on her schedule to check her homeroom number. Room 153, with Mr. Desván, her science teacher. She started to giggle. She knew enough Spanish to know the translation of his name. Why oh why did her previous and present science teachers both have names to be translated as attic in English? Honestly, Grenier and Desván, kind of pathetic, don’t you think?
She glanced up at the first door she saw to see where she was located. White numbers on a black plaque over the window on the door indicate 137. Promising. She walks up to the door next to it. 139. Even better, she was going in the right direction. She kept walking towards the other end of the building, her nervousness becoming more and more apparent. 145…147…149…151… There. 153, unmistakably stamped over that damn door she has to knock to right now. Thinking about it for a second, she decides not to care at all, and carelessly swings the door open in the middle of the teacher’s speech. The room went deadly quiet, except for a lone pencil scratching on paper. Just then the intercom buzzes and Nancy’s droneful voice fills the room.
“Mr. Desván, you have a new student today."
With that, the intercom clicks off. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence (for everyone except Myriam; she was casually leaning on the wall, waiting to see what would happen) Mr. Desván finally spoke up.
“Well class, it looks like we have a new student with us today.” The whole class, including Myriam, looked at him with a ‘well-aren’t-you-a-genius-to-have-figured-that-one-out’ look. Not noticing this, he turned to Myriam. “I’m Mr. Desván, pronounced des-ban, but you can call me Mr. D if you want. Everybody already does.” Myriam just nods. ‘Mr. D’ was probably in his mid-thirties, with red-blond close-cropped hair. How did we call this shade again? Strawberry? Right, strawberry blond hair, sea green eyes, a nose that looked as if it had been broken many times, thin lips and sharp cheekbones which supported the lightest stubble of a beard. All in all, he had the face of a man that saw too much in his life. He was wearing a long white lab coat (Well no duh Myriam, he’s the science teacher) over a cream turtleneck and denim jeans. Myriam thought that she could have had much worse for homeroom.
Looking around, he adds “I would’ve usually made you choose where you sat, but we only have one free desk left. You’ll be sitting next to Frank, at the back.”
Half of the class snickers at that point. Wondering what it was all about, Myriam glances around to finally notice that Frank kid, sitting hunched up over his desk, scribbling on a piece of paper in an uninterested fashion. He had black hair that swept across his face, a fringe barely covering his right eye. A nose ring glistened and contrasted well with a lip ring from the opposite side of his face. At the sound of his name, he quickly glanced up, stared at Myriam for a moment or two, giving her the time to let his mesmerizing brown-green orbs lock into her dark chocolate ones, then glanced back down again. But not before Myriam, feeling the tiniest stirring in her chest, noticed what seemed like the after-math of a black eye and a not-so-well healed split lip. A line from her first day in this town drifted back to her mind.
…After we’re done, they’ll be praying to their little Emo God up there and wishing they had slit their wrists sooner…
Myriam was suddenly griped by a wave of guilt. He was one of the guys those idiots had mentioned in the park. She could have stopped that, right? She could have kept them there. Then what…?
She sighed inwardly and started to make her way to the back before her teacher stopped her.
“Wait a second. We don’t even know your name here. I guess your registration papers aren’t in yet.” He gave an obviously fake sweet smile. Myriam’s instincts told her something was terribly wrong, but she shrugged it off. She parted her lips to answer when a low murmur met her ears.
“Sharada.”
“Sharada, interesting name. Well then, why don’t you go sit down now?” With that, Mr. D waved her off. It took a second or two for Myriam to realize what was going on. It was she that had murmured. But she didn’t even know it was her. It didn’t even sound like her own voice! She shrugged to herself, deciding not to correct him.
She was lost in her thoughts, so it wasn’t surprising that when a jock grabbed her arm whilst she passed the second row, she jolted as if she had been electrocuted. She slowly turned her head to face the boy who had stopped her, examining him, all in a matter of seconds. His perfect lenghted curly brown hair, his dark emerald slightly blood-shot eyes, his too-small nose and luscious lips, his baby face that looked like he’ll never have to shave. His basketball varsity jacket read ‘Jackson’ on the sleeve. He looked at her, grinning like an idiot. She blinked once to show him he could talk.
“Hey um…you? Yea, keep an eye out for that emo kid, will ya? We don’t want blood all over the floor. He better slit his wrists between classes.”
With that, the whole class started laughing, with the exception of Frank, who stopped doodling and was now clutching his pencil like a life preserver, shaking oh-so slightly from the grip. Myriam looked back down on this arrogant boy with a face of stone, but her eyes betraying utterless annoyance. How dare he? All through her life, she had been insulted and treated like dirt, up until a year or two ago, but never did she accept in being used as a simple tool for someone else’s humiliation.
This ‘Jackson’ dude, who had turned around to savour the class’s reaction, finally turned back to Myriam. His arrogant, king-of-the-world-esque features quickly shattered to a troubled -almost fearsome- expression under her glare. Her let go of her arm, finally realizing he still held on to it. Myriam swept her gaze over the now dying and uneasy laughter coming from a few leftover fools, and made her way to her now assigned desk.
Sliding into her chair, she props her elbows on the desk, drops her forehead on her knuckles and sighs silently. She looks up to stare out the window like she usually does, to realize that Frank, who was the only thing separating Myriam and the window, was staring at her with a mixture of curiosity, disbelief, and a hint of fascination etched across his face. Their eyes met for less than a second; Frank’s face gained a little color before glancing down again. Myriam stayed fazed for a second, for the moment their eyes locked a second time, she had felt some sort of buzz in her chest. It wasn’t from nervousness or whatever shy emotion, she knew that much. Hell, she’d experienced that much, too. She recalls what she had felt the first time their eyes met. Odd…
The loud shrill of the bell interrupts her train of thoughts, and she springs from her seat and out the door, not noticing Frank who had been on the verge of starting a conversation. His face fell; he really wanted to know more about this girl. What was her name again? Sharada…