Indigo

He came to school that day, walking as slowly as ever, his feet making annoying sounds against the floor that generated turns of the head and the sound of disapproving tongues against palates. A few teachers stopped him and made him walk properly but as soon as he was out of earshot he would continue his dawdling, pain-induced walk towards his classroom. Once there he ambled towards his chair and sighed as soon as he saw the empty chair in front of him. She was always there first, reading or writing something, and sometimes she was sleeping on her desk. She never talked to anyone unless it was to correct them, or when strictly necessary, and when she did her authoritarian tone was present: bitter and strong like a good cup of coffee.
Tyrell took out the books for his first class and piled them up on a side of his desk, just like she usually did and then laid his chin on the wooden desk.
“Something wrong, Ty?”
Dalia asked, turning her delicate face causing her thin brown hair to fall off her shoulder. Tyrell looked up to her curious brown eyes and looked at her pretty full lips as she smiled weakly.
“No…I’m just…”
He trailed away, lowering his eyes and staring at her polished shoes instead. She shuffled her feet and placed a comforting hand on his back.
“Everything will be okay, Ty. Don’t worry about it.”
She mumbled in his ear and then skipped to her desk. Tyrell looked at her as she chatted with a rather silly girl enthusiastically, giving whoever talked to her genuine smiles. After a few seconds she turned around and smiled at him, and he turned away from her. There was something about her that was off and he didn’t like talking too much to that girl.
In fact, he didn’t want to talk to any other girl apart from the one that sat in front of him ever since he could remember. And yet she wasn’t there, and he doubted she would return.

* * *
Amarantha stood in the entrance of what appeared to be country house. It was a medium sized, painted all white and situated in the middle of a flowery prairie. Amarantha’s fingers where tightened around two gigantic suitcases, both just a tad taller than her. Her dad had driven here and said she should wait a few minutes until they came to fetch her.
But Amarantha sat there, the seconds flying past her as if the time had taken an unnatural speed, like that of light, and the seconds where no longer seconds but hours, and days and even centuries. Until finally a petite woman in a black and white maiden outfit came out, her curly blonde hair barely visible because of the white hat over her head, she walked over to Amarantha and smiled.
“Mrs. Moore?”
The lady asked sweetly. Amarantha nodded and took a step forward. The lady beamed and started walking inside the house, motioning Amarantha to leave her things behind.
“Someone will fetch them later and bring them to your room. I have to get you to the salon…”
“The salon?”
“Yes, dear, these are the maids’ headquarters. We do all the cleaning and cooking for you youngsters. My name’s Amada.”
As Amada started explaining how there were about 300 maids for more than a thousand students, so things were usually hectic. Amarantha looked around herself and she knew her guide’s words were true: everywhere she looked there were girls lifting heavy stuff, ironing, bringing bowls here and sewing. It was an organized mess. Or maybe it wasn’t a mess after all; it was just unknown to Amarantha.
Amada guided her through a door that let them into a hallway. The walls were no longer white, but really old blood red wallpaper with thin dark red, black and golden lines adorned it. There were a couple of portraits of what seemed to be important people in it, but Amarantha didn’t have much time to appreciate them since she was now hurrying down the marble stairs and into a room that seemed a living room, a humongous one at that. There were about forty velvet couches in different shades of red and covered in cushions with a marble table in front of them. There were elegant looking people sitting on them, books in hand and sometimes writing something in a swiftly matter. They were all extremely different from one another; in fact, the only characteristic they had in common was that they were all wearing black.
Amarantha looked down at her white dress with lace on the bottom and thought she really didn’t look undecent.
“Ms. Moore, hurry up!”
Amada said, already at the top of another flight of stairs. She looked like the rabbit in Alice in Wonderland, always running and worrying to be late. Amarantha looked around for a way to get where her guide was but the sofas and people moving where annoying her. Then something lifted her off the ground and her vision became a blur and before she could analyze what was happening and react by screaming or kicking she was standing right before Amada.
“Thanks-“
Amada started to say as she took Amarantha’s hand and started walking forward. Amarantha looked around to see a tall, pale figure with rather pointy ears and straight slightly purple hair that had been tucked into a nice low ponytail. His eyes resembled ice, and he looked strangely attractive.
“Don’t mention it, Amada.”
He cut her off, his hand brushing away her thanks in a graceful movement. His eyes closed in on Amarantha, and their gazes locked. She knew he wasn’t like any other boy, or teenager for that matter, that she had seen before and she was positively interested in getting to know him better.

It was the first time that I’d ever lay eyes on him, and yet I felt like I knew him from long ago. His eyes were different from everybody else’s. They were ice. They looked like ice, they felt like ice. I felt like a stupid, hormone-impulsed teenager about to throw herself off a bridge for her crush. I said to myself: Amarantha, you’re only eight, control yourself. That thought was the one that made me turn around and break that intense gaze, and focus on the unknown landings that would become my home for god knows how many years. But its not like I could get him ouf my mind that easily.

* * *
“Tyrell, we have company, take that gloomy look off your face!”
His mom ordered, tugging at his shirt and brushing his hair. Tyrell made a mock and bit his tongue, waiting for his mom to finish “grooming him”, which he really thought was torture.
“Mrs. Akilah will be coming here soon enough. Your father and I need to be of her liking so your dad can get a teaching job at her school, and he’s really excited. Let’s do our best to help him, okay?”
Tyrell’s face softened. His dad was an excellent history teacher, and he had been talking about this extremely fancy private school, the Akilah Academy and about how much he would like to teach there.
“Yeah, mom.”
Tyrell said, succumbing to his mother completely.