Letters To My Mate

Chapter Two

TWO

A tapping noise filled my ears and with every tap, the volume of the noise increased. I groaned and turned my head to face the opposite way, mumbling "just one more minute," when the sound of laughter echoed around the room. My eyes widened – this was not my bedroom. I saw the grains of the old wooden table that had old engravings of initials from other students; and no doubt there was old chewing gum stuck underneath it. I must have fallen asleep at school... oops.

I slowly peeked out from my folded arms, a sheepish grin plastered on my face as I took notice of my English teacher, Mrs Greene, who was standing in front of my desk and looking angry. But I knew she could never actually be angry at me; I was her star pupil and I was one of the very few who behaved in her class. She was only in her mid-twenties so not everyone took her seriously; but her auburn hair was in a professional and smart bun at the top of her head, and her business-like clothing showed that she took her job seriously. She was my favourite teacher at McLaren High School as she was the only one who did not ask me to remove the hood of my jacket on the rare occasions that I had to hide bruises that covered my cheeks. She never questioned me; it was like she understood.

I looked around at the members of my English class when I had finally stopped dreaming and my mind was free of all thoughts. Everyone, and I mean everyone, was staring intently at me in curiosity. Nobody knew anything about me other than the fact that my name was Rachel Walker and they only knew that due to when my name was called out in registration. They also knew what I looked like, obviously. But nobody bothered to find out the real me or why I was this way; they didn't question me but instead they just stared. Everyone tried to figure out the puzzle that was me, but nobody could and nobody ever would – because I wouldn't let them.

"Sorry," I murmured, my voice still husky from lack of sleep.

"Just don't do it again," Mrs Greene replied strictly, a smile prominent on her oval-shaped face.

She walked back to the front of the classroom and everyone turned back towards the front, almost simultaneously. The classroom was laid out with three rows of three small tables big enough for one pupil each; and each row had a gap big enough for at least three people to stand in-between. A desk that belonged to Mrs Greene faced the students, and a computer that didn't look too expensive sat upon it.

I sat up straight and looked up to the clock. It read 2:50 – the hour-long lesson has only ten minutes remaining. As I looked back at Mrs Greene she smiled before clapping her hands twice, gaining the attention of the class.

"I have a new assignment to set you!" She stated excitedly. Everybody groaned in annoyance – nobody liked getting new assignments. Especially in English, where it is most likely to either write or plan an essay. But this time, I had a feeling it would be different. Teachers don't get that excited for an essay – normal ones anyway – and Mrs Greene was almost bouncing with excitement.

"You're going to have pen pals!" She says while everyone sighs in relief. A pen pal doesn't sound that bad, right?

"They're also all soldiers who are fighting in Afghanistan; many aren't that much older than you." She continued. This sounded even better! I loved learning about the war and I would be able to ask questions and get first-hand experiences and answers. Now, I couldn't wait.

The class erupted into both cheers and chatter, discussing our new project. We were going to be the only class to be able to do this and I was so glad that it was our class that was chosen. Mrs Greene and I shared a smile; she knew that I would love this. I'm so excited to do this!

The whole class formed a line across the middle of the classroom, facing towards where Mrs Greene's desk was. She was holding an old, black top hat that was filled with folded strips of paper that I assume have names of the soldiers. I took my place near to the back of the queue, near the other 'freaks', staying away from the rest of my classmates. They didn't do anything while Mrs Greene was there, though; she was like my protector within school. But, no one can protect me enough from what is waiting for me outside of school – I frowned in realisation.

Everyone gradually moved forwards and took a name out of the hat before sitting back in their original seats. When I reached the front, I hesitantly took a name out of the hat. The name that I chose made a lot of difference – not all of the soldiers would be willing to answer questions about their life in Afghanistan and I didn't want to insult or hurt anyone.

I looked at the name that was written in a neat cursive handwriting; Ethan Miles. This name sent a flutter throughout my body and I shivered involuntary. I don't know what it was about just his name that made me react this way but I shrugged it off. Although, I had a feeling deep inside of me that this was the beginning of something new and important; everything would change again now. I could tell that there was something different about Ethan – he was special. I quickly shook off the thoughts and walked back to my desk, a small smile appearing on my face. I definitely couldn't wait.

A lot of the girls in my class – or, the sluts as they were widely known as – were ecstatic that they had male pen pals. I felt sorry for these soldiers because they were out there, fighting and risking their lives for us and their time will be wasted with a pen pal that will most likely try to flirt and send pictures of them in their bikinis. It disgusted me how someone can be this way; short skirts that should be classed as belts, fake blonde extensions, faces caked in make-up and boobs falling out of their tops.

There was only a few minutes left of the lesson so Mrs Greene wrote an address on the board in a rush, causing her normally perfect handwriting to fall to the bottom right-hand corner. This was the address that we had to write on the outside of the envelope – the destination to where our letters would reach the soldiers. I hurriedly scribbled down the address in my note book, along with the name 'Ethan Miles'. We only had four days until Friday which was when our first letter had to be handed in to Mrs Greene so that it could be sent off.

I shoved all of my stationery back into my pencil case and rushed out of the class room as soon as the bell rang, rushing to my locker. English was the last lesson of today's school day and I had to be home quickly before my father arrived; I had to make his dinner. Home is a twenty minute walk from school and my father would be home in forty minutes. I had to run.