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PAPER CONFINES. 13. / Liebestraum
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It happened in the dark. Nadya's small body was cramped in the cupboard of the school kitchen, awkwardly bent beside a tray of glass cruets and bowls for lunch. Her arm throbbed where Sachiv had cut her with his paring knife. Her sleeves chafed her wrists. She unbuttoned one with the room she had, and the next with her still-growing teeth, smothering the clicking sound in her mouth. She winced as one of the buttons scraped her gums, covering her face with a dirty sleeve. In the dark, she couldn't see the blood smear her shirt; she could only taste the sour metal and hope she hadn't been too loud.
The kitchen doors opened.
"I saw her," said Vrushika. Her voice sounded wrapped in plastic, soft with a lisp that slighted every S. "She turned that way, I saw it."
"She could be in the office?"
"She probably went to Malhotra's room to hide."
Nadya held her breath as their footsteps passed. One of them was running down the old corridor—she could tell from the low creaking under their dress-shoes.
And then it was quiet.
She slid the cupboard door open and peeked her head out. Her hair was frizzy in her eyes, and she stopped to think how upset her mother would be that she'd ruined it. It had taken all morning with how fussy Nadya got before school. Grateful, Amma told her to be. Nadya struggled with that particular sentiment.
She slicked her hair down with clammy palms and crawled out of the cupboard. The others were nowhere in sight, and Nadya hadn't a clue where the teachers had gone. Sachiv and the others must have sent them off with some sort of distraction while she was in the lavatory.
The stone was cool on her knees as she moved between the counters. Her eyes narrowed. Between the kitchen doors, she could see the B-wing entryway that tapered into a blue-tiled corridor. Mr Malhotra's classroom was open at the nearest end, his door decorated with a flimsy wooden M and a few drawings. Sachiv swung back-and-forth from the archway, whistling that song about silver bells the Englishmen sang in December. She sunk further to the ground, hissing as the floor grazed her stomach. Even through the fabric of her shirt, her anxiety prickled like ice on the stone. Sometimes it made her boil. On days like this, everything felt somehow colder.
"Not here!" Vrushika exclaimed.
She was nine, a year younger than Nadya. Last spring, Sachiv had pulled her by the ribbon in her hair across the length of the corridor, and the next day Vrushika brought a rose from her mother's garden to give him. He'd thrown it in the fountain, and Vrushika claimed very clumsily that her mother had told her boys like that were only mean to pretty girls. Nadya found plenty of girls pretty, but she'd never dragged one by the hair to prove it.
