Call Me Rumpel

Chapter One

Twelve hours earlier...

Once upon a time...

My pen hovers over my notebook, the ink in danger of drying out as I read what I've written so far. It's a poor effort, but I keep going.

Once upon a time, there lived a girl who couldn't be bothered doing this assignment.

I sigh and drag my pen through it, puncturing the page. Mr Munson's assignment to create our own version of a popular fairy tale is a giant waste of time. He's already confessed he doesn't think creative writing will be part of our final exams.

It's not just that my legs are restless and my mind's packed with lists of other things I need to do. It's the fact I resent the idea life could be considered a fairy tale. I've already tried the whole going from rags to riches miracle thing. Only hard work is going to get me where I want to go, and even then, it's not guaranteed I'm going to get the happily ever after I know I deserve.

Still, if I want to get out of here—not just this stuffy classroom, but as far away from Kingstown as possible—I have to focus. I drop my pen and twist my hair into a messy bun, cursing under my breath when a few golden strands fall out. I go to redo it, but at the last minute I pick up my pen, remembering the techniques I've learnt online about staying on task.

Write the story first, then think about other things. Write the story first, write the story first, write the story first...

I try again.

Once upon a time...

"Alright, I think we might put a stop here. I'd ask if anyone would like to share what they have so far, but the bell is about to—"

A loud screech cuts off Mr Munson's speech. His greying moustache twitches as the scraping of chairs accompanies the bell, leaving him no room to assign us homework.

"Ugh, finally." Ari joins me as we squeeze past the throng of other year eleven students trying to pass through the door. "All I can say is, thank God it's Friday."

I glower at some of our classmates as they jostle me, making them scurry out of my way. It's still a few more minutes of shoving before we get to our lockers in the adjacent hall, though, and longer again before the crowd disperses and I'm no longer assaulted by the stench of sweat and cheap after-shave.

I dig in my skirt pocket for my locker key, eager to dump my textbooks and take off my bag, which is already digging into my shoulder. I regret not taking some of them home yesterday afternoon; catching the bus is going to be painful lugging around everything I need for the weekend. I'm already dreading the ride home, from the thought of the 'dust' clouds that come up whenever I take a seat to the noisy year seven kids who try to look up girls' skirts as they head down the aisle. Since Dad refuses to give me driving lessons, let alone get me a suitable car to practice in, I'm stuck for a good half hour or more listening to immature farting contests.

Ari shuts her locker and I notice that, like usual, textbooks don't weigh her tote down.

"Tonight should be good," she says, but as her deep brown eyes scan the hallway, the sparkle in them disappears. "Ugh. I can't believe they showed up."

I swivel around, following her glare towards the end of the hallway. I'd heard the obnoxious laughter when we got here, but now I can't block it out as I see the group of boys crowding around Sanket Chopra and Quinn Anderson. Vincent Wu towers over them as he holds a battered book in the air, moving it out of Sanket's reach every time he jumps to get it. Sean Smith and Iluka Tongerie flank their master, guffawing like hyenas when Quinn also tries to grab it.