Lingering Among the Shadows of Trust

Anomalous 2

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PART II
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CONTINUING TO THE SECOND FLOOR, I headed to Room 213. As I swung the door, the air filled with laughter rushed out. The clashing symphony of their words set my nerves on the edge. Paper planes of different sizes and colors soared above, crumbled papers were thrown overhead, and loud chatters followed by roars of laughter screeched through my ears. My eyes were thrown off by the chairs and tables scattered around the classroom, and crumbled papers and ruined paper planes covered the floor. I could associate it with a social gathering for youngsters in an elegant restaurant, except it resembles more of a disheveled dumping ground. It stings my skin as I walk in, wondering where they get such energy at seven o'clock in the morning. Everyone had their sort of social group segregated around the room, similar to that of a faction—like a bunch of jam-packed countries trying to overtake each other for a place through irritating noises—like the European countries, as one might say. In the front of the classroom, a group of girls with bright faces and enthusiastic voices stood near the teacher's desk. Their presence was captured by the eyes of the jocks and tough guys gnawing on their gum. I fought the bile rising from my stomach when one of them put a piece of chewed gum under the desk. My eyes wandered to the playful and annoying students launching paper planes, mirroring the carefree joy of preschoolers. There were also the outgoing students skimming through the English book, disrupted by a musician playing the guitar on the other side of the room. There's also a student listening to music, another taking a nap on their chair, and the other kids sitting on their chairs ignoring everyone.

As I stayed between the door, a subtle shift in their attention rippled through the group, their eyes gravitated towards me. A show of uneasiness appeared on their faces, but they brushed it off from their shoulder. Yet, the jocks were more nosy, keeping their gaze evident. Taking a deep breath, I sat on the only vacant chair near the front door and put down my backpack. My arms itched from their persistent gazes, but I breathed a sigh of relief when our teacher arrived. It was Ms. Poppy, holding onto a pile of papers. She had this attitude similar to a mother's face when she saw you writing on the wall with her brows lowered. A hurried drag of chairs screeched. The tables were still a mess, yet she averted her gaze. Arriving at her table, she puts her bag down on her chair and lets out a seemingly synthetic smile.

"I have finished checking your assignments. I will be talking about it during our lecture. Ms. Turner, can you return these papers to the rightful owners?"

"Sure thing, Ma'am!" she smiled. When Ms. Poppy saw me, she gave a smile but she squinted her eyes when she stared at my bandaid.

"Anna, what happened to your face?" she asked.

"Just a little scratch early in the morning," I lied. While I was looking for my bag, I accidentally banged my face into one of the low cabinets' edges, causing my left cheek to bleed in the first place. It is a small scratch to be fair.

"Does it still hurt?" she asked.

"Not enough to worry me." I pat my cheek where the Band-Aid is to prove my point.

"Well, everyone! Let me introduce you to your fellow classmate!" She faced everyone with a smile and accomodating tone. She wasn't here for the first three days so don't coerce her too hard. Tell us a brief fact about yourself, Anna." My words often stumble back during introductions, but my aunt has taught me ways of improving it. Flawed, but good enough. It has molded my speech enough to give me confidence. I rose to my feet and straightened my back.

"Hello, everyone. My name is Anna Murphy, and I am aged 15. I am a student from Erikson's School in Ore Side Town, currently residing in Ruskin Firs Street. I have a desire for painting and drawing, but I also engage in reading and crafting stories in my free time."

"Thank you, Anna. I hope you are not too uncomfortable with the new environment. You can take your seat now."

"Thank you, Ma'am." I could not hold back my smile. I sense the laughter trying to escape from my mouth, whispering to me, That went well. As her words filled the air, I leaned in. My ears attuned to every nuance, and my gaze unwavering. English held a special place in my heart, driving my perk interest and my focus. Our lessons dug into the realms of informal writing—poetry, storytelling—and formal writing—essays, articles, and speechcraft. After her class, Ms. Poppy called for my name. We agreed on an offer to allow me to submit the assignment a day later. Any type of writing will do, and the topic of said writing will be based on my personal taste.

     After our English class, we proceeded to Math and then to History. Although they were not my favorite subjects of all, I still lent my ears. My Math class is about Calculus, while my History class contains European Colonization and Wars. During our Math class, we did a pretest based on our lesson, which I had no clue about, and in History class, we got another assignment. We were expected to pick a country, learn about its past events, and present it to the class by the following month.

     Since today's Thursday, we had three subjects in the morning, one hour for each subject. After which, we get a four-hour break before our afternoon classes, something I never experienced back then. My eyes kept wandering around, from the hallway walls to the lockers. This was it, my high school life. I shall make sure nothing will come my way to ruin it like before, and I will ensure that myself.