Haunted

Haunted: Chapter Five

"Nanami Estera Toure! Get out of that bedroom of yours this moment before I come in and break that bed into smithereens!"

"Uhmunhnmumnn," I moaned, rolling over and kicking my legs out of the bed. My vision clouded as I tried to open my eyes, and I was exhausted from the little sleep I had gotten the previous night. 

"Nanami, get up! You have school in 20 minutes!" 

"Now I really don't want to wake up," I mumbled into my pillow, now crusty from the tears I had shed last night. Luckily, my mother didn't hear my grumbles, and I heard her feet pad down the hall towards the small kitchen at the back of the apartment. 

Twenty extremely short minutes later, I was being pushed and locked out of the apartment by my exasperated mother, her hair still in cheap drugstore curlers. I walked slowly down the stairs that seemed to go faster than usual. Munching my apple that I had snagged on the way out the door, I shoved open the glass front door and started the long trek to the bus stop, located practically across town and on the corner of a Walgreens. 

The cool, crisp, November air swirled around me, tossing my midnight hair around my shoulders and tickling my ears. I bent my head, staring blankly at the cold, dark sidewalk. I swerved around stones and chewed up pieces of gum that littered that sidewalk as if by instinct, not thinking, just drifting around in my own little dream world. If I had my preference, it would have stayed that way, me in my bubble, them in theirs. But bad things just have a habit of drifting towards me.

"Hey, skinny!"

Her voice was clear and haughty with an air of stuck-up confidence. As I lifted my eyes to look at the offender, I caught a glimpse of her eyes from under the large, hot pink sunglasses she was wearing. Her eyes glinted with menace and the sort of adrenaline you get when you're about to kill the animal you've been hunting. In this case, I was the hunted.

"What'd you eat last night? Oh wait, you didn't," she sneered, clearly enjoying it.

Her friends laughed, cruel and cold. The girl immediately on the right of the first bully smiled a leering smile, so evil you would expect her teeth to be green and her eyes, red. "Bet this dirt on the ground looks like a three-course meal to you, huh? Why don't you try some, skinny?"

"Yeah!" "Come on, Skinny!" "Twig!" "Helpless rat!" Their voices blended in a malicious chorus, fingers pointing,  faces molded into expressions of hate. Angry hands pulled up dirt from the soft ground, throwing small clumps of brown solid through the crisp air. I shielded my face with my arms, trying to protect my glasses from the scratchy dirt. 

"Does it taste good, shrimp?" Cackled a particularly nasty girl called Raquel. "Tell us how it tastes! Maybe the professional chef my mother hired can make us some dirt cake! Ha!"

"Yeah, you could refer her to that chef of yours, Raquel," sneered her friend, Leah. "Goodness knows her mother could use a job."

The group laughed at that, harsh barks and girlish giggles that filled the air. "Know what that means, skinny?" Asked Joyce, a small girl who started as a weirdo but soon climbed to popularity. "Job. J-O-B. No? Wouldn't expect you to, seeing as you mother obviously doesn't have one," she said, slightly nervously, as fearing what her friends would think.

"Ooooh, good one," the others chorused, giggling lightly. Suddenly, the quartet turned as a rumbling sound filled my ears. The yellow, slightly dented schoolbus rounded the corner, kicking up brown, cracked leaves in it's wake. The girls, still giggling, ran up to meet it, brown and blue uggs flattening the grass, just like they flattened my heart and my self esteem. I sighed, following a few paces behind. The rubber-and-glass door of the bus squeaked open, leaking the putrid smell of dirty sneakers and gym shorts. I sighed, ready for the long day.

After twenty tiring minutes spent staring out a smudged bus window, the bus screeched to a halt in front of Matheson Middle School, steps crowded with students clad in brightly-colored jackets and t-shirts. I heaved my book bag higher on my shoulder and ducked into the line of students shoving to reach the door. The cool air blasted my face and swirled my hair around my face as I hiked up the marble steps to the bronze-edged door, open and welcoming. 

I mentally checked my schedule, ducking into a closed doorframe and shielding away from the bustle of people like sardines in a can. The tightness was overwhelming, and I kept my head down as I maneuvered to Room 122. As I passed through the hubbub, my ears caught snippets of conversations: "Did you hear about what MacKenzie said about Lara! So unfair!" "There's so much homework!" Or "I got this new app! Isn't it fantastic?" Phone screens blinked like flashlights, specks of bright colors decorating the hallways. My forehead started to sweat as I pushed around a group of rowdy boys, and I thanked the architects that Mrs. Marquz's room was only on the first floor.

I slid into my seat, relieved to be out of the commotion. At her desk sat Mrs. Marquz, shuffling papers and typing on her computer, illuminating her wrinkled skin. I glanced around the classroom, though I didn't know what I was looking for: There were only a few students sitting at their desks, as most were out in the hall. The books were all on their shelf, the math games put away. I shrugged to myself and pulled out a book, crossing my legs and settling into my blue school chair. It seemed that I had only been reading for a few minutes when Mrs. Marquz rang her bell, calling the now-present class to attention.

"Good morning, class," she said, speaking in her monotone voice as always. 

"Good morning Mrs. Marquz," the class replied, matching her monotony as only a class forced to repeat something can do. 

"Now, class, today we will be exploring quadrilaterals. I'll pass you out a worksheet for class, and you'll have a project assigned for homework. Jenna, Rebekah, please pass out these papers," she droned. The class groaned, discouraged by the thought of a project. I groaned right along with them, burying my head in my hands. This was going to be a long day.