onyx: poltergeist

seven

MARTIN

The past week was one of the most hectic times I had to work through, from packing up my stuff back home in Amsterdam, to flying over to Los Angeles, to moving everything into a small apartment I rented downtown, to actually packing for school and checking my email for my timetable. One night of sleep didn't really help much; I was practically going to school today while fighting the sleep that were battling to take over my eyes. Thank you so much, jet lag and late nights.

Back in Amsterdam, I was one of the few lucky students who were selected to go for this two-year exchange programme where we would be flown to America to study and all that. The complicated part was that each student was posted to different schools across the country, so all my friends from back home were all in other states and I was the only one roaming around California. On the brighter side, I did choose to pursue my education in music before I left, so I was quite thankful that I was chosen to join a school with a renowned standard of music education.

I opened the front door of the main building and trudged in. I had absolutely no idea where all the classrooms were, but thankfully the email with my timetable stated for me to meet the head in his office the first thing when I stepped into the school. There were no signs pointing me the directions to the office though, so I did have to ask a few students lingering in the hallways. I was glad they were willing to help, or I'll look like a lost puppy stuck in an unfamiliar hallway. A lost puppy with dark eye circles, that is.

I knocked twice on the oak wood door before pushing it open, immediately greeted by the slightly aged but wise eyes of the head. Patrick Jackson, the name plaque on his desk read.

"Ah," Mr Jackson greeted, furrowing his brow as he tried to read my name off what looked like a class list, "you must be, um, Mar..."

"Martin," I smiled back at him, "just call me Martin." That's the thing about my name; unless people understand Dutch my name looks pretty difficult to pronounce, so I might as well stick with Martin when in America.

"Ah yes, Martin Garritsen," he let out a small chuckle. I felt a pinch at the back of my head at how my last name was pronounced, but I tried to shake off the sensation. We're in America, brain! Pronunciation errors are inevitable.

"Do you have your timetable with you?" he asked further, for which I held up my phone light-heartedly and nodded in agreement. "Yep, it's all in here. First period for today is Creative Writing."

I'm so glad I managed to look through it the night before, so I got to pack all the right things for today. But then again, the price to pay for that was having to be drowsy for the rest of the day; I swear the only thing keeping me awake is a bottle of water I packed along with me today.

"Good," Mr Jackson nodded back in approval, slowly getting up from his seat and walking up to me, "Follow me Mr Garritsen, I'll show you where your classroom is."

"Thank you sir," I replied politely, shuffling along with him as I followed him down hallway after hallway in the maze of a school we were in, before climbing up a flight of stairs to the second floor where we stopped in front of the door of a classroom located somewhere further down another winding hallway. Mr Jackson rapped twice on the door before pushing it open and making his grand entrance with me in tow. "Mr Lambert?" he called out, "You have a new student."

I nervously stepped forward to face an audience of sixty judgemental eyes staring right in my direction. "Class," Mr Jackson boomed from beside me, "I would like all of you to welcome your new classmate Martin Garritsen."