Letters To Shay||✓

bonus chapter.

Duke.

Something about life amused me. It had a funny way of working out when you never thought it would. But it's not time for philosophy. It's time for story telling.

Let's start from the beginning.

Hawks College was once a prestigious public school, a school that respected everyone irrespective of your colour and background. It had student exchange programs and offered a variety of extracurricular activities. It was beautiful, really. Every parent wanted their children to go there, and every child wanted to graduate from there. It made the list of top schools in the area, securing the sixth spot for four years running.

And so, my father, not wanting to fit into the stereotypical rich politician father that spoils his children, enrolled me and my sister into the school. It was exciting when they showed us around the week before, seeing students talking together and enjoying learning. They treated art and music like they were gods, and they didn't hold back in the sports either. Well equipped laboratory and up to date library. There was even a green house on school grounds. Everything that made it a dream school.

The first day was great. The assembly hall was full to the brim with old and new students alike, excited for the new school year. Seniors took us our classes and then left. Lunch at the cafeteria was great, making new friends and sharing stories. But my attention was divided between my new friends and my sister.

See, my sister had a bit of a condition. Okay it wasn't a bit. It was a huge deal. She switched between temperaments the way pregnant women switched between moods. The doctors said it was bipolar disorder. I called it The Beast. But we'll get back to that. Anyway, I had to keep an eye on her. So far, so good.

I had to sit down beside her in class and help her write her notes along with mine. It wasn't that she couldn't write, but she had a very very VERY hard time writing. As she described it words danced across her eyes and made her head hurt. Reading was harder. She mixed 'b' with 'd' and the words messed up her eyes. When she got frustrated she started screaming and flinging things around and more screaming and then she'd be very quiet as she cried herself to calmness. But she couldn't do that in school. So she sat very still and listened attentively, knowing her governess would explain it to her at home.

In the cafeteria she made small talk with some girls and she laughed a little. She ate small and nervously looked around, looking at me for comfort. I'd nod at her and she'd nod back.

That's how it went for the first half of the school year. Over Christmas break she was getting better with writing and keeping The Beast inside. We often spent the day alone, because our father was campaigning over the break and Apollo, our older brother was in the university. Bert, our butler, the maids and manservants, and the other guys working in our house were the company we had during the long and cold winter.

When we resumed in the second week of January, school went on as usual with excitement and the buzz of the Christmas and New Year. Classes commenced immediately. There were quizzes and debates and games. We were in the rush of it all.

Until that day. We were having literature. The teacher said she should read a text in the class. She started to sweat nervously and looked at me. I nodded at her and squeezed her hands. We could easily pass off as twins, because we looked so very much alike. But I was normal. She wasn't.

She tried to read. Oh, Lord knows she tried. But the words messed up her head and she read it all wrong. The class laughed. She frowned. The teacher told the class to quiet down and continued the class like nothing ever happened. Little did the teacher know, that she was going to be Stephanie's number one target.

They knew. They knew about her dyslexia. And they laughed. Soon the whole school knew. And they laughed too. She cried. She bit her lip. She kept quiet. She was trying to tame the Beast. They didn't know. She was quiet. They took her being mute for being quiet. They laughed harder. They whispered in hushed tones. They said it loudly. They pointed fingers. They made crude jokes. She was hurting. I saw it in her eyes. I saw it at home.