The Colours We Give | On hold

| 7 |

arashi

"WE NEED TO ASK MRS. BLOOM to change the subject of the debate. This just makes no sense," Tassel groans, her voice filled with protest. She has a point. This debate makes no sense. The topic could be for an article or an essay. Not a debate. 

"We'll ask her to change it," she says all of a sudden.

"Is that okay though? Wouldn't she get angry?" I ask. I'm a new student; if I complain too much, wouldn't the teachers think I'm nagging?

"Why would she? We're gonna request her, not order," Tassel says, matter-of-factly.

"But it doesn't feel right."

"What makes it feel wrong?"

I don't reply.

"Is it because you're new?" she asks. My mind partially agrees. I give a confusing nod, to which she just smiles.

"I should have told her that day itself," Tassel complains further. "I was just too pissed that day."

"Because of your pajamas?" I offer.

She laughs and rolls her eyes. "Yeah, yeah."

We have our leisure period going on right now. Luckily, Tassel and I have our leisure and English periods (adjusted due to the sudden transfer of a student from this school) at the same time. It's good because we won't have to get worked up about working on the project outside school.

She gets up from the place we're sitting at right now, which is under a mango tree next to the soccer ground. Tassel told me it's the only one in this school or maybe even Lexington. It looks like any other tree to me. But she talked about it as if it's the best thing to see in this school.

"Let's go," she says.

I narrow my eyebrows. "Where?"

"To Mrs. Bloom. We'll ask her to turn the debate project into an article one," she says.

"Or essay," I add.

"Or essay," she agrees. 

Giving me a hand, Tassel pulls me up. We head back into the building. She bows at a few people along the way, and slightly more at Letterhead. He smirks and continues walking without a word and the entire exchange reminds me of my first day in this school.

In these two days, I've tried to adjust myself in this building. The architecture still quite reminds me of Mom, but I've been teaching myself to not observe them for too long. It's quite hard since I grew up looking at blueprints and noticing details in every possible place I've been to. For now, I just avoid looking at the walls and instead just keep my eyes on the floor when I'm walking around school.

Right now though, I'm staring at Tassel's head in front of me. She's walking fast and ahead of me, maybe because she's still not totally comfortable with me. As I watch her from behind, I realize how short she is. I'm easily a head taller than her, and I'm only 5'9". But she doesn't look that tiny. From afar, you'd think she's tall. Maybe it's because she's not very thin. I wouldn't call her fat either; she's nowhere near it. She has exactly what you'd call an average body.

In not much time, we're back at the staff room. Tassel and I look at each other before opening the door. The look she gives me is encouraging while I'm sure that the one that I give her is full of uncertainty.