Death and Tea at Three

10 Isobel and School

Tap. Tap. Tap. Isobel's pencil struck the desk rhythmically as she rested her head in her hand. Her teacher had just finished lecturing the class about improper fractions, but Isobel was not interested in any of it. It wasn't that she found the work hard - in fact, she found it all quite easy. But the whole thing bored her tremendously.

Isobel glanced up toward the clock, which hung over the doorway to the classroom. It was all so trivial. She watched as the seconds hand tick slowly.

"Isobel," a voice spoke.

The second hand continued to tick, as Isobel stared, hoping that by some miracle, the clock would strike 2:45 PM, and she could be free.

"Isobel!" The voice spoke once again. This time much louder.

Isobel glanced up at her teacher, Ms. McNally. She was a young woman, with blond hair and a large nose. Isobel hated her teacher. She couldn't stand the way her teacher always seemed to pick on her. She never did it to anyone else – just Isobel.

"You were humming again. Cut it out. You're distracting the others," Ms. McNally said.

Isobel's face warmed from embarrassment. She turned to her right and saw a few of the other girls in her class giggling and pointing at her. Isobel gritted her teeth, put her head down, and apologized to her teacher. She could hear the other girls whispering behind her.

"She's such a freak," said Allison, a tall, blonde girl who looked far older than any sixth grader should.

"God, I get that she has no friends, but does she have to sing to herself? Like, really? It's pathetic," said Taylor, a short brunette with glasses.

Isobel didn't let the whispers bother her. She had become used to ignoring things. At times, her ability to ignore the hurtful things she faced scared her more than the hurtful things themselves. She had gotten used to feeling hurt and alone. It felt familiar by now.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Isobel's pencil continued to rhythmically hit the corner of her desk, as if she was a composer, or one of those homeless people she sometimes saw beating empty buckets for change.

Isobel sighed to herself. Even the thought of being a homeless musician entertained her more than her current circumstances.

Isobel looked back at the clock. It read 2:35 PM. School was nearly over. At least when it was done, she could go over to Harold's. Isobel knew the old man found her annoying, but at least he wasn't mean about it. Plus, he didn't seem to have anyone either. Neither one of them could really afford to push the other away. Thinking of Harold put a grin on Isobel's face, but the grin slowly faded as she looked down at her work. She still had fifteen fractions to convert.

Isobel smacked her forehead loudly, causing a further stir around her. Isobel did not let herself focus on any of it. She quickly converted the fractions with eight minutes left to spare.

She quickly and proudly got out of her seat and strode toward her teacher, handing her the work. Ms. McNally begrudgingly took the work, glaring at her.

Isobel wasn't entirely sure why, but she knew that Ms. McNally did not like the way that she worked. That she could daydream and hum songs all day, and somehow still complete her work correctly. Isobel didn't see the problem. She was getting her work done, so what did it matter?

The bell rang, and the class filed out quickly. Isobel strode through the crowd. Though the halls were packed, it always felt as if there was a bubble around her, preventing anyone from ever getting too close. Just as the thought entered her mind, it quickly faded. Isobel felt a thud against her chest as her books crashed to the floor. She glanced up to see both Taylor and Allison snickering as they walked away. Isobel shook her head before bending down and gathering her belongings.

She removed her backpack and stuffed her belongings inside as rapidly as she could. The zipper would hardly close, but Isobel had no time to fit things nicely. It was already 2:50 PM and Harold was probably staring at the door, waiting for her inevitable knock.

Isobel pushed past the raucous students and eased her way through the exit. As she entered the open air of the city, she could see Allison, Taylor and a few other girls in her grade gathered near the gates.

Isobel glanced at her phone – 2:52 PM. If she ran quickly enough, she had plenty of time to have a little fun of her own and still reach Harold's by 3:00 PM. She tightened her grip around the straps of her bag and strode toward the gate.

"Taylor, I just wanted to say that you look really good today. I love the outfit," Isobel said, calmly and confidently.

Taylor and the other girls turned toward Isobel, their faces plastered with disgust and confusion. "Ummm... thanks, freak. But I don't think you could afford this outfit," Taylor said.

"Probably not," Isobel sighed and shrugged her shoulders. "I just thought I'd let you know. It's pretty brave of you to wear an outfit like that. It really highlights your acne."

Taylor and the other girls did not say a word, their mouths simply hanging open. Isobel grinned widely. Something about fighting back made her feel lighter, as if she had a spring in her step.

Isobel spun around and began to head home. But as she walked through the gate and stepped out of the schoolyard, she felt something tug hard on her bag. In one swift motion, Isobel went from walking, to falling, to finally laying against the hard concrete. As she looked up, she could see the girls standing around her. Isobel knew she had gone too far this time. If only she had listened to her mother's advice and ignored things.

Isobel brushed off the gravel now embedded in the palm of her hands. Dusting off the last few pieces, he slowly attempted to stand up. This, however, proved far more difficult than she had anticipated, as she was immediately shoved back down. Once again, Isobel dusted the gravel off of herself, and began to stand. And once again, she was pushed toward the hard concrete.

Isobel sighed. Her body was beginning to ache, but she refused to give up and lay on the ground. She attempted to stand one last time, but the results were the same. Isobel bit her lip. She was beginning to tremble, not out of fear, but out of embarrassment.

As she laid on the ground, surrounded by her assailants, all she could think about was how she must have disappointed Harold by being late.