Sort of Dead

12 - You Are So Very Dead, New Kid

Yeah, so – as anticipated, the Great And Big Abomination (Gaba) and his jocks were very eager to find a chance to kill us.

We did our best to defy them, Aar and I. But seeing as how we were in the same class every day at school, you can probably imagine how that was not the easiest cake to walk on.

Teachers could barely keep him at bay, and Aar and I were just two skinny kids. Thankfully, Gaba had been given a red card by the principal – which meant if he stepped one toe out of line, he'd be kicked out of the {Undisclosed} School of {Undisclosed}.

Which - trust me here - was fine by me, but he was being very careful.

The next day in class, Aar and Bee and I sat together, their duo on my left. I didn’t talk much, I wasn’t used to this. By “this” I guess I mean friendship. Aar and Bee were giggling the whole while, arm-wrestling under the desk and everything. (Yes. Don’t be a stereotype. Girls arm-wrestle too. Hashtag, go, girls! Hashtag, girl power!  And Bee never lost. I never played.)

I kind of felt out of place. I was new to this whole “friendship” thing. The two of them had been friends since before they started wearing diapers.

Anyhow, seeing them so close, I could only wonder if they had a thing for each other. I'd never seen a girl and a boy this close be “just friends.” I made a mental note to self: ask Aar if he fancies her.

Oh, and I forgot to mention: Gaba was seated on my right side.

Yeah, I know, I know your reaction. But that’s terrible, Mar! Why would you sit with him? Are you mentally retarded?

The answer is: well, yes, I am, but that’s not the reason why.
When we chose this seat, this spectacled kid was sitting to my right. Then at the last moment right before the lecture began, Gaba scared the kid away by whispering something in his ear (I wonder what; maybe Sit somewhere else or I’ll kill you in the dead of night and feed you to the goats; not even a speculation, I’m pretty sure that’s what he said).

I would have changed my seat too, but by then the teacher was in the class and I didn’t want to disrupt.

So there I was, sitting with a heartrate faster than any athlete who ever raced with wind, with my newly made friends on my left and my newly made enemy on my right. On my left, a light-hearted drizzle of fun. On my right, a bullying fanatic who wanted me dead. (I can’t die, but even I feared those fists.)

Throughout the lecture, Gaba kept cracking his knuckles, which was annoying really. I told him: 'That's irritating, so could you please not be an animal for a while and let others study in peace?’

Gaba got so scared of the intensity in my voice, that he immediately stopped.

What are you saying? That that's ridiculous? What made you say that?

Ah, well, you’re right. I didn’t tell him that. I only thought of telling him to shut his trap.

I didn’t tell him, he didn’t stop. Did you actually think I am capable of that?
Naïve you.

No, he kept doing that the whole time and whenever I turned to look at him, he sliced his finger at his throat threateningly.

I wonder what he meant by that.
The teacher was on about a tirade against the government not funding science enough and the things technology could achieve or something like that, but I couldn’t focus because Gaba leaned over and whispered to me. ‘You are so very dead, new kid.’

Then he held up a piece of paper to me. He had drawn a really pathetic version of me as a stick-figure on the floor – and a very glorified version of himself standing over me – a knife dug in my heart – and on the top, this label: RIP BUTTWIPE.

Great. That’s exactly what I needed, Gaba. As if I weren’t already nervous enough.

Maybe that was his plan. To make my nerves explode. If so, it was so definitely working.

The teacher abruptly roared: 'MISTER GABA! MAY I ASK WHAT YOU FIND SO FASCINATING ABOUT MISTER MARRA’S EYES?’

Don’t blame me when I say I couldn’t hold a snigger.

Gaba stood up, was questioned on some physics question, didn’t know it, had to stand up the whole lecture.

‘Anyone know the answer?’ the teacher asked, sighing.

Bee's hand shot straight up. ‘Torque is the rotational analogue of force, in a sense. It refers to the . . .’
--and blah blah blah – bleh I am a book worm – bleh I am a smarty pants – bleh I am in the good books of every teacher – yada yada yada.

I both love her and hate her. Even now, while the rest of us are chilling in the airplane braving for what's to come, she is searching all about ancient Covens of Thirteen and The Order of The Witch Grant (you'll see why later. If I am still alive then.)

Wait, where’s –

ES! HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU ABOUT APPEARING OUT OF NOWHERE AND STARTLING ME LIKE THIS!

Sorry. Don’t mind Es. She likes to be a bee in the bonnet (no disrespect to my friend Bee or even the insect species). Let me ask her where she'd spluttered off to.

She says she was checking on the corpse. My stomach is churning. I had almost forgotten this isn’t a field trip.

Shoo, Es. Go trouble someone else.

She glares at me and flutters away. For a spirit, she looks quite cute when angry.

(I can hear Bee muttering to herself, remembering facts about witches maybe. I hope Es goes and gives her a headache. Imagine. Two contrasting forces of nature clashing – an unstoppable Force meeting an immovable object. I can feel the epicness rising.)

Since we're short on time, I'll just brief you about the various ways Gaba tried to kill us by saying this: Gaba tried to kill us in various ways.

He even succeeded once.

Sigh. You want me to tell you all about it, don’t you?

Urgh, fine. I kind of want to relive that summer as well. Because if we could thwart Gaba and his jocks, we can certainly get ourselves out of our current predicament, too, can’t we?

. . . can’t we?

Just say yes already!

See, not that hard, is it?

Anyhow, so here’s what happened.