Paula De Castillo & The Robbers of Wednesday

Day 1, I guess...

Is this what girls my age do? Write a diary?

Okay, I guess I can give it a shot...

I've been waiting to crack this thing open every since Tia Berta made me open my Christmas present in front of her.

That poor woman. If only she knew that her best efforts to get me something I'd like had been sitting in my beside table drawer for as long as it takes to gestate a human baby.

Seriously? Did I just use the word 'gestate?' This why I shouldn't write in pen. Live and learn.

I suppose that if somebody comes snooping around, having fancy vocabulary might be a blessing. They can come across this book and thing to themselves 'There's no way Paula wrote this when she was eleven! I have made some mistake,' and proceed to never look through my old belongings again. Then again, I have two sisters who know me well enough, and maybe my brother will want to take a peak once he's older and curious enough.

If that's the case: Hola, hermanito!! Boy, do I have a story for you!!

The reason I decided to start this now is because of what happened at school today. Does sound that exciting, I know. And normally it wouldn't be. For context, I'll lay out my typical routine.

Obviously, waking up comes first. Usually my mum comes in and brushes the hair away from my face (I'm a very light sleeper). Either that or my big sister Elena throws a pillow at me. After that, I patrol the upper and lower floors of the house wondering which shower will be free first. Once that's out of the way, I immediately brush my hair and create my usual French braid, then head back to my room and put on my school uniform: a regular white shirt with a black jersey over the top followed by black tights and a checked skirt that I swear is supposed to be a Scottish kilt. They can deny it all that they. They know what they created.

Then it's either Coco Pops or imported Tosta Rica, if there's any left over for breakfast and my sisters and I are off to school.

Today happened to be a non-pillow-to-the-face day, so I was in a relatively good mood. Elena was too, having handed in some school project or another yesterday. You can always tell when she's relaxed because she's not fussing over her make-up or adjusting her hair or uniform. Yes, she's one of those girls.

Incidentally, my younger sister Isa was a total tomboy with short hair, fit physique and complete disregard for her appearance. Top that all of with me as the token nerd minus the glasses and you had yourself a mini token troupe from a nineties film, only Rule 63'd.

As per the usual schedule, after breakfast we headed to the bus stop, breathing in the air of a new day. We live slightly outside the city, so our house is in a comfortably green area where the peace of the morning was scored with the chirps of birds I've never bothered to learn the names of and the sky was clear of grey clouds. The only blotches to be found resembled white marshmallows casually floating by.

I always found it amusing that the Spanish word for both 'cloud' and 'marshmallow' is the same. A nube was perfect for any occasion.

'Stop looking at las nubes, Paula. The bus is here!'

Elena shook me back to reality. I mean that literally too. I hate to admit, but she was right. There was our bus Yellow Parrot ready for the Token Troupe to step onto and immediately split apart. Elena joined her friends right at the front, Isa sped off to hers at the back and I slumped somewhere in between and cracked open a good book.

Okay, when I put it like that it sounds like I'm that one friendless nerd who doesn't talk to anyone and always has her head in some paperback or another. In my defense, it was Harry Potter.

Beside, I actually do have friends, but I'll get to them later. For now, suffice to say that nothing happened for the entire bus journey. I did at least notice the vehicle coming to a stop on my own.

A survival trick I've learnt is to never try to get out of the bus first, as a bunch of impatient kids barged out all at once scrambling into  each other. I'm usually one of the last out, so even Isa got out before I did. On a normal day, this would make no difference whatsoever.

This was no normal day.

The school had never look this chaotic. Paint peeling off the walls was to be expected, but not next to the once sturdy metal door now bent and dented, propped wide open on the undamaged side of the wall. On the other side, a part was chipped off where the lock used to be, still fresh with the dust within it. Confused students either loitered outside or cautiously stepped in, glancing upwards as if the remaining structure could collapse at any moment.

The inside made that scene look like a poorly done graffito next to a Banksy mural. The patio was the same except for the semicircle formed by the crowd, but that was not where any focus was drawn. Our school is comprised of one main building that snaked around the enclosure like the stump of a giant tree. Other than the gymnasium and one other classroom set, everything was connected in a web of windows and doors, at least on the outside. For this reason, the smashed panes of the glass doors were doubly distracting.

That was the first time any of us had seen those doors open. Even if there were a fire I bet they'd be useless. I went to the principle's office once (don't ask) and I barely noticed they were there behind the 1990s computer monitors and hard drives. Of course, these were the first things to go.

Oh, no. I didn't see that! I just heard a bunch of gossiping kids repeat that over and over again. I wasn't tall enough to focus on anything else and a couple of the deputy heads (whose computers had also been taken) were blocking anyone from getting too close. Other teachers were calling the names of different year groups and shepherding us off to relocated areas.

Eventually, Miss Kathy came to collect my year and we all walked away in single file. It's hard to say how many times one of us turned our heads to look at the mess the thieves left behind. They said on the telly once that that is the hardest part on the people affect, not what they take. Were we supposed to be scared? Excited? Confused? Whatever the answer, and despite any efforts made, nothing about that day was going to be normal for anyone.