Sisters (On Pause)

Hilda - CAVEMAN!

Hilda put on her stupid old-fashioned overcoat that itched far too much, and the little straw hat, and stuffed on her black shoes. She didn't care like she used to, however, because her mind was chanting the words Blackwood Academy, Blackwood Academy over and over. Even her steps were in time to her new school, and she loved it.

She caught the tube, which was a twenty minute brisk walk from were she lived, 99 Chatham Close. She only needed to ride two stops, and she had never rode the tube before (Mister Henry still preferred his banged up old Ford Mustang from the sixties, that he bought when he visited America.) So how was she supposed to know that you had to pay a fare?

"Tube to Charing Cross?" A man asked, wearing an unnecessary pinstripe pantsuit. "Waterloo to Charing Cross is 85p if you have an Oyster card, or £2.40 if you haven't got an Oyster card."

"Sorry, sir, but I only have 50p. I didn't know the Underground Train costs money." Hilda said, trembling slightly.

"Gah, move over, missy!" The man behind her hissed. "The tube has no time for little tramps."

"But, sir," Hilda said. "I just need to get to the bank at Privet Place..."

"Privet Place?" The pinstripe ticketing man asked, taken aback. "Do you go to Blackwood Academy?"

"Is she one of them famous blokes' daughters?" The other man that was next in line asked.

"Well, you see, I've got a letter!" Hilda cried, holding it up.

The pinstripe man stroked the deep purple seal gently with his white satin gloves.

The man behind her sucked in his breath. "Royal purple - the colour of Blackwood Academy.. not cheap, not cheap, yer know.."

"Well, I think we have come to a conclusion." The pinstripe man finally said. "You give me your signature, and I'll give you a ticket to Charing Cross, free of charge."

"Gladly, sir, gladly!" Hilda said, excited.

She signed her name, Bathilda Stone on a McDonald's napkin, then she scratched it out and wrote Hilda, Student of Blackwood instead. The pinstripe man thanked her vigorously. Hilda now had her ticket and her letter, and the ride to Charing Cross station was over in a flash. In seconds, she was walking down the exit.

Just before she as going to ask for directions, she saw a girl say to her mother, "Lauren! Do you know where Privet Place is?"

Hilda was astonished. This girl was a Blackwood girl, yes, but what astounded her the most was how she addressed her own mother.

"Of course, Anna, you do forget that I went to Blackwood myself as a little girl!" Lauren replied, laughing.

"Excuse me?" Hilda asked. "I'm going to Blackwood as well, but I don't know where Privet Place is."

"Grade 7?" Anna asked.

"Yes."

"Where's you mother?" Lauren asked.

"She died..." Hilda answered awkwardly. "Her name - I just found out - Emily Spencer."

"Oh. Emily's daughter. I remember, the year below me." Lauren interjected, with discomfort.

"My mum also died." Anna piped in, wanting to get in the conversation. Hilda looked at her, and realised how annoyingly innocent she looked. She was medium sized, just like Hilda was, but while Hilda had hair the colour of mud, her hair was a shade of blonde so light it was silvery, like a nymph's, or a fairy's. She had blue eyes, and Hilda started hating the averageness of her own hazel. It didn't even flash green when she was angry, like it did in movies.

That moment on the ticketing area of the tube had made her feel different, unique, maybe a tad bit worshipped as well.

In Blackwood, she was just an orphaned girl with mud-brown hair and boring hazel eyes.

Life could backfire like that so fast.

"What's your name? My name is Anna Grace Willows." Anna said grandly, arm outstretched. "Anna after Anna Wintour, and Grace after Grace Mirabella."

"Um - who?" Hilda asked uncertainly.

"Anna Wintour! Editor-in-chief of Vogue magazine, and Grace Mirabella, her predecessor!" Anna said, looking at her with a mix of surprise, disgust and laughter. This resulting in widening her blue eyes while performing a half-hearted lip curl followed by a snort, which, to Hilda's utter disgust, made her look even more prettier.

Even if Hilda had no idea what Vogue was, she had enough sense not to ask.

"Oh. I'm Hilda Stone. Hilda is actually short for Bathilda."

"Cool." Anna smiled sweetly. She grabbed her hand and walked away from Lauren's earshot. To Lauren's unknowing eyes, Hilda and Anna were bonding, and wanted to talk in private, like best friends did.

This, unfortunately for Hilda, was wrong. Terribly, horribly wrong. Excruciatingly wrong.

"Bathilda?" Anna sneered looking her up and down. "The name Bathilda autocorrects to Mathilda on my phone - look." She shoved her phone right in front of Hilda's nose. "Type Bathilda. Go on, try."

With trembling fingers, Hilda typed a B, then a A, and spelt her name on the phone. Nothing happened.

"What is wrong with you, Stone? You're eleven? And you type that slow? Do you live in the Stone Age? Are you a caveman? Press the space bar, caveman!" Anna hissed menacingly.

Hilda didn't know where on Earth the space bar was. In fact, she never even set eyes on a mobile phone. The phone she had still had a dial on it, with an elaborate stand for the ear piece.

"Where's the space bar?" Hilda asked, as if every word was poking her finger into flames.

"Where's the space bar? She says. CAVEMAN!" Anna hollered. By this time, other Blackwood girls were out shopping for their supplies as well. "CAVEMAN! STONE! BATHILDA! CAVEMAN! This caveman doesn't even know where the space bar is! Oh, she is going to FLUNK Technologies!"

"Um, Anna?" Hilda asked, summoning all her courage.

"What, caveman?" Anna spat, as though Hilda was a mosquito.

"Our list only has books for Mathematics, English, History, Geography and Drama and Art. There is no Technologies Lessons."

"Well, caveman, that's the point of Technologioes! It's all computers, caveman! This CAVEMAN still doesn't get Technologies!" then, she started a chant; "CAVEMAN! CAVEMAN! CAVEMAN! CAVEMAN! CAVEMAN! CAVEMAN!"

Soon, every person that had a heart of stone started chanting "CAVEMAN!". Even the nice girls and the parents were chuckling, whispering "Caveman!" under their breath.

Then, a girl with black hair and intelligent cocoa eyes screamed, "ENOUGH! Over half of you savages failed Geography last year at Juniors. What level did you get, Bathilda?"

"102/100. I did extra credit." Hilda said proudly.

"What did you get for Geography, Willows?" The black-haired girl asked.

"What has it got to do with you, Genevieve Huang?" Anna hissed, turning red.

"So low that it is too embarrassing to reveal to the public? Find a better prey, Willows." Genevieve snarled. "Come on, Bathilda, both of our lives deserve better than to be wasted by Willows. Namely, we need to buy our supplies."

"Good idea." Hilda exhaled. "I'm Hilda, actually. Bathilda is just a weird - um - birth name."

"Perfect. Bathilda is a bit of a mouthful." Genevieve teased playfully. "Come on, we can get our uniforms first. Next stop, Deirdre's emporium."