5
MAIDEN
FRIDAY, DECEMBER 18TH - 2012
I tried to act normal, which was normal. Normally I was literally left to my own devices - but I had none, not even a Wearable.
A sub teacher, a fresh-faced Mr Kent, took the register as Kids threw things at each other with an occasional punch or shove. A couple of days ago, Catherine bloody Donaldson had riled the kids up to the degree where poor old Mrs Haynes had gone right off the deep end, and I had to fetch the secretary to help.
Catherine looked like she hadn't slept much last night either. There were dark rings around her eyes. I felt sorry for her for a nanosecond. She got into this fight after school yesterday that she herself shared the gruesome clip of. You would think it would be embarrassing, but no. Two of Catherine's clips went viral in the last few days.
Mrs Heynes was facing a disciplinary and a suspension at the very least due to that little crowd pleaser. Mrs Heynes did not deserve that. She was one of the few adults who paid attention to us. I mean, she knew when our birthdays were and what our favourite subjects were and stuff. She cared about us. Mrs Kloppers was a teacher because she took something from us. Mrs Heyens was a teacher because she gave something to us. She loved seeing our eyes light up when we understood something.
“Regan Grace?” Mr Kent asked.
“Sir,” I confirmed. There was a pause before he asked again. “Regan? Regan Grace?”
“Here,” I affirmed.
“You're a girl.”
“Last time I checked. Sir. ” I nodded.
“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Regan,” piped up Catherine. A titter rippled through the class. Mr Kent raised an eyebrow, spotted her bruised face, and then nodded as if she had made a good point. I thanked Eleanor Grace, Mother dearest, mentally, for contributing to all the ways I was in which I was not normal, but suddenly the atmosphere changed and sharpened.
The light took on that strange quality. It was as if someone had tapped the screen to bring everything into focus. I blinked, and there it was: Ben tripped Moses, a small brown boy. The boy winced as he landed on his hands and knees. Mr Kent threw in a “settle down.” Ben turned back, his eyes searching, until he found Catherine, her Wearable subtly hidden on the hem of her skirt. She captured the whole thing. There was a feverish twinkle in his eye as Ben pushed Moses harder and farther down, forcing him to turn his cheek. Ben held him down and then stood on his back.
“Hey, stop that,” I yelled.
Ben squinted. I wondered if he was forcing out a fart. He leaned his weight onto Moses, forcing a yelp from his buckling frame. The class honed in on me, and then their attention went to Ben and Moses. The atmosphere thickened even more. Moses' face was hot with tears. Mr Kent looked up just in time to see Ben smile amicably. He bent down, feigning help. Moses scurried out from beneath his tormentor as fast as he could.
“Jeez Moses, I was just trying to help,” oozed Ben. Making sure Mr Kent had seen his theatrics, Ben shrugged as if to say, Hey man, I tried.
Taking her seat, Catherine smiled sweetly. Her green eyes twinkled above the dark rings as Ben grinned, accomplices now. She slipped her Wearable from her skirt to her sleeve as her fingers, almost robotic in their efficiency, flew across it in a dastardly deed.
Seconds later, most of the kids in the class pulled out their phones and sniggered. Two of them looked back over their shoulders at Moses. One with genuine concern. The other with morbid fascination. A feverish glint flashed in every eye in the class. Moses’ face clouded over, and a small, almost invisible tear slid down his cheek.
Thank God today was the last day of term.
***
“I'm not sure about this,” whispered Will.
“Me neither,” I said.
He was talking about being in the girls' toilets. I was talking about my entire life.
“Just to be clear, you know it wasn't a dream, right?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Feel like you've been hit by a bus?”
He nodded again.
“Didn't sleep either?
He shook his head.
“Look who has verbal diarrhoea now.” I laughed.
He smiled.
“I need to come to your house and do what I can to cloak your machines.”
“Yeah,” he mumbled. “And there’s the whole sidekick thing...” He went pink as he trailed off.
I pushed on, “I’ve covered my tracks, including everything Eleanor and Fikile use.” Will nodded thoughtfully. The atmosphere changed and sharpened. The light, now familiar to us, took on that strange quality. Our eyes met, and we asked the silent question, What now? Seconds later, the door opened and closed. There were footsteps and a muffled voice.
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Will, climbed onto the toilet seat. I mean, we could get into trouble for being here together under normal circumstances. His foot slipped off the lid. I caught him with one hand on his chest and the other on his shoulder. His breath, hot and smelling faintly of peanut butter, blew a few strands of hair into my face. I winced.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. He blushed, adjusting his stance. I pressed my ear to the door and placed my finger over my lips in the universal sign to be quiet. There were two sets of feet. One that went ahead and opened the door. The second stepped up, banged on it, and looked into the cubicle. Will’s armpits sprang a leak. We were in the one at the end. I turned my back to him and stepped back so my feet lined up realistically. They checked the cubicles painfully slowly.
“Reeeeeeeagan?” My name drifted towards me menacingly. “Reeeeeeeeeagan Graaaaaayce?” The sound carried like a sulphurous fart. The voice was unmistakable: the Dragon.
Will clamped his hand over my mouth, stifling the profanity that almost escaped. Footsteps hurried towards us. The shadow hovered. Will’s hand didn’t budge as my eyes widened with fury! I heard my heartbeat in my ears.
A gaggle of girls screeched into the bathroom. We waited, and when we heard nothing but bubble gum, I pulled Will's hand from my mouth and turned to face him.
“Crap,” we said together. Shit just got real.
***
The house was abuzz with the squawks and squeals of little girls. The Peaceman home was what Eleanor called 'lived in'. I stepped over the toys surrounding the front door and followed Will down the passage.
“Big readers?” I asked. Floor to ceiling, every wall was lined with books.
“My parents are academics interested in just about everything." Said Will. "But I'm sure you already knew that.” I felt the jibe.
“I know who you are.” I heard a small voice whisper. The whisper was attached to a wild red-haired girl peering from the toilet beneath the stairs. “You’ll like the tree house,” she said. My skin prickled with goosebumps. Why? The girl grinned and then dashed past me into the belly of the house. A stream of wild red hair trailed after her as she thundered away.
“Any time now,” said Will, startling me. I spun around and nearly took his head off.
“Sorry," he offered. "I didn't mean to scare you.”
***
In the Learn and Play Room, Will called it, a child-sized wooden table and chairs with a chess set lived in one corner. A worn soft couch sat in the centre, faced by an ancient PlayStation and a prehistoric TV.
“This room is a museum,” I said.
He waved me towards the equally outdated PC to the left on a built-in desk. “My Dad says if it ain't broke don't fix it.”
I settled onto the purple gym ball but slipped off, landing clumsily.
“Core." Will patted his stomach. "Tighten it.”
“K,” I said. My cheeks flushed as I mounted the ball again.
“Sit up tall, “ he added, “and draw your belly button to your spine.” I wobbled a little before I surprised myself again, and found my balance.
“Do you have a treehouse?” I asked, desperate to change the subject from my body and its failings.
“Yup,” he said.
“Someone figured out this isn't a touch screen,” I frowned in disgust as I got to work and found smudgy little fingerprints on the monitor. I pulled the jam-coated mouse off the mouse pad.
“Don't you need the passwords and stuff?”
“Never use birthdays or family names in passwords. Tell your parents.” I tapped for a few more seconds. "Any other machines in the house?”
***
Mrs Peaceman's desk faced another book wall. Framed certificates and qualifications, including her Master's in Psychology, hung on either side of the French doors. Dr Klein, my therapist, is also a Psychologist. I'm not sold on it, to be honest. How on earth do you quantify the subconscious?
“My Dad's not home yet with his laptop,” said Will, looking around nervously, interrupting my thought process. I hopped back onto my brain train and thought about ‘the observer effect’: Observation of quantum phenomena can change the measured results of the experiment. In other words, things only exist when we choose to look at them.
I cracked the password in minutes: the youngest Ginger Biscuit's birthday. I wonder what Dr Klein would have to say about that? I was rerouting the IP address when I felt the quickening, and I knew this feeling well now. Every hair on my body stood on end. It was confirmed by Will whispering, “Regan…”
A shuffling and scraping came from the porch. I stopped typing and looked up.
A scrape and a thud...
A scrape and a thud...
I hurried up, sensing the urgency.
“Um, Regan…” whispered Will again.
A scrape and a thud, and then a dragging sound... Like a limp? It was getting closer. My fingers raced across the keys. A bead of sweat pearled on my brow. I typed the last command when I heard the door handle turn.
The door swung open. A gust of wind blew the curtains into the room. An inquisitive eyeball popped onto the rug with a soft thud. It swivelled around, trying to locate us. The Poth (I would learn this is the singular for the plural of Kleepoth) seethed and writhed. Melting skin left a delicate pool of slime at its one-and-a-half skeletal feet. The melting meat sack reached half of a wobbly arm towards us. Will and I stopped breathing.