45. Rainy Days (1/2)

Rainy days in Chrowall City were a mixed bag for Isaac. On one hand, the grey clouds and perpetual filter of droplets cast the buildings in a hazier, more blended light. He could walk down the sidewalks, feel the rain sinking into his bones, and be just like a worn apartment or storefront sitting out in the weather. When everything was a swirl of dullness, nothing stood out as strange.

On the other hand, perhaps because they were aware of this, the teachers on watch shift were always irritatingly more perceptive on rainy days. Normally they wouldn’t bat an eye at a kid absent from the cafeteria, would only briefly glance over their school’s excuse for a “playground” (it was little more than a small square patch of cement cut off by a tall metal fence looming over the area). On rainy days, though, they became extra vigilant, and that was how Isaac found himself dragged indoors for a stern “talking to” by Mrs. Hatfield.

She was one of those teachers who tried too hard to seem like a friend. She used to insist on her students calling her by her first name, but Isaac never did. From what he’d heard, she’d been teaching for quite some time, though her age and demeanor often made her feel newer than she was. It was only in moments like these, when the woman placed her hands on her hips and aimed a practiced frown of disapproval down at Isaac, that he could really see the years of experience she must have had dealing with troublemakers like him.

He resolutely refused to meet her eye, instead keeping his gaze fixed on the blackboard behind her. His worn clothes felt heavy from rainwater, and he knew for a fact that he was tracking in mud. Well, if Mrs. Hatfield wanted to drag him here, then she could deal with the consequences.

He only half listened to her lecture; he’d heard it all before, anyway. Don’t run off, it’s not safe, stay around classmates, follow the rules, the usual. He twisted his shoe, rubbing some of the mud deeper into the dingy carpet. It was funny to him how these lectures always emphasized his safety, how they pretended to be about him. It was easy to read between the lines. Stop causing trouble for me, do as you’re told.

It was only through sheer practice that he stopped his gaze from wandering. From his experience, as long as his eyes remained staring vaguely in front of him, even if not directly at the teacher, and he kept his mouth shut, they would assume he was listening. The classroom clock ticked loudly by the door. Just a little longer now.

Things, unfortunately, didn’t work out as planned, because despite all his efforts to remain as unassuming as possible, his stomach decided to betray him.

Isaac winced when he heard a rumble, a very loud one at that. Mrs. Hatfield stopped in the middle of her lecture and frowned down at him.

“Have you eaten lunch yet?”

Isaac shifted his weight to his other foot. “No,” he ground out. You were just lecturing me about running off, what did you expect? he wanted to say.

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The teacher’s frown deepened, and she glanced over at the circular clock. “Well, I believe you still have a few minutes before the cafeteria closes. Run along now and remember what I’ve said.”

Isaac didn’t move.

Mrs. Hatfield’s hands moved back to her hips, her voice beginning to take on that lecturing tone again. “Isaac—“

“I don’t have any lunch money.” He interrupted her before she could start. The room felt hot and stifling. The rough, damp fabric of his shirt, similar to sandpaper in texture, was itchy and stuck unpleasantly to his skin. Mrs. Hatfield paused, and her brow furrowed.

“Did you never receive the free lunch form?”

Isaac stayed silent. He didn’t tell her that he had brought the papers back, but they required parental confirmation and his parents had both been gone when he’d returned to their apartment. He’d left them on the table, and when he’d woken up the next morning, they remained sitting in the exact same spot, unsigned.

He hadn’t known if his parents had simply never come back that night or if they’d missed the paper or if they hadn’t cared. He’d left the form out every night for the next week, just on the off chance that they were so busy they hadn’t seen, but every morning he was met with the same empty lines and blank white pages.

By the time the deadline rolled past, he crumpled the papers up and tossed them into the trash on his walk to school.

Isaac could see the gears in Mrs. Hatfield’s head turning, so he quickly said, “I never gave it to my parents.”

That successfully put a pause to the uncomfortable emotion that was beginning to creep into her features, and the earlier disapproval returned. Isaac’s shoulders sagged slightly in relief. He’d take an annoyed lecture over pity any day.

“Go to the office and ask for another form,” she instructed in a stern voice. She reached for a pen and quickly scribbled something onto a sticky note, which she handed to him. Isaac reluctantly took it. It was hard to make out her looping, curly handwriting, but he was pretty sure it was a note saying he’d skipped lunch and left the building without permission again. He stuffed it into his damp pocket.

Mrs. Hatfield released a long, deep sigh, the all encompassing kind that came from the entire body. “I’ll say it again, Isaac. I understand things are difficult for you, but that doesn’t mean you can keep breaking the rules like this. If you focus and work hard, you can build a better life for yourself.”

Isaac stayed silent, and the teacher continued.

“I know it can feel impossible, but it can be done. I heard your brother tested into a prestigious university. Don’t you want to be like him?”

The muffled sounds of the rain outside seemed louder than before. Isaac kept his attention focused on it, cataloging the sounds of the droplets. He kept his arms behind his back, balled into tight fists.

Once it became clear that he wasn’t going to answer her, Mrs. Hatfield just shook her head and told him to hurry to the office before lunch break was over. Isaac was all too glad to leave, spinning around and hurrying out of the classroom as fast as he could.

—

Beep!

Isaac’s fist slammed into the alarm on pure instinct. He blinked a few times and groaned, forcing himself to roll over and pull himself out of bed. He stifled a yawn and rubbed at his eyes.

Outside, the sound of droplets hitting cement was easily heard through the apartment’s thin walls. When Isaac glanced out the window, Chrowall City was a dull grey landscape, blurred through a screen of droplets. Isaac scowled and turned away, slamming his bedroom door shut.

“Fucking rain,” he muttered.