KRISTINA NAOMI YAGAMI

“The case exploration method’s first step is to factor it… blah… blah …”

I zone out, giving up halfway, trying to make out the formulas written on the board. Sir Herbert’s chicken handwriting makes no sense. At all.

I decipher his writing to the best of my abilities without blinking, but it only burns my eyeballs. Nothing is registering in my mind.

I don’t understand how algebra works.

I fool with Edmer Cower’s handkerchief underneath the table. Thrill fills me at the thought of my oblivious seatmate. He still doesn't know I stole his handkerchief since homeroom.

The front door violently jolts. It earns a few of my classmates’ snide remarks. I glance at the door.

Geez, whoever they are, don’t they know how to knock?

Cedric Newman, whose three seats from me and closest to the window, unlocks the door with a sigh. I lean next to Edmer to learn who’s behind the door. The blue curtains blocking the windows completely block the outside view.

“Ced, who’s at the door?” Sir Herbert asks without looking behind him, still writing on the board.

Don’t forget the signature chicken writing.

You never forget his handwriting. You just don’t.

No offense to the teacher, but if he doesn’t change his handwriting soon, I will fail this class. No one will pass his class if he’s the only person who can decipher every word.

Contrary to what I just said, maybe he doesn’t understand it, too.

Cedric steps out of the room only to return with a bitter look, “I don't see anyone.” he notifies, “Lock the door. It must be those cheeky troublemakers again,” Sir Herbert mumbles, with a hint of annoyance. Cedric returns to his seat.

Edmer's gaze on my face catches my attention. When we lock eyes, I raise my brows to feign innocence. I lithely hide the handkerchief behind my back. He squints his eyes - reminding me much of Carlo Hangman. I smirk.

“Give me back the handkerchief, Yagami,” he urges with a whine.

“Nice try, Cower, but I don’t have it.” I lie through my teeth. He rolls his eyes before snatching the handkerchief behind me. He doesn't even hide his frustration.

I giggle. What a killjoy.

Sir Herbert starts another lesson, prompting Edmer to shift his attention to the board. This allows me to wrap my fingers around Edmer’s black, G-Shock watch. Just when I'm about to take it off, a hand snares my wrist. My mouth opens, but before my voice breaks someone beats me to it.

“Aaaahhh!!”

I search for the source of the scream. I rolled my eyes when I determined who. It’s only Julianne Parker. The class bitch.

“Sir Herbert, he pinched my butt!” she points a finger at James. He raises his arms up when she does. “No, I didn’t!” he revokes. I roll my eyes again. Everyone knows how mischievous that bastard's brain is.

I wipe the sweat from my forehead.

Thank God Julianne beat me first. If it wasn't for her, Sir Herbert would have already given me a slip to detention. Then again, Julianne never gets reprimanded.

The discrimination, baby Jesus.

I'd rather stuff my face with Saburo Ōji-san’s broccoli juice than stare at Sir Herbert’s wrinkles all afternoon as he hosts a sermon about Calculus, thank you very much.

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The door jolts again, but this time, it's grown more violent. It's not the action that bothers me, but where. It's coming from the backdoor now.

It clutters violently at repetitive intervals. I nearly assume the stranger is making up drum patterns for the looming band auditions. Sir Herbert ignores it, but when the class becomes too noisy, he finally turns around to investigate.

If my cursive handwriting is worse than understanding ancient hieroglyphics to save your future beau, Sir Herbert’s chicken handwriting is the King of all Evil. Believe me when I tell you it causes hallucinations the second you see it. I’m not exaggerating.

For example, Mandarin. Yeah, Mandarin gives me a headache. Especially when people talk, you don’t know if they’re making up gibberish or telling you to fuck off.

“Remmuel, check who’s outside the door! Please!” Sir Herbert orders again, his voice cracking halfway. I chortle. It reminds me of my voice whenever I sing in the shower.

Ha, splendid times.

Edmer shoots me a look.

“What?” I snarl.

Remmuel jumps when the door jolts against his touch. I snicker. He ends up sitting on James’ lap.

James pushes him to the floor, “Ew, man! I know I’m handsome and all, but no thank you! I’m not gay!” he whines, his vanity in full display. This earns him a slap from Remmuel.

That’s when chaos veered out of control.

A little boy drenched in blood from head to toe stumbles into the room. I would believe it was red paint if it wasn't for the distinct smell wafting through the air. The kid falls headfirst to the floor, next to the trash bins. Julianne ends up on the other side of the room in a flash.

Regina and Mickee scream and shuffle to hide behind the boys who have beat them to the back of the room. Some of them howl in laughter, no doubt not taking this situation seriously.

Though Catholic schools never run out of mischief.

But, it’s not yet Halloween.

I gawk at the kid who's half-unconscious, barely clinging to his breath. It’s hard to look at all the blood without the impulse to vomit - which goes for Edmer.

“Remmuel, who is that?” Sir Herbert asks, still glued to the board.

For Pete’s sake, for once, stop writing on that damn board and pay attention to something else!

I don’t approach the kid, but I also don't leave my seat. Somehow, I'm too afraid of what's next. Something has definitely gone wrong, but what exactly?

The acid in my stomach threatens to spill out.

“Sir!” Remmuel shrieks. He trips as he tries to crawl away from the boy. I can make out the school logo on the boy's uniform. He could be in middle school for all I know.

The question that bothers me is what is he doing here on the fifth floor? Why is he covered in blood? Did he kill someone? Did something happen? Did someone die? Is there a zombie apocalypse downstairs as we speak? Is it the end of days? Is someone shooting students downstairs and we're unaware up here?

The boy moans.

The class erupts in cries.

Sir Herbert finally turns around, his gaze landing explicitly on the poor boy. “Oh, for the love of Mary Immaculate, what happened?! Reed, Caldow help the poor boy!” he directs in panic. Remmuel and James hesitate, but when Sir Herbert gives them the look of Mother Gorilla, they scurry like mice to help the boy up to his feet.

They wrap the kid’s arms around their shoulders. But as they do so, the boy only cries out in pain.

That’s when I notice the large gash on his neck. There’s missing flesh from his neck and blood streams like water.

Something's not right. Bullets can't make those holes, right?

“R-run…” he whispers, but it’s too hushed to comprehend. “What did he say?” Remmuel asks James, who's also perplexed as he is.

“Run. The undead has risen.”

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“Ahh!” I huff.

My chest feels like it’s about to explode. My head throbs and I find it difficult to move. I fall back on the bed.

Just a dream, it’s just a dream. I look around and find comfort in the familiar enclosure of my room. It still feels like I just witnessed a premonition.

Oh, my God. Why would I dream of such a thing?

I check my phone. 5:25 a.m.

I still have an hour and thirty minutes before classes start. Thanks to my nightmare, I’m awake before my grandmother. I crawl out of bed, but the comforter catches my ankle and I fall to the floor.

“Okay, ow,” I rub my nose.

My gaze falls on the large mirror beside my bed which reflected a hideous image back. My hair resembles a bird's nest and black violet rings shroud my eyes. Just a little more and I can cosplay as a raccoon.

Or maybe the dead.

I immediately shake the thought away from my head. Stop with the undead, Kristina! Now is not the time to think about that nightmare.

I try to stand up, only for the carpet to catch my ankle this time which makes me stumble to the floor. I moan. Just great–today isn’t my day, is it?

“Magomusume, nani datte?!” Granddaughter, what was that?!

I blink. Uh-oh, O bāchan’s awake.

“Nani mo, O bāchan! Watashi wa chodo kapetto ni ochita,” Nothing, grandmother! I just fell on the carpet.

I crawl back on my bed and wail over my throbbing ankle. Ugh, my ankle.

My phone rings. Oh. It’s just my alarm. I need to stop thinking a zombie apocalypse will happen soon. I exhale. Stop thinking that will happen, Kristina. Relax, it’s just a weird nightmare.

There’s nothing to worry about. Nightmares don’t happen in real life. God, I’m such a paranoid.