Shira's Tale(Wattys2017)

Chapter 2

The school corridors sound like a bee hive as I enter the hallways. The noisy chatter and hysterical laughter makes the whole building vibrate. Whilst I walk down the corridor, many kids greet me. Not because they want to, but because they know it's polite to.
These historic and musty hallways haven't changed since I last entered them three months ago. Lockers are portrayed as the school's wallpaper, hiding all the corrosion and the mold seeping through the walls.
My classroom is on the second floor in the B block of the school. I am walking towards the staircase at the end of the corridor. Students are hanging out near the railing and two boys are sitting down on the second stair, looking at something on their phones.
I walk past them and wait to be greeted. When I began my career, I was the one greeting all the students. They would always look at me like I was a neon cat when I  greeted them. I soon learnt they needed to greet me. I would say that out of every ten students, I get greeted by two. The boys don't utter a word to me and I ignore them, I've gotten used to it. Kids think that they can push the young teachers around and maybe talk to them like they're buddies, but I fight against that. Despite my opinion, I decide to let this pass...as usual.
When I reach and unlock my classroom, I walk straight towards my desk and collapse into my chair. My desk is pushed to the far right side corner of the room. My view is a series of wooden desks . My view from the window is the street of Madison Avenue; bright yellow taxis fly by-their stripes creating an optical expression, kids strolling on the street as they approach school and paper thin smoke passes in the air from local smokers.
The classroom is painted a light, watercolor blue and -I don't know the exact measurements- is not densely packed but quite spacious. The desks are in a neat order with five in a row and six rows in total. The walls are covered in posters that I made with some of my favorite quotes from my favorite authors; there's Sylvia Plath, J.K Rowling, George Orwell, Jane Austen and Virginia Wolff. I decided to take some of my favorite photographs that I had taken and edited the text over them. I don't know if the students appreciate them, but I enjoy looking and staring at them. My desk is scattered with photo frames and occupied by a computer and a Hermione Granger bobble head. I have two pictures of my dog Bengi (whom was sleeping on my bed by the time I was watching Juno), a few pictures from high school and recently with my friends, and a family portrait from 2007 when I was fifteen and my sister Brooke was thirteen. Despite her young age, Brooke looked like an artificial movie star. Her auburn hair like a burning flame, her sapphire eyes shining like a diamond in a mine and her fair skin like milk-and never burnt. Her figure is shorter and slightly slimmer in the photo. Not because she's gained weight-I doubt she's gained a pound since -but because she grew curves and puberty occurred. When I look at the photo, I realize how much she's grown in height-she stands at five ft eight now.
My parents stand behind us, my mom's hand on my teenage shoulder and Dad's on Brooke's. In the corner is a picture of Brooke and I at our cousin's wedding just two years ago. I remember that day how we were powdered with makeup and asked to wear two emerald blue dresses she had picked out of us. She had bought us both a size 6- as if to assume that because we were sisters that we wore the same size. I was sure that the dress would fit me, but I imagined it looking like a paper bag on Brooke. Yet, I saw as I helped her zip it up that the dress fit like a glove. She swung like a table top once the zip was at the top and twirled like a princess. I stood staring at here with a charm of surprise.
"You fit into the dress", I muttered, "aren't you a size two or zero"?
She chuckled. "No, why would you think that"?
I shrugged. "Because...you know".
"Because I'm an Alder"?
I gulped. "Yes".
She chuckled once again. "Evie, there's nothing wrong with being a size 6, nothing at all! You know, I think that the more a woman is able to fill her dress, the more attractive and elegant she looks".
I stared at her with awe still struck on my face. Who thinks like that? Who is so optimistic and body confident in a world fill of trolls and haters? Brooke, Brooke my Alder sister thinks like that.