A gentle breeze blew and skimmed through the skin of the river beside the pavement. Grace and I were carrying our bags, walking on the sidewalk but not a word came from either one. Grace was on her phone, tapping on her keyboard and cracking out laughter. I stared at the shimmering reflections of the spring, soft rays reflected on the river. Monotone. Everything was in monotone. No matter how beautiful it looked or how good a picture it makes, to me, everything was in black and white. Petals from flowers were dancing around but all it was to me was a nuisance. The teddy bear key chain I had kept as my mother's memento dangled around my rucksack and I faced the sturdy, uneven brick floor of the pavement.
We finally reached the school. This school was a private school, separated into three sections, elementary, middle school and high school. This year I would be turning fourteen which meant I would be in the second year of middle school, an eighth grader. I walked to the steel metal gates, paced slightly faster than Grace, but she caught up immediately. "First, you should go to the faculty office. Since you transferred in the middle of the term, there should have been some paper work, right?" Grace explained. She had an aloof and nonchalant smile which blended in with the scene and made us look like two ordinary middle schoolers, but that couldn't be so. I can't be counted ordinary. Wouldn't. Never. Grace led me through rows of lockers and and classrooms. Surprisingly, the middle school section were separated into sciences and arts, though there were some who took a little from both. We walked down the corridor hall and students started filling the corridor more and more, talking and putting books in lockers. Faculty office. There it is. "Then I'll go first. Meet me in my class, 2-3. Bye! See you during recess," tattled Grace as she skipped to her classroom.
I pushed open the heavily tinted glass door. A man who is supposedly a teacher in a tracksuit came towards me with a few papers in hand and asked "Phillia Steward, I suppose?" I nodded my head. He smiled, "Edward Cunning. Just call me sir like everyone else." The teacher was young. He hid a thin pair of half-framed glasses and dark brown eyes. His hair looked like a bed-head and he had an aloof aura around him. "From today you're in class 2-3. I'm your homeroom teacher. If there's anything you don't know, ask the class rep. Come, time to go to class." I trailed along behind him and we passed a few rows of lockers before reaching the class. He walked in first and got the class to settle down. Mr.Edward then called me in and I was rustling and fidgeting with my fingers.
Two rows to the back. My seat was a window seat. The whole class stealed glances at me. I wonder if it was so weird to have a transfer student at this time of the year. But I didn't really care. All I did for the four first periods were stay in class listening to the teacher's lectures. A woman named Mrs.Bloria taught us geography but she would always purse her full red lips together, which made me a bit sick. I was scared I could get a panic attack, but please, not in the middle of class.
YOU ARE READING
To be Seen by Crimes: The Heart
RomancePhillia Steward, a thirteen year old, killed her own father who tried to sexually assault her with her two bare hands. Ever since that night, Phillia wouldn't utter a word. Having put in a new family, a new city and a new school, how will Phillia co...
