Being small has its advantages.
Well, only one really; namely, the ability to wedge one's self into the narrowest of spaces. But who on earth would care to do something like that?
Exactly the point.
Only room for one under-the-bed or behind-the-sofa, plus a few books.
Beneath the bed was always the first choice, as it had the added bonus of being in my room where I could lock the door.
I lay, stomach flat on the floorboards, bent arms spread to either side, Adler's Understanding Human Nature propped on a pillow, torch tracing the text across the page.
Thud, thud.
My head shot up at the sound, cracking against the wooden bed-frame.
I swore under my breath as a terrible throbbing, like liquid fire, erupted across the crown of my head.
Thud, thud.
There it was again. I pulled myself out from under the bed, wincing and blinking from the light.
Thud, thud.
It seemed to be coming from above.
I scowled as I glanced up at the ceiling. The girls' dormitories were right above the boys', which would have been inconsequential if not for my vertical neighbor, whoever she was, who made all manner of noise at all hours of the day (and sometimes night…).
Thud, thud. Thud, thud. Thud, thud.
And again. Faster, louder, longer. An infuriating heart beat that banished all concentration.
I had never addressed the upstairs occupant (I prided myself on avoiding interactions whenever I could), but my head was still painfully throbbing in time to the continuous thudding. In a fit of irritation, I leapt onto my bed with a growl, stretched as tall as I could (not very), and rapt on the ceiling.
The thudding stopped.
"Some of us are trying to hear ourselves think, you know," I called through gritted teeth.
There was a scraping and a dull thump.
"TREWINKLE!? Is that YOU!?"
I recoiled at the sound of the demonically cheerful voice, nearly toppling off the bed as my feet twisted and tangled in my blankets.
Only one person's voice could make my ear fold in on themselves like crumpled paper.
"It's me! Gemma!" the voice said, as if I wasn't already painfully aware, "I didn't know your room was right below mine! What a coincidence, eh? Sorry for the noise, I was practicing jump-rope."
Jump-roping? Indoors? More proof she was not mentally sound.
"Hey, you still there? This is so cool! Ha, ha! It's almost like we're invisible roomies!"
That was it.
I grabbed my book from under the bed and made for the door. Time to find another one of my hiding spots before Mudget decided she wanted to cut a hole in her floor so we could better talk with one another.
I eventually found a nice, quiet spot behind a large potted fern in a dead-end corridor. My head still felt like a struck gong, but finally, I managed to ease my mind back into my book. That's when I was suddenly doused with a shower of cold water.
I sprang to my feet with a yelp, slamming the book shut to spare its pages, and found myself looking up at a wide-eyed elderly woman, one of the school's overworked cleaners undoubtedly, clutching a metal watering can.
"Trying to scare me, eh? You little scalawag!"
She dumped the rest of the water over my head and stalked off.
I sputtered, jumper soaked, hair dripping into my eyebrows dripping into my eyes, my features scrunching as still my head pulsed hotly.
"Just one afternoon of quiet," I muttered, "That's all I ask. Let me die a painful death tomorrow for all I care. Just let me have one hour. One measly hour bereft of you people."
With this, I resolved to go to one of my most isolated hiding spots, still muttering under my breath. Someplace no one would ever find me…someplace where I could finally have the brief hour of solitude I deserved…
The limb I found was very sturdy, even if it was a bit higher than I would have liked. I sighed as I leaned back against the smooth trunk, opening my book for the third time that afternoon. There was even a light breeze that helped to dry my clothes and soothe my head.
It wasn't until I heard the angry buzzing very near my ears that I noticed the swarming wasps' nest on the branch right above me.
I sighed as I readied myself to drop into the bushes near the base of the tree before I met my painful death prematurely.
"Time to enter a hermitage, Bernard, old boy," I said, "Preferably on the moon."
I slid off the branch and into what I suddenly realized were rose bushes.