Disclaimer:Nothing recognizable belongs to me.
This story used to be called BITCH, but FFnet took it down because of the title. So I've been re-writing it with leftover notes.
-o-o-o-
Arriving in front of the gate leading into the school, Taranee recoiled when she saw what was written above the imposing entrance. On a big green sign was written Sheffield Institute.
Institute… Really, it was so difficult to get used to! She could remember very clearly the day she had he2ard that name for the first time, when her parents had announced that she was going to change schools.
Yes, she could remember it perfectly well! she thought, rolling her eyes behind her small round glasses. It was just before moving towns. Such a hassle it had been! They had forced her to abandon everything to come live in this god-forsaken town that smelt of salt water and where every girl resembled a mannequin.
"The Sheffield Institute is one of the best private schools in Heatherfield," her mother had declared, quite proud.
"You're placing me in a private institution?" Taranee had whined.
But in the end, she had discovered that many schools in Heatherfield were called institutes. It was just another difference with Sesamo, her true town, the one where she had always lived. Here, everything was different.
She advanced, trembling, towards the entrance door, careful not to walk in one of the puddles littering the ground. The schoolyard still held many traces of yesterday's storm. It had been a horrible downpour, with extremely loud thunderclaps.
Taranee had spent at least an hour watching it all from behind her window. It had been impressive. She had seen the lightning coming closer and closer to her home. Strangely, she hadn't been afraid.
Anyway, it was nothing compared to how she felt this morning. It was her third day at
Those snobs would have another good reason to avoid sitting next to me. The first reason being, of course, that they didn't even know she existed. Sheffield and she was just as scared as she had been the first two. Lunch was one of the moments she feared the most right now, because of the fried tofu her mother had prepared for her. Or, more specifically, the smell. She could very well imagine it, and her neighbours' faces.
In front of her, crowds of teens clad in the latest fashion were climbing the stairs, laughing, talking, or just generally being busy with their lives. Seeing all those unknown people having fun being with their friends paralysed her.
Nervously, she pulled at her orange pullover and raised her eyes to the building of pink stucco with a green roof and a big clock that indicated the time.
She had two minutes left before History class.
When she had finally arrived to the main hall, the others had nearly all already disappeared into their respective classes. Taranee took a deep breath and marched towards the marble stair. But suddenly filled with doubt, she stopped on the first step.
"Damn," she murmured, biting her lip. "I can't remember where I'm supposed to go!"
Her schedule was so complicated she had yet to memorize it. She opened her school bag as fast as possible and began fishing through it. Gloss. Handkerchief to wipe her glasses with. Recently bought notebooks… But no schedule!
A cold fear encompassed her. At that same moment, she heard the familiar sound of a pair of shoes running towards the main hall. She raised her eyes and saw a stranger – yet another one – a small, skinny, red-haired girl with breasts nearly as small as her own. The stranger seemed to be lost, like Taranee.
The girl took her schedule out of her jean pocket and read it, panic in her eyes. Her gaze then flitted around the room, searching for an arrow, a marked door, a sign… anything to save her from this first school day. Taranee understood quite fast that it was a newbie. She had been in the exact same position two days before.
Finally, accepting her fate, the new girl threw up her arms in defeat.
"How do I find room 304?!" she cried, stomping on the ground with her green trainers, a petulant expression on her face.
Taranee smiled.
"How to find room 304?" she said. "Well, starting with room 303, maybe. With some luck, they'll send you straight to the next class."
The girl gave a start and turned around to face her with wide brown eyes. Taranee tried to act and look like she couldn't care less. It wouldn't do any good for the newbie to think she was all excited at the prospect of finally having human contact.
"Two days ago, I was like you," Taranee informed the girl, throwing back over her shoulder one of her braids, strewn with colourful beads. "I'm also new. My name's Taranee."
"Nice to meet you," answered the girl in a calmer tone, much less stressed now. "I'm Will."
Taranee allowed herself to feel happy. She had a new friend… it was worth being late.
"Excuse-me, girls, but would you be so kind as to explain, if you please, what you doing in the hall at this time?!"
Taranee recoiled, and Will stopped moving, lowering her head in-between her shoulders.
"It's the headmistress, Mrs. Knickerbocker!"
To be late to History class wasn't that dramatic. But detention with the headmistress wasn't all that tempting… She'd rather be stuck an hour with her history teacher.
Mrs. Knickerbocker was an imposing character. She'd strut around the school, her ample bosom thrown forwards, swinging her behind, even larger than the former, with terrifying energy. She had an extraordinary haircut: a huge elongated bun, white like snow and transparent like a spider's web. You sometimes saw weird stuff when it came to old people, but this took the cake.
Absorbed by the contemplation of the gravity-defying hair, it took a few seconds for Taranee to see that the headmistress was pointing towards the corridor.
Ah yeah… she remembered. That's where I'm supposed to go. Huh. Dows she memorize the timetable of all her students or what?
"Classes have begun, Miss Cook," Mrs. Knickerbocker spluttered angrily. "Go on! Back to class!"
Taranee walked briskly in the indicated direction. Just before disappearing at a corner, she looked back over her shoulder.
Poor girl, she thought, seeing Will look at the headmistress in fright. I wonder when she has her lunch break.
"And as to you…" thundered Mrs Knickerbocker, looking down at Will with quite a bit of disdain. After all, the woman hated lateness nearly as much as trouble makers.
"I… My name's Will Vandom, madam," Will stammered, a nervous smile splitting her face in half. "Euh… I think I'm lost."
"Well, Miss Vandom, the year isn't starting well, is it?"
Will lowered her head. Taranee sighed. She knew exactly how the newbie was feeling; full of shame, only wanting a hole to open up and swallow her whole, sparing her the embarrassment of the situation.
It's a bit like what I'm feeling right now, she told herself upon entering her classroom.
She gave an awkward little wave to the twenty one pair of eyes looking at her and passed the threshold of the room in a stumble. She searched desperately for an empty desk. Luckily, there was one just behind two girls she had already met in another class and that generally sat as far away of the teacher as possible to be able to chat together.
Taranee didn't like the airheaded brunette all that much – too much self-confidence for it to be healthy – but she quite liked the small Asian girl with her funky clothes – like those green swimming glasses she wore as a headband that clashed outrageously with her red sweatshirt. She was really cool.
"Better late than never, Miss Cook," Mr Collins said from his desk.
Even from where she was, she could see an amused smile hidden behind his red moustache.
"Students are always welcome here," he continued. "Especially on interrogation days."
"You mean… a quiz?!" cried the dishevelled brunette. "Yesterday, you said we'd just be reviewing it!"
Mr Collins advanced calmly through the ranks, still smiling behind his moustache, and regarded his student with amusement.
"Well, I lied. You should be used to it by now, Irma, History teachers are vicious by nature…"
The small Asian giggled and winked at her neighbour.
"I thought that was only Maths teachers," she said with a beautiful, musical voice.
Irma, at the same time, was looking like someone had just died. She fell back down on her chair and murmured:
"But that has nothing to do with it! This is pure… cruelty!"
Taranee sat down and brought out her History book. By making a nuisance of herself, Irma had unknowingly helped her a great deal, making the teacher forget about punishing her.
"Why are you so scared? Does your magic power not work anymore?"
Taranee frowned. Magic power?
Irma also frowned, but for a different reason. She gave her friend a furious glare.
"What'cha talking about?" she mumbled.
"Oh, come on," answered the glasses-wearing girl. "You know… the rigged interrogations!"
"What? Rigged interrogations?" whispered Taranee over Irma's shoulder.
Oh no! She thought, instantly regretting her question. I should've shut up. As if I don't have enough problems with Mrs Knickerbocker… Now I'm in the middle of some… cheating business!
Of course, Irma reacted instantly. She turned abruptly towards her friend and pressed her hand against the girl's mouth.
"No, she hasn't said anything!" answered Irma, glaring at both the glasses-wearing girl and Taranee. "She just likes to hear the sound of herself talking, that's all!"
"Hmpf!" protested her neighbour, unable to say much due to the palm covering her mouth.
Suddenly, screaming, Irma removed her hand and shook it in every direction. She wiped it on her pullover with disgust written all over her face, and then raised it high over her head.
"What's happening over there?" asked Mr Collins.
"Mr Collins! Hay Lin bit me!"
Taranee had to stop herself from laughing, while Hay Lin fluttered her eyelashes innocently, playing with one of her long locks of shining hair. Mr Collins, like Hay Lin, was completely okay with playing the innocent and ignoring the situation. Seeing a raised hand, he immediately took advantage of the situation.
"Ah! Congratulations, Irma. I was looking for a volunteer for the quiz."
"In your face!" murmured Taranee.
While Mr Collins was thinking about what he was going to ask, Irma let herself fall back down on her chair, miserable.
"But… it's so not fair!"
Hay Lin, who seemed to find the whole situation very amusing, turned to Taranee.
"Look, you'll see," she said, waving her fingers. One of them had a very nice purple ring. "When the teach' asks her something, first she gets angry, then she panics, then she closes her eyes, crosses her fingers, and…"
"Shut up, you!" cut Irma.
That must be the anger.
"I haven't even opened my book," whined Irma. "I just know some things about Charlemagne, that's all."
That, no doubt, must be the panic, thought Taranee. And then, exactly like Hay Lin had predicted, Irma crossed her fingers, shut her eyes tightly, and starting chanting:
"Ask me about Charlemagne, oh please oh please, ask me about Charlemagne. I'm begging you, ask me about Charlemagne…"
"You see," continued Hay Lin, with Taranee as witness, "even if she studied only one thing, it's guaranteed that the teacher will ask her about it. I don't know how she does it. But anyway, it works every time."
Taranee didn't know what to think. What was Hay Lin talking about, exactly? This wasn't cheating. It was more probably that Irma had a strange gift. But what? Telepathy? Magical powers? Thanks to a magic wand?
While Mr Collins was reading through his notes, the three girls were watching him intently.
"Hmmm…" he said.
Charlemagne? thought Taranee.
"Let me see…" mumbled the teacher with feigned laziness.
"Charlemagne," whispered Hay Lin.
"Irma Lair…" he began.
"Charlemagne," begged Irma with a near-silent voice.
"Could you talk about… Charlemagne?
"Yeeees!" cried Hay Lin with a joyous smile. If Mr Collins hadn't been entirely focusing on Irma, she probably would've gotten scolded for being so loud.
And Irma? Well she looked ready to start a dance of victory in the middle of class, but managed to control herself enough to give an impressive speech about some roman emperor or something.
Taranee could not believe it. In the end, Irma with her attitude and air headedness was probably scarier than any other snob in the school.
No, she thought, shaking her head. I won't let it get to me. It must be a trick or something. It's…
Impossible.