CHAPTER TWO
In which Rhonda slowly loses her mind
hys•te•ri•a [hi-ster-ee-uh, -steer-] : an uncontrollable outburst of emotion or fear, often characterized by irrationality, laughter, weeping, etc.
A few weeks had passed, hence the excitement about Curly's big "transformation" had gone down. Not way down, just less talk, less stares, less gossip. Just less but not to the point where no one is talking about him. They still talk about him, the students of East Farley who I guess have nothing better to do with their lives than spread rumors and talk about other people's business. Totally no judgment but I guess I'm better than them because I have never said a thing about it, not one bit. I won't give him the satisfaction as he watches me with his dark eyes while making out with Allegra. Or as he chuckle at all her silly nonsense, showing the world, or at least East Farley, that he is having the time of his life.
My friends, however, are another issue. He is all they talk about. And if they are talking about someone else, they'll suddenly pull his name into the conversation. They are very skilled at doing that. So on Monday, three weeks after I got back to school, I was really relieved to be sitting alone at lunch even though this would normally not be the case. Hey, a girl needs some me time and I earned it. If my friends could only talk about Curly, or as he likes to be called now, Thad, then I guess I can find other interesting human beings to talk to.
I really thanked god that Phoebe's, Nadine's, Lila's and Sheena's lunch break was the next period.
Unfortunately or fortunately, whatever way you want to look at it, Helga and I had the same lunch period that particular Monday.
I was staring at my unrecognisable blob of meat which was what the school served as "lunch" when a willowy blonde sat next to me, dumping her tray on the table filled with food that can actually be consumed by humans. Ah, Helga, she never ceased to amaze.
"Where did you get that?" I focus on the salad and breadsticks on her plate packed in a plastic box.
"It's from home," she said tonelessly with a flat expression then motioned to my, er, is it even considered lunch? "Why are you going to eat that crap? Did your awesome chef hired straight from France quit or something? You know our school's food is terrible."
I was going to take a bite when she scolded, "I'm serious. Throw that away! You might get hepatitis or some other deadly disease."
I peered down on my food in disgust. It was brown and chunky, smelled kind of funky too. Helga's right. I wasn't going to eat that crap. Then, I looked at her.
At least Helga was enjoying her meal, she dug in ferociously like a hungry lion eating a gazelle. I cringed. Ergh. Table manners, girl, I thought as a few crumbs of breadstick fell onto her shirt then I noticed she was wearing my gift. I smiled. It was the white, body-hugging t-shirt from Brazil that had a picture of a cute, pink bow dabsmack in the middle of it. I instantly thought of Helga when I saw it. I was quite glad she liked it. One thing's for sure, Helga is picky.
"So where's the rest?" she asked as she swung her fork around with a lettuce still stuck to it. I tried to edge away from her in hopes that salad dressing won't get to my shirt. Too late.
"Geez, Helga!" I muttered as I wiped away a tissue.
"Sorry," she said, muffled by the food in her mouth.
"And to answer your question, their lunch is next period," I said huffily as I tried to rid of the salad dressing from my new black Prada dress that I just got yesterday. I sighed, luckily none got to my red cropped jacket.
"Whew! Finally, just you and me Rhonda old girl!"
"I'm not old!" I said in protest.
"Of course you're not. It's an expression."
"Pretty uncommon expression," I said under my breath, giving up on the dress. I could just change.
"I finally have peace and quiet! No more talks about him, like he's so freaking fascinating. It's not like he revealed he's gay then upped and moved to Italy."
"Who are you talking about?" I asked.
Helga gave me a look then said, "You know who I'm talking about."
"Oh," I said, for lack of things to say.
"I really mean I could not care less whether he's playing tonsil basketball or hockey or whatever sport you can come up with with Allegra Harlton! So what? The guy grew some balls then asked out probably the shallowest girl in this school. Aaaaand, I guess you're on my side?"
"The couldn't care less side? Positive." I nodded and she grinned.
"Great. We're going to get along just fine. We can avoid the others and hang out together until they get sick of bringing him up in conversation all the time," she growled as she pierced her salad with her plastic fork. I have to say that sometimes Helga was scary without meaning to.
"Do you think… maybe he's trying to make me feel jealous?" I asked curiously as I saw Helga's expression turned from annoyance to shock.
"Oh no! No! No. I thought we weren't talking about him? Were you lying to me, Rhonda Lloyd?" she gasped.
"No! Of course not! I'm just saying, it's all very out of the blue and whatnot. I've always seen him as, you know, the class psychopath who didn't have a fashion sense and now because of a growth spurt, a great haircut and some new jeans suddenly he's hot shit and is dating an heiress? It seems… I don't know, surreal, perhaps?"
Curly, I mean Thad wasn't even in Allegra's radar the whole of last year. She was totally out of his league, not even league but maybe a different baseball stadium in a different planet in different galaxy was more like it. Now, as it seems, things have changed.
Helga stared at me, jaw hanging, fork with lettuce poised below her mouth. She was, I guess to describe it in a word, whammied, like she didn't expect what I said. And I guess I didn't too.
"So you care?" she stated simply as she got over the whammy.
"Uh… To a certain extent, yes, but not overly. It'll be unhuman of me not to care. The guy worshipped me the whole of my childhood and part of my adolescence," I admitted.
"Unhuman is not a word," Helga said as she got back to eating her salad.
"Yes, but it seems wrong to use inhumane in this situation."
"This time, it just might be the correct term," she said and at that moment in walks the happy couple. They were holding hands and gazing at each other adoringly. I remember he used to gaze at me adoringly like that too but I stuffed that memory in a deep, dark place that I never have to visit again.
Their long walk from the canteen doors to the food station was watched by every pair of eyes in the cafeteria. I didn't have to look around and confirm this, I just felt that all eyes were on them.
He's taller than her by about a foot even though after the growth spurt he's probably only taller than me by three inches, I am six feet tall. They… I hated to say, match. He had dark hair, she is a blonde. He has a more swarthy skin tone like mine and she's a pale-skinned vampire witch. He's tall, she's short. A real true to life case of opposites attract. They looked good together, I grudgingly admitted to myself as I squashed feelings of hurt and betrayal. Hurt and betrayal? It's not as if he inflicted any of those. Then again, why did it sting for me to see them all lovey-dovey and stuff?
So what? Pink would say but I still looked down and felt Helga's gaze on my right shoulder.
The cafeteria was silent but for the steps of East Farley's "Brangelina" so I knew that when the sound got louder and I saw a pair of yellow Ferragamos encasing tiny feet that they made a quaint little stop at our table. I mentally groaned. What the hell do they want? I thought as I looked up and basically heard Helga smirk. That's right, heard. Or sensed or whatever.
When I gazed up, expecting to see Little Miss Perfect's (no, not Lila's, Allegra's) face, I was taken aback to find his instead. This wasn't Curly, I wanted to blurt out. Someone had taken that boy and replace him with a more than decent looking guy that bore a resemblance to the boy I used to know.
He was staring at me coolly. Allegra, the smug witch, was grinning beside him, an arm hooked to the crook of his.
"So, how are you, Rhonda?" her shrill voice filled the dead air and from beside me I heard Helga snort.
Oh, so we're on polite terms now after you stole my man.
Stole my man? Where the heck did that come from?
"I'm fine, Leggy, how are you?" I said sweetly, using her most hated surname. I saw it had an effect because her right eye twitched.
"Just peachy, I want to introduce you to my new boyfriend, Thad Gammelthorpe," she beamed happily then gave him a kiss on his cheek. He was still looking at me but he grinned. I wanted to stab the slice of inedible meat in front of me.
"We've met," I said flatly and saw Helga's 'doi' face so I added, "And we're well acquainted, wouldn't you say so, Thad?" I added a tone innuendo that suggested my relationship with Curly was more than people thought they knew.
Curly visibly gulped while Allegra's face scrunched up in disbelief.
Score!
"Anyway, Allegra it's nice seeing you. However, such a shame about your skin, you really do need to go on a holiday to get a healthy tan. Such a pasty look isn't suited for you," I teased as her jaw hanged lower than it did before. Curly, on the other hand, was trying to cover his amusement by bending down his head.
Helga and I got up. She gave me this "I'm proud of you but would you hurry it up?" look.
So I said, "Bye, you two lovebirds. Helga and I have the next period occupied. Until next time, Allegra, Curly."
"It's Thad," he corrected. I gave him a final glance and I thought I saw something in those eyes as he looked at me. Regret? Pain? I couldn't be bothered so I turned away.
"Whatever," I said as Helga and I walked out of the cafeteria.
"Good job, prin-cess!" Helga congratulated me as soon as we went through the cafeteria doors and were in the safe capacity of the hallways.
"Yeah, thanks… for nothing. You just sat there quietly like you were watching a soap opera! All that was missing was popcorn," I snapped.
"Hey, you gotta fight your own battles," she said with a smile then put an arm around my shoulders, "And I think you just won one today."
Really? Then why did it feel like I lost something, remembering the faraway glimpse in those eyes.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
"I'm home!" I hollered as soon as I went through the front door. There was no response. Nada. Zilch. Zeeero.
"Hello?" I called out. Did I enter the wrong house? I looked at a family portrait with me in it, I guess not. It was the right house. With no one inside it.
Suddenly, I heard a consistent clacking against wood. Someone was coming down the stairs.
"Oh, Emilla! Do you know where everyone is?" I asked the domestic helper as she ran down the stairs. She appeared tired, her hair was a mess and she was pale, not because of lack of sun, but because it seemed like she was going to throw up. "Emilla, are you okay?"
When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she smiled at me. "I'm fine, Miss Rhonda. Just very very very exhausted."
"Gee, shouldn't Pauline be taking over your shift by now? And where is everybody?"
"Yes," she nodded, "but Pauline and most of the staff are at the event your father is having, they're helping out."
"Are they getting paid extra?" I asked, concerned.
"Of course, we were given three weeks notice if wanted to help out but I volunteered to stay," she sighed. And man, volunteering to stay is a mistake, I almost said aloud.
"Have you eaten?" I asked. "I could take over if you want?"
"Oh no! You couldn't possibly!" she said in a horrified and rushed way that suggested that it is simply unthinkable for Rhonda Lloyd to do household chores.
"It's fine. I want to take over. Come on, you look like you're about to faint. Get something to eat, will ya? And besides, how hard can ironing be?"
"Really?" she asked, warily and hopeful.
"Yes, Tell cook that Rhonda specifically asked you to put some meat into your bones. Go, I release you of your duties."
At that, Emilla squealed and hugged me then ran to the direction of the kitchen. I watched as she happily ran towards sustenance and cursed my father for overworking the poor staff… then again my father was not one for tyrannical ruling and Emilla does have a reputation for being a workaholic. This might be because she felt like she owes us as we were the ones who took her out of the streets, get her to finish high school and offered her a job. She has been eternally grateful ever since.
I remember the first time she came into the house at the age of seventeen when I was just nine years old. From then on, we developed sort of a bond shared by sisters which consisted of me sneaking to her room to watch Oprah as she sneakily provided me with junk food I wasn't allowed to eat. She's probably the person in this household I am closest to.
I love my parents. Obviously, but finding things in common with them has been too much of a hassle after I've gone through puberty. Add that with the very little time we spend with each other and you get yourselves a family who don't know each other very much. I know we've grown apart and partly I'm at fault but I know that someday I'm going to set things right.
With a sort of mental groan, I dragged myself to the laundry room, which was connected to the ironing room, a room which most of my childhood was spent on since the staff were a part of the group that consisted my closest friends. As soon as I reached the room, I knew there was a mountain of work behind it, so I put my game face on and opened the oak door. I passed by the washing machines lining up both sides of the laundry room then entered through the glass sliding door to the ironing room. I know, how many house have you heard to have an ironing room? A special room just to iron clothes on? If I was a middle class kid, I would have laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. Instead, I threw my expensive handbag on the corner bench, rolled up my imaginary sleeves and set to work in front of the new-looking ironing board.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
"Oh, you look like a pro ironing those shirts!" Emilla praised as she popped her head in through the space between the glass sliding door, smiling. I sure hoped looked like a pro since I was sweating like one.
"Oh, you know, it's just something I do in my spare time?" I joked, waving a hand as if I've been doing the ironing my whole life, turning the shirt so the collar rests on the board. If I wasn't wrong, that was one of my dad's shirts. Remember the part when I said 'what's so hard about ironing?', I was dead wrong. Ironing shirts is hard. It's tiring. And the ironing room is stuffy, due to the spoilt air conditioning system that will be only fixed next week. No wonder Emilla looked as if she was about to faint. I felt a little bit faint myself.
"Really? An heiress having a hobby ironing shirts?" she asked, bemused. "How was the first few weeks of school anyway? I haven't had the chance to ask since I was so busy."
I arched a brow at the sudden change of topic. "Why?" I asked cautiously, huffing as I drove the iron through my dad's shirt and watched her as she sat at the corner bench, a huge smirk on her face. Emilla knew something.
"Just something I heard," she uttered casually. Too casually.
"Emilla! Tell me what it is you've heard!" I commanded, setting the iron down. She laughed as she looked at my face.
"You look like you're about to explode!" she guffawed and clutched her stomach in pure amusement. When she sobered up, I had my arms crossed, she told me while she stifled her laughter, "I heard that guy, who you kept complaining about since I came into this house, since you were nine years old, Curly, is now a stud muffin." She winked at me.
"He is not a stud muffin!" I protested loudly, wanting to conk her in the head with the iron as she continued laughing.
"I beg to differ because I saw him in person. I handle the clothes in this household, some materials are too sensitive for washing, you know that, so sometimes I have to go the drycleaners…"
"Where he helps out his parents," I continued for her.
"Yes, where he helps out his parents and stands there looking gorgeous for female customers to ogle. Even I can't help ogle him myself," she said with a wide smile.
"Emilla! You're twenty five! Curly is a kid! That's like… you're like a pedophile!" I screeched, pointing an accusing finger at her.
"I'm not a pedophile, I just have a great imagination, if I was only seven years younger. Oh, the things I would let that boy do to me…" she whispered almost dreamily, but I saw the laughter in her eyes enough to know that she was just joking.
"Eww. That's just wrong," I mumbled as I picked up the iron and started ironing my dad's already pressed shirt.
"Is that jealousy or bitterness I hear in your voice? Because I also heard that Curly's not after you anymore, he was seen hanging around town with a blonde bombshell." She was baiting me. It was our game. I just wasn't fully energized to be able to play it with her.
"No. There's no jealousy and I'm not bitter. Don't look at me like that! I'm not bitter! I think the food Cook served you got mixed with crazy pills. Must be why you're spouting non-sense after you ate," I muttered but couldn't help thinking, was I bitter?
How does one become bitter anyway? Because I'd like to stay sweet, if that's possible. And why in the name of Hades do humans compare people to tastes?
I ponder this as I let Emilla take over with the ironing, thanking me for the break she got. I nodded and told her I needed to do homework but as I glanced at her one last time, there was a gleam in her eyes that told me she knew more than she let on. It bothered me. I shook the feeling as I picked up my bag and escaped to my room… where I thought of the things she said and analysed everything in great detail.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
The next day went by without a hitch until Chemistry after lunch, when I was paired with none other than, you guessed it, Thaddeus Gammelthorpe. He looked pissed off when Mr Thatcher called our names and told us we'd be partners during the experiment: to make copper sulphate crystals. Normally, I like Chemistry because you have to be precise and I like the constant measuring, it eases my nerves but the experiment already felt like a punishment before it even began. So when "Thad' dragged his chair next to mine with a lock of hair flopping attractively on his forehead, I promised to myself I would behave to the best of my ability. The rest of the students shuffled and switched places so that they can sit with their partners then once we were settle, Mr Thatcher gave us a briefing on how to conduct the experiment.
"Thad" sat down without so much as a sideway glance or any indication that he was aware of my presence, which is more than I can say for Allegra. The girl couldn't stop staring at me with her laserbeam eyes even if Mr Thatcher told her to face the front three times. She huffily followed the orders but before anyone knew it, she was back to glaring at me, like a metal drawn to a magnet. Her intention was clear… "back off my man" was the message.
The thing is, as I was sitting there with "Thad" previously known as Curly to many, I had this heightened sense of awareness like the hairs on the back of my neck were standing up and I felt this great current of energy in the air. My stomach didn't help either. My ears rang and I saw everything clearer and sharper. I felt absolutely alive as Mr Thatcher went on about acids and salts, as I stared at Curly and observed him closely, an opportunity I haven't had for weeks.
I gazed at his dark hair and how it looked soft as the light bounced off it. And his skin, glowing with a healthy tan that I wondered how he got. And his eyes, deep and dark brown, narrowed in focus at the board. And his body that…
"Are you staring at me?" a voice that came from the person I was staring at broke me out of my reverie. I could not help the flush of embarrassment that came with getting caught.
"Nah," I denied, "There's lint on your sweater." I pretended picking up imaginary lint on his sweater. He eyed me alarmingly the same time that his girlfriend "dropped" a test tube in the background, partnered with the shriek of her partner, Griscilla Milton. Mr Thatcher quickly stopped the briefing to scold the girls and to tell them to clean up the mess.
I smiled, staring up at Thad's eyes, putting the finger with the imaginary lint near my lips and then blowing on it causing his pupils to dilate. I can't say I blame him, he of all people should know the effect I have on men. But he wisely edged away from me, to save him from the scratches he would surely get from his catty girlfriend. I let myself enjoy it. The thrill and satisfaction of piquing his interest again.
Pissing Allegra off was heaven. I met her gaze head on as she cleaned the remains of the broken glass tube, she was muttering things under her breath, curses most likely. I beamed wider and scooted closer to Curly, she screamed and Mr Thatcher hurriedly went to her side.
"What the devil is the matter with you, Ms Harlton?" his loud voice boomed inside the Chemistry lab as all of us sat up ram rod straighter. He had that kind of power. A real life Zeus.
"I'm sorry, I thought I cut myself," she whimpered, pulling the innocent act. Unfortunately, Mr Thatcher bought it when Allegra looked as if she was close to tears. He was the kind of man uncomfortable around hysterical, crying females.
"That's alright," he soothed. "Just quickly clean this mess up so we can continue with the experiment."
And continue we did, Curly and I worked together side by side mixing chemicals together without talking. I told him the list of chemicals we need from the cupboard and he got them without so much as a word, just an expression of calm. He was steadfast and I despised it. I wanted him to mess up. I wanted to do something to hurt him… like he'd hurt me. But I couldn't. Didn't had the guts nor did I had the heart.
I realised in that chem lab as we combined sulphuric acid with copper (II) oxide powder that he had hurt me by turning to Allegra. He did. I realised then that I cared. I cared about him. He wouldn't have hurt me if I didn't care. He wouldn't have that power over me. I guess I got too comfortable with him by my side, praising me, adoring me that it never occurred to me he might leave me. Leave me just like that.
That one sucked. It was like a knife went through my heart, then the knife was twisted and more pain shoot out as I felt the warmth that shot up from my hand to my heart when he touched my skin accidentally as he reached for the glass rod.
I breathed in and stared at him. He was stirring the chemicals in the beaker, smiling at Allegra to comfort her. She smiled back. Her smile suggested things they would do later when they reunite.
And as all of this went on, something pretty stupid or bobo, even for me, happened. I saw Curly's eyes widened as he turned back to me, soon all of my other classmates were staring at me too. There was horror in their faces and I would not have realised what happened if it wasn't for the warmth I felt on my back and the smell of something acrid, something burning in the air.
The Bunsen burner left unattended had caused my long hair to catch fire and burst into flames. I couldn't do anything, useless as I was, just standing there appearing stupid, too scared to move. I watched in terror as the girls screamed , the boys watched in amazement and Mr Thatcher running toward me like a superhero with the fire extinguisher in his hands.
My scalp could feel the scorching heat. I thought I would burn alive. I couldn't scream. The sound robbed from my throat. However, all of a sudden, the heat was vanished, as if by magic. Someone dumped a splash of shocking cold water on me. I felt the surprising splash then noticed I was drenched from head to toe. The last thing I saw before I hit the chemistry lab floor and fainted was Curly, a panicked look on his face, a big red bucket hanging limply from his hand.