Chapter Four: Strange and Unusual
The remainder of summer sped past me, even though the days seemed endless. By the time September rolled around, the cosmetic surgery on the house was complete. The new additions on the outside made the house stick out even more. Mother may have thought she was bringing modern culture into Winter River, but in reality she was just making us look ridiculous. This gave my classmates one more reason to make fun of me, and gave me one more reason to resent going to school.
We received my Miss Shannon's School for Girls uniform a week before school was scheduled to start. It was quite an ugly thing: a navy blue, regular blue, and white plaid skirt with a navy blazer and white-collared shirt. The skirt ended just above my knees, exposing my paper-white anorexic legs. Pulling navy knee-socks on did not help.
I let out a sigh as I looked at myself in the mirror. I reached for my hairbrush and grasped it, but I failed to actually brush my jet-black shoulder-length hair. My eyes trailed to my open messenger bag. School supplies poured out of it. I had yet to finish packing my survival kit. I went to the other side of my room and picked Frankenstein from the bookcase. I bent down and took my sketchbook from the bottom shelf. The vampire alarm clock on my nightstand beeped once, signifying that it was seven-thirty. School started in half an hour. Sighing, I finished packing my things and sealed the bag. After briefly loathing over my appearance for a final time, I went downstairs.
Father sat at the table, looking as exhausted and stressed as ever, with a stack of papers in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Mother was burning toast while she rambled on about how her newest sculpture was coming along. The garage had been renovated into a new art studio. Father hoped that having her studio in another building would reduce noise pollution in the main house, but that plan quickly swirled down the drain.
"Good morning, Lydia!" Mother sang piercingly. Father jumped in his spot, his bloodshot eyes wide and his body trembling. I winced as I grabbed the brown paper bag on the end of the counter. "Don't you want some breakfast?" she questioned, pushing a plate of blackened toast in my face.
"Uh…n-no thanks, Mother," I responded nervously, already halfway out the door. "I'll be late for school."
"Aw! Is our sweet little girl excited for her first day?" she cooed as she pinched my cheek. I managed to wiggle away from her before she could envelope me in a huge hug. "Bye Mother! Bye Father!" I called before shutting the door in Mother's face. I stuffed my lunch into my bag and ran to the side of the house where my bike was parked. The rainbow flowered helmet I got with the bike sat neglected on the ground next to the bike. I propped myself on the seat and peddled away.
Even though I had lived in Winter River for two months, I had yet to see the entire town up close. I already had the route to school mapped out in my head, and this route allowed me to pass by the cemetery. After passing through the black iron gates, I dismounted my bike and walked it across the grass. The sun's bright rays were shining brilliantly and a calm breeze wafted past me. I may have been the only living person there, but the cemetery was far from empty. With each grave I passed, with each name I whispered, I imagined a matching coffin encasing a corpse buried under six feet of dirt. I imagined a decrepit soul floating around in the afterlife alone and forgotten. I saw that soul regaining a small piece of his essence as I whispered his name. His ghost was not as pale, his clothes were not as tattered, his face was not as gaunt. Thinking about that soul and the other forgotten souls I had given names to, I couldn't help but smile. It was nice to feel needed.
My eyes trailed to the watch wrapped around my wrist. School was starting in seven minutes! Gasping, I quickly jumped onto my bike and peddled as fast as my legs allowed me to. By the time I got to the small private school, my muscles ached like I just ran a marathon. I haphazardly parked my bike and locked it, then ran through the double doors. I got there just in time to see the back end of a large crowd of girls in identical outfits enter the auditorium. I followed the group, figuring that was what I was supposed to do.
We all filed into the maroon-colored seats. Before taking my seat, I scanned the room and tried to estimate the number of girls in this school. My old school, though it was also a private school as well, had at least fifty kids per grade. This school, with grades five to nine, looked like it had just over one hundred girls total. This meant that everyone knew each other, which meant there was a miniscule chance that I'd fit in.
A woman wearing a frilly white shirt and a black pencil skirt approached the podium. Her red hair was worn in a high rigid bun. A pair of thin black glasses perched at the end of her pointed nose. She spoke into the microphone with a tight British accent. Each syllable was annunciated cleanly, each vowel was clearly spoken, and each consonant was given emphasis. Her head was always raised, her nose pointed upward snootily, and her eyes never actually made contact with her audience. Instead, her eyes were lightly closed most of the time.
After giving an opening speech about how great the school year was going to be, the woman (who I later learned was Miss Shannon herself) gave a brief orientation for the fifth graders that were new to the school. I was among this group, but I barely paid attention to the orientation. Instead, I let my mind wander back to the cemetery. Sadly, I was not able to find Adam and Barbara's graves. They were not in the spot the model said they were in. Perhaps the person who put them there was not as adept in model-making as Adam and Barbara were. What saddened me even more was that I had not seen or heard from them. It would have been fun to meet them. I always wondered what ghosts looked like. Maybe they were gross and decrepit like the zombies in the movies. How cool! What a treat it would be to say, "I live in a haunted house." But I still did not have definite proof. What if they left already?
I noticed the noise level around me was getting louder. When I snapped out of my daze, I saw that everyone was getting out of her seat and squeezing out of the aisle she was sitting in. It must have been time to go. Finally. I slowly sat up and stretched my arms out tiredly before gathering my belongings and following the rest of the girls in my row. They were all talking to each other like they were old friends, and then there was me. I followed the pack with lowered eyes and neutral lips. Fitting in wasn't exactly my strong point. Mother always told me that being unique was a wonderful thing, but that's only if you have the confidence to do so. Perhaps I could find the confidence to branch out, but I could only do that if I knew that someone would accept me.
"Fifth graders, please follow me!" a woman exclaimed. I glanced over my shoulder and spotted the woman who was calling my grade over. She wore a pencil skirt that was similar to Miss Shannon's, but this woman wore a white collared shirt and the same blazer the students had on. Even the teachers were put through the torture of uniformity!
The entire fifth grade (consisting of about twenty girls) followed the woman to the second floor and down to the end of the hallway. Before going to our first class, we had to check into our homerooms. The grade was divided into two groups, one of nine and one of ten. I followed my smaller half into room 210, where we were greeted by an ancient woman with straggling poorly dyed blonde hair. A pair of rose red glasses sat at the end of her crooked nose. Her outfit of choice was a loose black skirt that (thankfully) reached to the ground and the Miss Shannon's blazer.
I chose to sit in the back of the room while she took attendance. When "Lydia Deetz" was called, I shyly raised my hand, eyes lowered to avoid the stares of my new classmates. They obviously knew that I was a newcomer. She called the next girl and I put my hand down. When I finally had the courage to look up, I noticed that most of the girls had already turned away, but some continued to stare at me. I lowered my head once more, but I kept my eyes raised. One of the girls was abnormally short but had a huge head of orange hair that fanned out. Her blue eyes hid behind a pair of colossal Coke-bottle glasses. Another was abnormally tall and had a huge nose and buck teeth. Her hair was long and light brown. Though they may have been the oddballs in the "looks department", they seemed nice enough. Their surnames must have started with early letters in the alphabet because I never heard their names called.
The next order of business was handing out schedules. Mine read as follows:
Deetz, Lidia
1988-1989 School Year
D/O/B: November 21, 1977
Class Schedule
Homeroom: Rm 210, Ms. Kraznee
Hour 1 8am-9am: Mathematics, Rm 210, Ms. Kraznee
Hour 2 9am-10am: English, Rm 101, Mr. Reed
Hour 3 10am-11am: Gym, Gymnasium, Coach Donahue
Hour 4 11am-12pm: Lunch, Cafeteria
Hour 5 12pm-1pm: Sewing, Rm 314, Mrs. Rodgers (Semester 1); Home Economics, Rm 315, Mrs. Shergold (Semester 2)
Hour 6 1pm-2pm: Science, Rm 203, Mr. Hogsworth
Hour 7 2pm-3pm: History, Rm 107, Ms. Williams
I let out a small sigh. They spelt my name wrong again. I learned to get used to it, though. After all, "Lydia" was a tough name to spell. Not really. I scribbled out the first "i" and replaced it with a "y". Then I actually looked at the classes I had. A quiet groan escaped my mouth when I saw that I had math, of all things, first hour. Math was my worst subject and, quite frankly, it was extremely boring. But my lips curled into a small smile when "Science" came up as my second to last class. Science was my favorite subject, but at the same time I hated dissecting animals. Still, it would be nice to end the day with a subject I liked.
I remained in my seat after Ms. Kraznee dismissed homeroom since my first class was hers. Only three other girls, two of them being the girls that were looking at me, remained seated. Within a matter of minutes, the rest of the class entered and sat down. Ms. Kraznee stood and began taking attendance in her dull drone. The first girl to be called, Clare Brewster, was not present. A girl named Victoria was called, followed by the girl with the Coke-bottle glasses. Her name was Prudence. The girl with the overbite was next. Her name was Bertha. It wasn't until she reached my name that Clare decided to show up to class. Her big poof of blonde hair definitely caught my attention. Her skin was much darker than natural for someone with her color hair and bright blue eyes. Her lips were curled into a wide open smile.
"Sorry I'm late, Ms. Kraznee," she loudly said in her obnoxious valley-girl accent. "I was just at the salon getting my hair done." As she said this, she bounced her stiff hair with her palms. "Isn't my new do just ravishing?" Ms. Kraznee let out a low cough.
"Thank you for joining us, Miss Brewster," the old woman croaked. "Please take a seat."
"Certainly, Ms. Kraznee," responded Clare as she sauntered up the aisle. As she neared the back of the classroom, I took out Frankenstein and began reading it, praying that this girl would realize how boring I was and would go sit in the front. But my plan failed. "In fact, I think I'll take this seat," she added, pushing a finger into my desk. When I looked up at her, the smile on her face had morphed into an angry frown and her eyebrows slanted in towards each other. "Get out of my desk, New Girl," she commanded. Normally, I would have done just so, but something strange came over me. I felt my chin pulling my head up so I was staring her straight in the eye. My lips parted, forming words that were not mine.
"No," I replied. "I kind of like this desk." A few gasps rose from the class, including one from my own mouth. What was I doing? Was this some epiphany I was having about confidence? Now of all times? I watched as red seeped onto the frazzled girl's cheeks. Her eyes were wide balloons that were threatening to pop any second now. I felt a small smile curl on my lips.
"I don't think you heard me correctly, New Girl," she gritted, slamming her palm on the desk. "Get. Out. Of. My. Desk." I let out a small laugh.
"Your desk? Really? Is your name written on it?" I heard myself tartly respond. Something wasn't right. I knew that you weren't supposed to use that remark unless your name was actually on the object in question and, as far as I could see, "Lydia" was not written on the desk.
Clare was about to give the expected, "Well, I don't see your name on it," when she paused and stared at the desk top with wide eyes. My gaze followed hers. Lo and behold: "Lydia" was spelt out in small black spidery letters in the top right-hand corner of the desk. Clare's jaw slowly dropped open. Perplexed myself, I stared up at her, worried that she might report me to the teacher for vandalism. Getting revenge seemed to be the last thing on her mind. Now her entire face was red hot.
"Sometime today, Miss Brewster," Ms. Kraznee scolded her. The class burst out into giggles. Outraged, Clare let out an, "UGH!" and stormed towards front and center, the last seat available, and plopped herself into the chair. As Ms. Kraznee turned towards the board, the blonde glanced over her shoulder and leered at me. I thought that whatever was possessing me had finished, but apparently it wasn't. I briefly stuck my tongue out at her, and then reached into my bag to grab my notebook and pencil. The interior of the bag was quite chilly, and at first I believed that it was my cold water bottle, but my hand remained cold even when it had been sitting out of the bag for a while.
The notebook I took out had black and white vertical stripes. I tilted my head to the side as I held it in my hands. I couldn't recall buying it. The general store only sold mono-colored spiral notebooks. Perhaps Mother bought it before we left New York City and snuck it into my bag as a reminder of our old place.
For the remainder of the hour, I took only a few notes. My mind was preoccupied over what just happened. I couldn't conclude what came over me. For a while I believed it was the little people in my brain saying that it was time for me to stand up for myself and gain some confidence. But the little people in my brain wouldn't just say that! What was the motivation? Did my dismal thoughts about lifelong isolation convince my brain staff to make alterations? Was my dream of having a friend overcoming my insecurity?
"Wow, Lydia," Prudence said when she and Bertha approached me after class, "that was amazing! I mean, no one has the guts to stand up to Clare Brewster!"
"Yeah! How'd ya do it?" Bertha added. I shrugged, giving out a small nervous laugh.
"Well…uh…l-like my mother always says, you've got to take the upper hand in every situation or else people will walk all over you," I responded rather timidly. The girls smiled. I smiled back, feeling my eyes light up ever so slightly.
Whatever was going on, it was working wonders.
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To my dismay, Clare was in my lunch hour, but so were Bertha and Prudence. We happened to be in the largest lunch time, so all of the tables were filled outside by the time we reached the courtyard.
"Guess we'll have to eat in the bathroom again," Bertha said forlornly. The lanky girl turned and began walking towards the main entrance with Prudence in tow. I was about to follow them, but out of the corner of my eye I spotted a nice shady tree at the end of the courtyard. I turned to face them.
"Hey, you two!" I called. "Why don't we go sit under the tree?" They turned around, their eyes following to where I was pointing. The smiles that popped up on their faces told me that they had warmed up to the idea.
"EEEEW!" Clare cried from her spot. "You're actually going to sit on the ground?! Don't you know how dirty it is, Lydia?" My smile melted away as I turned towards the evilly grinning girl. Girls looked up from their lunches and stared. All was quiet. I blinked a few times before turning to face Bertha and Prudence, who were standing away trembling nervously. I couldn't let Clare win. She was trying to embarrass me in front of as many people as possible. I sucked in a deep breath. I had no words to snap back at her, so I just continued walking towards the tree. I knelt on the grass and began unpacking my lunch. Bertha and Prudence stared at me like deer standing in the headlights.
"It looks clean to me," I said with a small shrug. That seemed to satisfy the pair and they walked over, setting down their own lunches on the grass. Mother packed me a vegetable wrap with celery sticks and vanilla yogurt. She made the tortilla herself, so I picked off the extra pieces and tossed them into the grass. Soon enough, groups of ants came along to roll the little bits away. I noticed how Bertha and Prudence squirmed uncomfortably whenever they caught sight of a bug, especially the beetles that lived on the tree. They seemed even more shocked when I didn't recoil like they did at the presence of the insects. They were just bugs. What's the big deal?
The long lunch hour ended and I separated from the group. Bertha and Prudence had Home Economics while I had Sewing. I had a feeling that Sewing was going to be my easiest and best class. Luckily, Clare was not in that class, so I was safe from her jeers for the time being. I was able to wind down a little bit and loosen up. I didn't have to worry about learning how to thread the needle. I didn't fret over the sizes of my stitches. I didn't struggle with trying the string off. Our assignment for the day was to sew two a patch to a larger piece of fabric. I did this in a matter of minutes and read for the rest of the hour.
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There were only two hours left of school. A lot can change in two hours. Someone can completely change her look. Another can completely change her reputation, or watch it change.
I excitedly entered my Hour 6 class with Bertha and Prudence next to me. They sat at a lab table together and I placed myself at the table behind them. For a while I thought I was going to have to do the first lab by myself, but the final girl showed up late.
Great, Clare was my lab partner.
She didn't seem too thrilled with the idea either. In fact, she even tried to switch tables with another girl, Sonya, but Sonya insisted on working with her friend Emily, so Clare and I were stuck together. She turned away from me and fluffed her hair in her pink hand mirror. Figuring it was the only way to get things done, I did the lab by myself. It was rather simple, just distilling wood. Maybe if we got an A on the project, Clare would not be mad at me anymore. I didn't really want to be her friend, but I didn't want anyone hating me.
While I was doing the lab, I did not notice the wavy movements in my bag, which I had kept on the table. It was too late when I realized that a small group of beetles had crawled into the bag. I pulled out my purple notebook for science class, causing the family to spill out. A silent gasp escaped from my mouth and I frantically tried to gather the little things before Clare saw them. She appeared to be too preoccupied with her hair. She hadn't even noticed that two of the beetles were crawling up her arm. Eyes wide, I quietly and gingerly tried to grab the insects and put them in my cupped left hand. The four I held in my hand wiggled and squirmed, tickling my hand, and I had to bite my tongue to prevent myself from giggling.
"EEEEK! THERE ARE BUGS ON MY ARM!" Clare shrieked as she tossed the mirror in the air. She hopped out of her seat and began jumping in hopes of shaking the poor beetles off of her. Most of the girls in the class burst into laughter at Clare's strange behavior. Bertha and Prudence stared wide-eyed. I frantically tried to put the other beetles back in my back, but they kept scrambling out of my cupped hand. Clare's wild, angry eyes turned towards me. My body froze. A couple beetles jumped out of my hand. "Are these your bugs, Lydia?" she scoffed. "Are they your friends?" A few whispers travelled across the room. I bowed my head, my face hot with scarlet. The evil blonde let out a triumphant laugh. "Only a girl as weird and disgusting as you would keep…bleh…beetles in her book bag!"
"What's going on back there?" Mr. Hogsworth called, obviously oblivious to my turmoil.
"Nothing!" Clare sang back. I watched her glare at me, smiling demonically, before sitting down again. I looked at the ground in shame. My face still felt burning hot. Pressure built up behind my eyes. My entire body was trembling. There was nothing I could do or say to defend myself. It was over. Clare won. When the bell signifying the start of the last hour rang, I sprinted out of the classroom, avoiding all of the girls in my class, especially Bertha and Prudence. I didn't care if I got in trouble for cutting class. I couldn't face the murmurs of spreading rumors. I ran into the bathroom. After tossing the beetle family out the first floor window and letting them fly away, I locked myself in one of the tiny bathroom stalls. I sat curled up on the toilet. My hair draped over most of my face. I peeked through the crack between the stall wall and the door on occasion, seeing my wide uncovered eye's reflection in the mirror above the sinks. I waited in the silence.
When the bell rang to end the day, I did not leave the bathroom. I remained in the stall until the voices outside died down. Once I was certain the school was empty, I stalked towards the entrance, making sure that no one saw me. I fumbled with opening my bike lock because my hands were still shaking. I finally managed to free my bike from the rack and quickly peddled away. I didn't bother to go to the cemetery. This time I went straight home, pumping my legs as fast as they could go. I sped over the fixed bridge and up the hill. The entire world seemed to be spinning when I parked my bike. My hair fanned out ever so slightly from the blazing wind. I could feel tears squeezing out. I wiped them away instantly. I couldn't let the tears escape yet. I ran inside, not bothering to remove my Mary-Janes. I just kept running through the halls, up the stairs, and into my room. I wasn't safe yet. I fell to my knees, sniffing back mucus, and crawled around in search of the loose floorboard with the hidden brass key. My limbs were shaking. I found the key and ran to the attic stairway. My bag bounced against me as I ran. My legs carried me up the stairs, sometimes tripping over the wood, but I kept going. My trembling hands fumbled with the key and struggled to turn it. Finally, I tripped into the small room and shut the door with a slam, pressing my back against it. The key fell out of my grasp. With my back still against the door, I slowly allowed my body to slide down. I bowed my head, letting it land in my waiting palms.
And I cried.