Room 103: Homeroom, Math, Literature, History. Room 115: Science. P.E.: outside. ("What is P.E. anyway?" I wonder aloud. Cayenne hadn't really explained it.) Homeroom is every day; the other
classes alternate. School starts at 8 a.m. sharp. Pick a classmate- just the one, and follow said classmate
around to get an idea of where to go, if you need to.
But only before lunch break because Flatline classes (the ones that you're taking) are mornings
only. You can do whatever you like in the afternoons, provided you don't interrupt the Element and
Vector classes- or go into restricted areas.
Your brother will actually be back in two days, on Saturday. The trip is ending early.
No signature.
The note is resting on the desk when I wake up.
A shiver runs down my spine. Somehow (you know, in the common sense kind of way), the knowledge that someone was in the room while I was sleeping is deeply unsettling. I always lock the door before I go to bed. How'd they get in?
More importantly- did they see?
A hand reaches for the bandage on my shoulder.
No. The bandage is still in place, no sign of being pulled away from my… wound.
There is a faint light- barely enough to see by- coming in through the window. I turn to the door, noticing for the first time that a clock hangs above it. 5:43. More than an hour, more than two hours, even, before class starts, and no reason not to go early. Might as well try not to get lost, right?
I splash some water on my face, brush my teeth, and ignore my hair. Then, I pull my hoodie and boots on, and get going. Should I…? I stop in the doorway, staring at my backpack. After a moment's hesitation I shake my head. Then I leave. (For real this time.)
I'm the first one there, despite misreading the map and taking several wrong turns. I snort derisively at myself. Who else would be up so early? I find the door open, and head into the almost-dark room, settling towards the back on the side with the windows. The clock above the door (is there some sort of rule about putting clocks there?) says that I took about twenty minutes to get here.
I stare out the window, hood off for once.
Neo-Kowloon is visible in the distance, across the water, but from here, I don't see any lights besides the electric ones. It's almost beautiful. My eyes close against a wave of emotion- so similar to, yet different from, the one that hit me yesterday. Is this how everyone else sees?
"Freak…" A memory tries to open. I slam that particular door shut.
I shake my head and clasp my hands together in front of my heart. My chest aches. Once my eyes open, I force them away from the view.
Suddenly, it seems tainted- like I sullied it just by looking.
Another twenty minutes go by, just me and my attempts to steady my breathing, before someone else enters the room.
I see them before they open the door, and pull my hood back over my head. Or, rather, I see their light through the thin wood: deep, royal blue; large, with a bright center and a wispy exterior; no clashing swirls of color on the edge. Until she enters; then pale yellow blooms and fades with her obvious surprise. But it's tolerable, not as overwhelming as new people and their unfamiliar colors usually are.
The woman is dressed like a nun, only her clothing has replaced black with blue. "W-Who…?" She calms down, seemingly remembering something. "The new student. What are you doing here so early?"
I smile. It's contrite, apologetic. False, as always. "Sorry, I couldn't sleep and the door was open, so I figured… I didn't mean to startle anyone by coming early…" My voice, sheepish- though quite a bit more genuine than the smile. "Was I not supposed to…?"
The woman begins pulling pages off of her clipboard. "That's alright," she smiles at me, reassuringly. It's genuine too. "Just turn the light on next time."
I nod, though she's not looking and I'm certain there won't be a next time.
Half an hour until class starts.
"You're Mikono, right?"
"…Yes." How does she know that?
"I'm Suomi Conebi, Homeroom and History, but everyone just calls me Miss Suomi. Headmistress Crea told me you're only here for the next week or so, so don't worry about introducing yourself today, okay?"
Ah, the headmistress. That makes sense. "Alright…"
The conversation sputters for a moment before it flops and dies.
Awkward.
Apparently, Miss Suomi agrees, because the wispy edge (edges? Can a sphere even have edges?) of her light turns a pinkish color and she searches for a topic. "W-Where are you at your school?"
Uhhh...
"I'm not really sure; there'll be make up work to do once I get back, so…" Maybe. They (my three tutors) might not even realize I'm gone yet. Probably don't.
She hums. "I just need to make sure you'll be able to keep up with Neo-Deava's curriculum."
"Oh." Well, I have no idea what they teach in public schools, but, "I'll do my best."
Wait a second.
I'm not staying, and doing grades for me would just be a hassle, so why-?
Other students begin to file in, just as the bell rings. I avert my gaze from the front of the room to the empty chair directly-
A bright, pastel orange fills my vision and my eyes water, even though my hood is up. I've never seen a light this bright before- including that little girl from yesterday- and this one's almost the size of the headmistress'.
Who is this?
I squint at it, trying to find out. And then I lean as far away from the seat in front of me as I possibly can, eyes widening before I can force them to shut.
There's no way.
Ghosts don't exist. Or, if they do, I've never been able to see them, even with all the strange things my eyes notice (for example: the weird glowing lights that everyone but me seems to have on their bellybuttons).
I've watched the shows, been to places that are supposedly haunted (gotten locked in some of them overnight, too), and nothing. Nada. Zilch. Absolutely nothing to say that someone (something?) is there. And yet…
There's nothing in front of me, nothing to say that the orangey glow is coming from a person.
All I can make out- barely make out- through the light is a doll.
As in a stuffed, plushy, green, cartoony-looking frog doll with red shoes and a yellow necktie-thingy.
The longer I stare, the more pink floods into the orange, the more the brightness fluctuates, until I'm forced to avert my eyes- my still closed eyes- to the window.
The day goes downhill from there.
The classes are fine. Too easy, actually.
Miss Suomi says, "Alright class! Current events first!" And has the class discuss a recent event for Homeroom.
A busty girl with glasses and a really long braid raises her hand sharply. Her silver-purple light lets off tiny arches of what could be anger, but dark specks appear on the surface and it pulses in a way that screams worry- or fear. "New Venice." I flinch, very conspicuously. Oh.
Fear. Most definitely. It's the only appropriate response.
"Oh," says a pig-tailed blonde, "I heard about that!"
No kidding?
(Ah, sarcasm, the natural defense.)
"You mean the one that the Suzushiro clan-" I clasp my hands until the knuckles are white and force them under the table as the third girl speaks up "-is having trouble with?"
Miss Suomi gives some input here, distracting the girls from the case, rather than letting the whole thing devolve into ghost stories. "The serial killer? Any particular reason why you would bring that up, MIX?"
The redhead with the braid says something and her rapid light-then-dim pattern keeps up but, quite frankly, I'm not listening. None of the details they have are exactly right, since the actual story can't ever be released to the public. But they don't know that, and I'm not going to correct them.
I only know because Father's on this case. Yes, on the case, as in: yet to be solved. And the cases that he works on, being head of the clan and all, are always the top-secret, dangerous, so-scary-that-you'd-rather-wet-the-bed cases.
It was also the start of all that- That.
I spend the next ten minutes of pretending I don't exist… while simultaneously trying not to hyperventilate and end up in Sylvia's office again. And not letting anyone see how freaked out I am.
That's the important part.
Luckily, Miss Suomi moves onto History, and the subject is the war- the one against the Altair Alliance that ended a few years ago. Basically, a whole bunch of propaganda, some of it featuring Sylvia. I decide not to participate here either, since my tutors have covered all of this in-depth since I was four. An hour and a half of distracting myself- of staring out the window and sneaking glances at that pastel orange light (which doesn't fail to turn slightly pink around the edges, every time) from the corner of my eye.
The doll seems to feel me looking.
Mrs. Reika comes in after that, and tests the class on a book I read years ago and liked enough to keep on my bookshelf back h… at the family compound. The test is multiple choice, and I'm the first to finish. Fifty minutes, after turning in my test, of receiving glares from a girl in a bikini-top-thing, whose teal hair almost matches her orb of light. Why is she glaring? Who knows.
And then it's time for lunch.
Cayenne has told me before that most students look forward to lunch. I've never had any reason to, as I always eat lunch alone in my room. (Or with Cayenne on the rare occasion where he's actually home. Which is always more awkward than exciting.) So I just grab an apple and claim an empty table, in keeping with tradition.
"Who're you?"
I'm staring out the window again, this time taking in the view from the cafeteria. I don't even realize the question is directed at me-
Until a hand slams down on the table in front of me.
It's involuntary, the way my head jerks around. And then tilts so that I'm staring up through my bangs to drown out as much of the harsh teal light as possible.
Bikini-top girl leans over the table in front of me, orb broadcasting general irritation. The girl herself seems almost polite in contrast when she demands again, "Who are you?"
"I-" Wait a second, I don't have to answer when she's being rude. And besides, "Isn't it more polite to give your name first?"
Then again, nothing about me has ever really inspired the "be respectful" sort of vibe that came from every other family member.
"Freak!" A girl wearing a pink paper bag over her head, standing next to bikini-girl. "We asked first!"
"Freak!" A memory I really don't want to get into, and have to force away.
Oh. There's actually a small crowd over there, all girls, since the majority of the guys' class was apparently on that field trip.
I very eloquently answer with, "Why are you wearing a bag over your head?" Admittedly, it's a very clean, nice-looking one. The eye-holes kinda curve like they're smiling, which doesn't really match her tone…
Her orb, this lime-yellow color, shoots off little solar flares in anger while an embarrassed pink bleeds in from the outer edge. "Why are you wearing your hood indoors?" she snaps.
Touché.
"Just answer the stupid question. Who are you and what are you doing here?" Bikini-girl again. The crowd behind her voices their own, similar questions. Looking at them, even with the protective barrier of my hair, is painful. They're too bright and a lot of their colors don't go well together.
And again, my first question? (Statement, whatever.) Not answered.
But I'll be the bigger person if it'll get them to go away. "I'm Mik…" I stop cold, goosebumps rising on my arms.
Orange. Pale orange, right there, moving away from the lunch line behind the gaggle of girls in front of me. There's an apple floating next to the doll's arms.
Seriously, why is there a ghost here? How is there a ghost here?
Pink fades in around the edges of the orange. How does it even feel embarrassed? It's a ghost for Mendeleev's sake! And what does it want with an apple?
"'Meek?' What kind of a name is 'Meek'?" Bikini-top begins laughing and I remember to crowd just in time for them to start giggling along maliciously. Bright lights- flaring, brightening- too many, too colorful…
My face flushes and I stand. The abrupt movement sends the chair clattering loudly to the ground. I turn away from them, start walking.
Forget the ghost and its weird motives. If I look at them any longer I'll faint again, and wouldn't that just be lovely?
"Hey, I wasn't done talking to you-!" I hear Bikini-top yell as I rush through the cafeteria doors. My footsteps speed up. I run through the halls, chest heaving, vision swimming.
What made me think that this was a good idea again? Why would I even try to-
"Eek!"
I slam into a bright orange light. Some small part of me is collected enough to wonder, Ghosts are solid?
The rest of me just panics.
I stumble backwards as the doll falls from the air. Several feet away from where it lands, the pale orange light rests near the floor. The apple keeps rolling. What's going on?
A whisper reaches my ears as I see pink infuse itself into the orange: "S-sorry!" The ghost sounds young, and almost upset enough to cry.
I stare for a moment longer, and the pink swirls in further. But the light doesn't move. A friendly ghost? How do I even respond to this…?
I hear a sniffle. Oh, no. No. No, no, no, no, no.
Great job, Mikono. Go ahead and scar some young girl for the rest of her afterlife.
"I- uh- It's okay!" I reach for the doll and the voice squeaks. But she- because it sounds female- still doesn't move. "Here…"
The orange orb shifts, slowly, apparently standing- if the change in height indicates anything. The stuffed frog is pulled from my hands with a soft, "T-thank you."
Silence.
I stare at her. (And I assume she's staring back, but really, she's invisible so how would I know?) What's the proper etiquette for this kind of situation?
"U-um," she says in that fragile-sounding rasp of hers. "I know th-this sounds silly, but can- can you see me? 'Cause it seems like you do …"
"I-"
"Mikono, you spaz, what are you looking at?" Cayenne's voice; a memory from the first time I realized there was something wrong with my eyes…
The first time I realized I was a fr- that word.
"I-"
"Daddy's coming!" I remember grinning up at him, only to frown at his puzzled expression.
"What?" His head whips around to the door, listening for any sound to break the stillness that remains when we stop talking. "Mikono…"
The deep, whispy orb of light grows closer. "Mm-hmm, he's on the porch now."
"Mikono, there's nothing th-" The door opens, revealing our weary father coming home from work. Cayenne watches me as Father draws closer.
"H-how…?"
Everything had started then. Everything.
Including that. The memory creeps up again- "Freak." My breathing hitches. A squeak from the other side of the room. Bright, colorful lights, boxing me in. Holding me down. "You worthless little-"
The ghost interrupts the meltdown-in-progress before it gets farther, "I-I'm sorry. Y-You think I'm a ghost, d-don't you?"
I pause and take in a deep breath, forcing the memory away. She's a ghost. So she'll have no room to judge me; I'm only as cree- weird as she is.
"I can sort of see you?" I clear my throat. That sounded rather scratchy.
"'Sort of?'" She giggles, the plushie bouncing up and down ever so slightly. "I g-guess that explains w-why you're looking at my stomach."
I feel heat rise to my face. "Was I?" So the light stays anchored on someone's bellybutton even after they die? I lift my eyes a bit. "Is this better?"
Wait a second. Did she just ask if I think she's a ghost?
She giggles again. "No, that's my m-mouth. G-give me a second."
Okay? This officially the weirdest thing I've ever done. Congrats, Mikono. Your strange, messed up life just went sideways. (What am I going to run into next, Count Dracula? The Wolf Man?)
The orange light flickers once. Twice.
And then a young redheaded girl shimmers into view, still nearly see-through. She smiles even as my eyes widen. "I'm Yunoha. And th-this is Eruka," she gestures to the frog. "What's your name?"
"I'm Mikono. Are you a ghost?" Because a ghost wouldn't ask, right?
But then how was she invisible?
"Wh-What? No!" she whisper-shouts, shaking her head and tightening her arms around the stuffed frog.
Huh. I thought, for sure… "Oh. Okay."
And then my eyes roll back, and I can distantly hear Yunoha's dismayed sound as I, for the second time in as many days, faint.
…
Maybe this really wasn't such a good idea after all.
A vaguely familiar bed. A white, tiled ceiling. My gaze darts left, though I don't turn my head, and I notice an open window.
Somehow, this is giving me a strong sense of déjà vu.
"You're okay!"
I bolt upright at the words. Head whipping around- and now the room's spinning, too- until I realize that someone's sitting in the chair on my right. "…Yunoha?"
"Yep!" She sounds so cheerful- no, relieved, since that's what her light indicates. And she's invisible again.
Wonder why… Wait a second.
"Yunoha, how did I get here?"
"U-Um-"
"Well, basically, you decided to reunite with your beloved floor, which freaked out our lovely invisible girl that you can somehow see." Sylvia is sitting in another chair, the one by the desk on near the window. And she seems to be eating a meatball sub. I sit up, adjusting my hood automatically. "I was on my way to the cafeteria for lunch- you wouldn't believe how easy it is to do that when all the guys are away- and found you embracing that lover of yours."
Yunoha's light brightens and she lets out a giggle.
"Oh." What exactly does one say to something like that?
"Yeah. By the time I finished dragging you back here and actually made it to the cafeteria, this was all they had left!"
I feel kind of bad about that. Of course, "this" refers to the meatball sub, three corndogs, a rather large helping of salad, an apple and two cups of chocolate pudding. And a drink. So instead of apologizing, I just shrug; it's not like she didn't get anything.
Sylvia puts on a mock-wounded expression (though I can only tell because her light isn't acting irritated). Then she breaks out laughing.
Yunoha isn't far behind.
My lips twitch.
Word Count: Approx. 3,200