The Corner (11 page)

“Isn’t this impossible?”

“What do you mean?”

“Firearms has been outlawed in
this country since 1966,” I pointed out. “As part of a series of
reforms implemented by the Democratic Coalition Party after they
took over the government through winning sixty-three percent of the
seats in Parliament. Others included elimination of pension for
civil servants, abolishment of compulsory conscription—”

The rude guy cut me off, “Hey,
that was just an analogy.” He looked as if a bomb had just dropped
onto his head. “When do facts and history come into the picture?
Wait a second, those are not in the first year’s syllabus.”

“I know the entire history of
Accastle.” Though my interest lay in subjects related to wars, I
thought that the appropriate approach to the study of history was
to first learn everything about my own country’s history before
going on to read up on the others.

After blinking his eyes once, he
howled in laughter. “That’s cool. Unbelievable. You can tutor me in
history.”

Uh no, I had said too much
already.… It was the first time I had the chance to talk about
history, so I guessed I got carried away with it.

“You’re blushing,” he
teased.

That particular comment of his
was absolutely not needed. He really should stop looking at my
face. I paid no heed to him and took out a Mathematics textbook to
hold it up before my eyes. He couldn’t see my mug anymore.

After I had read five words on
the page, the book was snatched away from my hands.

The obnoxious boy flipped
through the pages, pretending to show great interest in its
contents. “Let me see if the syllabus is still the same. You won’t
mind, yes?”

I did mind, a lot. With my eyes
on my textbook, I was thinking of amicable ways to get it back.

“I know I’m hot. But you don’t
have to stare me,” cooed Jareth.

Rendered speechless, I clenched
my fists and immediately looked away. Upon noticing my reactions,
he began to make a nuisance of himself by asking all types of
intrusive questions about my school life and hobbies, edging me to
answer them and challenging me on the knowledge of history—he lost
to me, naturally. He didn’t cease to frustrate me when we were
reaching my bus stop, which was about fifteen metres away from my
apartment. And he even insisted on alighting from the bus with me
when I told him that it was fine not to.

That was the final straw. I
refused to budge after we had gotten off the bus. “My mum will
scream at me if she sees me with a boy. So you can go back
now.”

He shrugged. “Fine. I stay here
and watch you until you get into your apartment building.”

“It’s broad daylight,” I argued
in a hushed tone.

Safety was definitely of no
concern. Mainly due to the low crime rate of my humble but clean
little neighbourhood, full of willow trees, rows of well-maintained
shrubs and reasonably spaced buildings that were painted in
mismatched, fruity colours. Actually, all the areas in the west of
Accastle reported considerably lower homicide rates as compared to
the rest of Accastle, not counting in the uninhabited north. I
figured that my parents’ insistence on staying there was attributed
to the safer environment despite the higher property price and lack
of amenities in the west.

“I want to make sure that you
get back home safe and sound,” he explained.

Feeling exhausted from the
ordeal I had just went through, I had no strength left to banter
with him. “As you please …”

Getting ready to walk off, I
remembered how Jareth had saved me and actually bothered to send me
home. He had no obligation to do all those. Clasping my hands
together in sudden nervousness, I said, “Thank you so much.”

He smiled. “No problem”—he
paused—“uh, how about exchanging our numbers? To stay in
contact.”

“My mum forbids me from
exchanging numbers with anyone outside my school,” I replied
without thinking. It was embarrassing to disclose that I was still
a mummy’s girl. He must be assuming that I hadn’t weaned off milk
yet.

The guy rubbed the back of his
neck while laughing in an uneasy manner. “Okay … it’s okay.”

“Bye.”

“Yeah, bye.” He waved his
hand.

With my head bowed, I turned to
march away, not looking back once.

When I finally got back to my
little haven, my mind began to replay those moments spent with
Jareth. He irritated me to no end, but the feelings of irritation
were easier to stomach than the others: sadness, isolation and
hopelessness. At least, it displaced some of my blues.

The more I thought about it, the
more determined I was in showing my appreciation for Jareth’s help.
The prospect of being stuck with Jareth for an hour to give him
tuition sounded daunting. So I decided to give him a gift instead.
Something that was not expensive and practical.…

An idea hit me. I rushed to my
study table and pulled out the last drawer to rummage through the
piles of A4 notepads. All were the plain type meant for jotting
down notes, except for two that had fanciful designs on them. I
brought them during my elementary school years, for the purpose of
writing letters to my friends. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any
friends to put those notepads into use.

Spotting a blue triangle among
the stacks, I pinched it to drag out the notepad. It was a blue one
with cute pictures of dolphins lining the left and right sides.
Holding it to my chest, I pulled out a gel-based black pen from the
pencil holder, all set to start writing.

While
waiting for the rest of the cohort to each secure a seat in LT5,
Mandy jumped at the chance to talk to me about her progress with
Anton. Since I took an earlier bus to purposely avoid Anton, I
didn’t see him in the morning to find out anything from him.

“He’s poised and intelligent,”
Mandy gushed over him. “I was so nervous when I started talking to
him.”

That was a real surprise. I
couldn’t tell at all. How did she pull off the cool, confident
look?

Her smile stretched wider. “Ah,
he was friendlier than what I thought. We had a great conversation.
But he’s all business during practice, ignoring everyone.”

The most important thing was
that he accepted her as a friend. Given her outgoing personality,
he would be attracted to her in no time.

Hoping that she didn’t spot my
trembling hands, I tried to inject vibrancy into my voice as I
remarked, “Getting gold is serious business.”

Mandy nodded with eagerness.
“Yeah. I understand.” Then she drew in a sharp breath. “Oh yes, I
almost forgot. Just now, a senior told me that she saw Jareth and
you hanging out at Queen’s Street yesterday, and”—she raised her
eyebrows—“he was holding your hands.”

I answered without hesitation,
“Must be a case of mistaken identities.” Jareth had never held my
hands, so it was impossible for that couple to be us.

Even the seniors knew that dude
… he must be very popular with them. Though how did they know of my
existence? I was just a nobody. Then I remembered the curious faces
of my schoolmates when the principal was barking at me. So … I had
gotten famous, in a bad way, after that incident. My heart sank at
the thought of that.

Mandy furrowed her brows while
staring at me in the eyes. “Are you sure? You left the place early,
and he didn’t attend his training yesterday. Too much of a
coincidence …”

I nodded furiously. “Very sure.
I hardly know him. How could we be holding hands?” A second after I
had said that, a fleeting flash of memory surfaced on my mind.

Right after the close brush with
death, I had totally lost it. Trembling and burying my face in my
hands, my brain was scrambling for answers and making sense of the
situation. I was scared. I didn’t want to die. Death was more
horrifying than what I had imagined. I almost died. Why did she
lure me to it? Didn’t she regard me as a friend? My mind kept on
repeating those thoughts and questions.

What was going on around me at
that time? Someone seemed to be standing in front of me, constantly
repeating my name and something else that I couldn’t recall. Was he
holding my hands? Appeared to be so … or maybe Mandy’s words
planted that scenario into my subconscious. Most likely the latter
since that moment seemed so vague and unreal.

Mandy made a slight pout and
shrugged. “Okay. I believe you. That’s what friends are for.”

I squeezed out a smile.
“Yes.”

“Anyway, I got Anton’s number.
Will message him later to ask if he’s free to have lunch with me on
one of these days.”

If only I had that kind of
bravery to pursue my love.…

“Good morning, Year One
students. You are gathered here to attend the specially tailored
lesson on Etiquette for Ladies,” announced Mrs. Clarkson—who was
our Home Economics’ teacher—through the microphone located at the
front of the lecture theatre.

Lots of girls groaned in
protest. The teacher ignored them and continued, “This video will
highlight the need for these lessons.”

After she stepped aside, away
from the centre of the raised platform, the projector was turned
on. The antique-looking device began to project the slideshow onto
the huge, white screen in front of us. Displayed before us were
pictures of girls sitting in various styles: cross-legged on the
floor, putting the feet on the table, knees not sticking together
and Figure Four Cross position.

We laughed throughout the
presentation. Most of us were guilty of unladylike behaviour.
Without boys around, many of us were acting like boys. The
vice-principal and the male teachers weren’t around. Should be
because listening to that kind of topics was quite awkward for
them. The principal appeared to be displeased with our lack of
seriousness. I had to admit that I liked to see her frown.

Once the slideshow had come to
an end, Mrs. Clarkson took the centre stage again. “All of you are
girls. Girls representing the proud name of Lawson Girls’ High.
What will others think of our school when they see our girls
behaving like what you’d seen just now? Everyone will assume that
we didn’t teach our students well!”

As if to spite the teacher,
Angela, a student from Class 1/1, rested an ankle on the floored
leg’s knee to demonstrate the Figure Four Cross. She actually
looked quite natural in that pose due to her tomboy demeanour and
looks—her hair was cut in boyish close cropped style. All of us
knew who Angela was because she had appeared on the newspapers as
the nation’s top student of my year. Mrs. Olsen must be very
thrilled when Angela chose Lawson over other equally prestigious
schools, such as Oxland High.

We couldn’t help giggling at her
defiant ways.

“This is not funny!” shouted the
incensed principal.

We immediately crammed up. The
principal charged up one of the stairs running through the length
of the auditorium. Noticing that she was glaring at me, I looked
down at the stained, off-coloured beige table. I was regretting the
choice of sitting at the far end of a middle row of seats, where
she could easily spot me and get to me.

When the fuming old woman
reached my side, she yelled, “You, stand up.”

I lifted up my head with
trepidation, hoping that her command was directed at someone else.
How naive I was to even presume that it could be anyone else but
me. I was a good target for her to vent the anger on. Moreover, I
was blacklisted already. So why would she choose another one who
might retaliate?

I obeyed her orders without a
word.

“It’s bad enough that you’ve no
social etiquette.
And now
, you’re making a mickey out of the
school’s good intentions to educate you on this. How can you
improve with that attitude? Are you fit to be a student of my
school?”

As she continued on the barrage
of insults aimed at me, I focused on staring at my shoes, as I felt
too ashamed to look at anyone. Why me? All of them had laughed. It
was Angela who had started it. Why didn’t the hag confront her
about it? Oh, Angela was the top student; the principal couldn’t
bear the thoughts of losing her. Mrs. Olsen always wanted to kick
me out of Lawson anyway.

I hated that old witch. She
should get out of my life. It was impossible for me to stay on with
her around.
She needs to be gone. Yes, she needs to be gone. Be
banished to hell or somewhere far, I don’t care.

That rhythmic tune of wood
creaking assaulted my ears.

Still keeping my head down, I
rolled my eyes to see a figure in white clothes standing beside
Mrs. Olsen. When the one in white lifted up her hand and reached
for the principal’s left hand, the painful croaking of the wood was
amplified. As the girl closed her right hand around the wrinkly
wrist, her ghostly fingers sank into the flesh. With that hand
curled into a fist, the apparition made a tugging motion with her
right arm. Taut, blood-coated tendons were jerked out of the
principal’s forearm.

Another violent tug, and the
tendons were tore out. Like the rubber bands being stretched until
they broke, the snapping sounds slapped at my eardrums.

Horrified, I glanced up to see
Mrs. Olsen still scolding me and looking perfectly fine. The corner
girl moved her hand towards her victim’s neck as the ends of her
delicate lips twisted up to form an eerie smile.

I didn’t want to cause any
death.
Not that. She needs to stop. No.

I closed my eyes, afraid to
witness what would happen next.

The principal then berated,
“What’s this? I’m teaching you the right attitude to adopt, and you
do this. You’ve no respect for authority! I’m going to give you a
warn—”

Mrs. Olsen’s sharp scream sliced
through the tense atmosphere. My eyelids flew open, and I realized
that the ghost was gone. The principal was clutching her limp left
arm and shrieking at the top of her voice.