Dusk to Dawn

DuskI SCRUNCHED MY NOSE as the first fat drops of rain hit my face. I hated gloomy, humid days like this, where it rained non-stop, and everything looked dark and hopeless. I squeezed myself deeper into my jacket, it was a little large for me, but it shielded me from the cold, and I pushed my hood down until I could barely see under it. I’d broken my umbrella weeks ago, and my father had forgotten to buy me a new one. He forgot more important stuff, like food and school supplies, so an unreplaced umbrella wasn’t a surprise. I walked faster, hoping the bus taking me to school wouldn’t be long. As I passed the school on my street, I spared it a glance. I’d spent two years here, but I rarely missed it. I’d had more fun at the small annex they’d moved us for the final two years of primary. Huge yard, tall trees, far fewer teachers to supervise us… It had been heaven. Yet the best school years had been the fifth and sixth grade. I’d taken an exam and become a student of the most prestigious high school in my town. We were the first set of secondary school classes they’d added, in an effort to educate better high school students. Again, I had the blissful luck of being relegated to another annex. An even larger yard, less supervision, and a backyard neighbor that had a huge cherry tree. We’d often jump the fence to steal the juicy, sweet fruit. We’d get caught just as often, and the grumpy man who owned the tree would chase us away, dangling his walking stick at us. Now that school I missed! Seventh grade meant we’d been moved to the main building of our beloved high school. I’d been thrilled at first, but then the small classroom in what was basically a basement killed my enthusiasm. It was too dark, too cold, and too lonely there. And I hated going. Just as I reached the pedestrian crossing next to the bus stop, the bus pulled out. I swore under my breath and crossed the street, finding shelter under the half-broken, rusty roof over the one bench at the bus stop. It didn’t help much as rain seemed to come at me from every which way. To my delight, the next bus came only a couple of minutes later. Fast enough that I didn’t freeze my ass, but not fast enough to prevent a decent crowd from amassing at the stop. I squeezed my way inside and tried to find a comfortable position. Riding the bus was a bit like being out at sea on restless waters. The bus ride wasn’t long; twenty minutes slow crawling, heading downtown. My home town—no, I wasn’t going to call it a city, no matter what they said—was small enough to make it anywhere by bus in maximum forty minutes. Still, I sometimes thought if I walked to school, taking the shortcuts I knew, I’d make just as good a time as the bus. And I could keep the money I paid for tickets every day. When the bus pulled into my stop, I squeezed my way out of the still significant crowd and breathed in the cold autumn air. Nothing like a bus ride to make you love any weather, even rain. I turned on my heel and headed to the traffic light. I stood there, tapping my food and silently encouraging it to turn green. When it did, I dashed out into the street and speed walked through the small park, along the huge farmers’ market, across another busy boulevard, and stopped in front of a bakery. This was the bakery. Everything they made was absolutely delicious and it was on my way to school. Minutes later, with two pieces of pate—it never ceased to surprise me that these delicious puff pastries with their cheese filling had the same name as the liver variety you spread on bread—and an apple strudel flooding my senses, I dragged my feet to school. It was a two-minute walk, but I always turned it into a ten-minute stroll, enjoying my breakfast in peace. I needed the respite before facing everyone. Being the youngest in my class and among the short, skinny boys didn’t do much for my rep. My classmates were okay, most times, but some of the older boys in high school… Those guys were a different story. If my classmates were with me, boys or girls, I was safe. Whenever they caught me roaming the hallways alone, they always picked on me. Especially those in the classroom next to ours. They were in the eleventh grade and some really mean bastards. Calling me a girl all the time, or squirt. Asking me if I was getting enough food. They were a treat. Just as I was gulping down the last of my strudel, I was pushed forward. I used the person in front of me to balance myself out. “What are you doing, brat?” the woman I’d used as a stopper asked, anger and annoyance twisting her tired face. “Sorry, ma’am, I tripped.” “Watch where you’re going, kid.” I sighed in relief when she turned around and left. I heard laughter somewhere in front of me, but didn’t look up. I just rested against the school’s concrete walls, and was glad no one could see me from inside. “God damned bully,” I hissed, cleaning the pastry crumbs off my jacket. I took a few deep breaths and started again, hoping the asshole who’d pushed me was gone. To my relief, as I stepped through the freshly painted, dark green, iron gates, no one paid any attention to me. I slalomed through the scores of students banded together here and there, avoiding anyone who was walking without watching where they were headed, and managed to dodge all possible encounters. I rushed up the wide stairs that led to the students’ entrance, holding my breath. The large concrete balustrade guarding the right-hand side of the stairs was the prime spot for smokers. They’d find a place to lean against and puff away, chatting with friends and thinking they looked cool. The rest of the plebs who weren’t fast or popular enough to smoke there, would stand opposite them, leaning against the cold wall of the school. Once inside, I took a left, then went down the stairs to my right, to the end of the corridor. Down I went, finding my way to the cramped classroom, smelling of wet wood and paint, and probably nothing sanitary. It was warm though, the fact that only part of one wall was on the outside of the building kept it warm and cozy. Up on that wall, kissing the roof of the room, were our three windows. Large enough to let some light in, but not too much, otherwise we’d run the risk of getting used to a good thing. We had to keep the lights on most of the time. I dropped my backpack on my desk—first row from the window, third desk, left-hand seat. My jacket went to the hanger at the back of our classroom. I was early, as always, so I was alone. There were some backpacks and pens spread on other desks, but no kids in sight. The girls in my class were usually the ones to come in early. It was always about a boy they had a crush on. They had to be in school early, so that they could spot the one they liked when they arrived at school. I always found it ridiculous. I gave sitting down a thought, but I felt too restless to do that. I’d have gone outside for a walk, but I was too afraid of who I’d run into. Not everyone was safe to be around, not for me anyway. So I stepped on my seat and from there on the radiator appended to the wall. From there I could open the window and look outside, my head and shoulders the only part of me sticking out of the wooden frame. I loved these first moments of a school day. Everyone was busy getting somewhere or talking to someone. They paid no attention to me. I had to wait for our first recess to deal with those people, the older students who loved to tease me. Early in the morning, I could pretend the constant hum of voices and the silhouettes moving across the yard were not there. I could look at the gray sky and enjoy the freedom such large expanse promised, even when shrouded in clouds. Out of the blue, two figures plonked their asses against the small wrought iron fence that went all the way around the building, about a meter and a half from my window. I snarled at the pair blocking my view. A girl was leaning on the fence, chatting with a much taller guy who smiled down at her. He looked huge. Tall, broad-shouldered, gorgeous…. Everything I wasn’t. Everything I hoped I could be. The girl kept gesturing, her hands moving wildly as she told whatever bullshit story she just had to share that morning. The guy was eating up all her words, grinning like an i***t. His eyes never left her, probably enthralled by her enthusiasm. He was standing very close to her. Only siblings and lovers were that comfortable in such proximity. Friends always kept more distance, unless they were of the same s*x. Fascinated by their exchange, I kept my eyes on them. The guy was mesmerizing, and, if pressed to admit it, they made a cute couple. He had long hair, pulled back in a slick pony tail. He was strong, manly, not a wispy thing like me, looking like I was about to break if I hit something hard. I wanted to know him, be near him, learn from him how to behave so that no one bothered me. I wanted him to be my friend. Maybe keep me safe from all the crap I put up with. What the hell was I? I was a scrawny kid who was getting s**t from older boys. I wasn’t a f*****g damsel in distress. I growled, anger bubbling up. It needed an outlet, and for some reason, the couple in front of me was what my target locked onto. “Just kiss her already and move the f**k out of the way. You’re blocking my view!” My voice echoed in the yard, or at least that’s what it felt like. Like everyone heard, and everything went silent. The guy looked down, past the top of the girl’s head and bore into me. His dark eyes were set and cold. I shivered. What the hell had I done? “I am going to come over there and kick your ass, you brat,” he threatened, and his deep, powerful voice stunned me. I was beyond trembling. My eyes bulged out and I thought I should maybe run, just make it harder for him to come and kill me. “Asshole kid,” he said, then he pressed his lips in a tight line and left, his girlfriend in tow. As she turned to leave, she saw me, mouth gaping and all, and she grinned. Was that a little wink? I was so screwed. I jumped down from the radiator and propped my hands on my desk. I considered running, but I was tired of dodging bigger guys who wanted to hurt me. He could come and do his worst. Hopefully I’d survive. I slunk into my seat, took out the notebook and textbook for our first class—history with our homeroom teacher—and shoved my backpack inside the desk drawer. Then I remembered I needed something to write with and fiddled with the side pocket where I kept all my pens and pencils. I set everything in their designated place, book and notebook on top of each other, my favorite pencil and a rubber in the embedded slot in the left-hand corner of the desk, and I stared forward. I was tense, despite my attempts to relax by getting ready for class. It usually worked, setting everything just right, keeping my mind off most things. I took a few deep breaths and tried to enjoy the quiet while it lasted. My colleagues poured in in small groups, and took their seats. Great, I was going to have an audience when that huge guy finally made it here and tore me a new one. Then the bell rang, and I dared to hope I might survive till the next recess. Our teacher came and went, and so did the recess, but my heart still hammered away, an occasional shiver wrecking me. I was terrified of leaving my classroom. Except for a quick dash to the toilets midway through classes, I didn’t move. I stood there, ignoring requests from my classmates to play with them outside, my own thirst, and the food in my backpack. Unlike my tormentors from the classroom next to ours, this guy I’d made an enemy of could come out of nowhere. I had no idea what year or class he was in. That meant nowhere was safe. I couldn’t dodge something I couldn’t see coming, so the classroom was my shelter. At least until it was time to go home.