THE JOURNEY OF SHEIRA HART

15 | Explains The tap-tap-tap In The Auditorium

Who would have thought I’ll be back in school? It wasn’t a place that I hate. It wasn’t someplace that I love either. But it was a place I admit I find peace. Probably some of the people I like were there. You can say I was indeed someone without a single bad record in school. I never showed up late. I never experienced cutting classes. I submit projects and homework on time. I never got a failing grade. I did my best. I wasn’t the top student in the class. I was just one of them. But I personally think I am not as smart as the others. They’re the ones who could get the lessons at a glance. Meanwhile, I have to study weeks before the exam so I could understand it fully.

I never imagined myself barging into a class because I was late and have all the eyes on me. I never imagined it until now when Mikhael di Angelo, with his annoying smirking face, entered the classroom without announcement.

“What the hell are you doing?” I hissed. The classroom was very quiet. And when I looked at who’s standing in front, I instantly knew why. Mr. Francisco is the most-feared teacher in this school. And he’s currently teaching the class History. I looked at my classmates and they were trying their best to stay awake in his class. Mr. Francisco was valiantly teaching them about how some war happened years ago. I let out a low laugh.

“He looked like he’s ready to wallop anyone who falls asleep in his class,” I heard Mikhael commented and I just sighed. He isn’t wrong, though, as we saw Mr. Francisco picked up an eraser and threw it to the guy at the very back of the classroom. The guy, which I recognized as Harry, jolted on his seat and the whole class was stifling their laughter as they saw the chalk powder on Harry’s hair. It covered half his face too.

Mikhael was laughing very hard at that. I just shook my head.

“He looked like he didn’t get enough sleep,” Mikhael said and he looked at me. “I think I know why.”

I looked at Harry and he looked like he was about to cry. He probably stayed up all night wondering what happened to that juice that deliberately spilled on their shirts last night.

“If you want to sleep, go home Mr. Andreas.” Mr. Francisco’s voice was low but it contained enough bite to silence the whole class.

“My apologies, sir,” Harry said. Mr. Francisco stared at him for a few more seconds before he continued to teach.

“Wow. He’s intense.” Mikhael walked in between the desks and went to the front, where there’s a vacant chair. He stared at it before he pointed, “You actually sit at the front?” He looked at me and I didn’t respond. “The obituary wasn’t lying, then. Only smart students sit at the front.”

He then walked towards a girl seated beside me. Melissa. She was scribbling something and I didn’t need to know what she was writing when Mikhael di Angelo read it aloud.

“Things we need for the summer camp…” he read aloud from Melissa’s paper. But of course, I’m the only one who can hear him. “Tents, barbecue, drinks…” he continued and I just shook my head. Before Mikhael could finish the whole list, Melissa folded it into two and passed it to the one sitting behind her. Marjorie.

Opening the paper, Marjorie grinned and wrote something on it, probably writing whatever’s lacking on the list.

Melissa and Marjorie are the popular girls.

I know you’re supposed to want to be one of the popular kids, but the truth is, I never wanted to be something like that (not that I would be popular even if I wanted to). It just seems like it would be exhausting, trying to keep up with all the rules: smile, but not too wide, laugh, but not too loud, wear the right clothes, play the right sports, care about things, but never care too much.

As if on cue, Mikhael made his way toward’s Marjorie’s desk. He could be a popular kid, I think. With his dark brown hair, bright blue eyes, and good humor, he could be someone popular with the girls. And guys.

He shot me a devilish look before he perched on the edge of Marjorie’s desk.

He could be popular but he’s dead.

“Cards, camera…” Mikhael continued. I saw Melissa folded another sheet of paper—an invitation, I suppose. I can tell by the bold letters and the pink pen. Melissa waited until Mr. Francisco had his back on the class before she reaches to the side to pass it. As Melissa did it, her hand went straight through Mikhael’s chest. He looked down, as if offended, then hops off Marjorie’s desk. He went over to Nancy’s desk, the one whom Melissa just handed a letter of invitation over. He examined the multicolored pens. Our History teacher must have mistaken them for highlighter pens but they’re just ordinary girly pens. The ones you use when making a journal or a diary. Mikhael leans in close and carefully brings one of his fingers to the pens lined across the top. He then poked the nearest pen but it doesn’t move. Or maybe it slightly move but the movement was too little to be noticed by Nancy. I just shook my head as I looked at him.

“What on earth are you doing, di Angelo?”

In the movies, poltergeists can lift televisions or anything across the room. And being a ghost myself made me realize that it takes so much force to move something—even as little as poking a pen or flipping a newspaper. But Mikhael di Angelo, I noticed, was good at doing it. Has he done it before? Or maybe because he’s a man and he has more strength and power than me?

“These your friends?” he asked as he leaned on the desk. I wasn’t surprised how he could lean on something solid. I’m tired of finding explanations to everything I have seen. Probably because everything still doesn’t make sense to me and being dead is something hard to digest even for the fact that I just visited my own funeral and have just read my own obituary on the newspaper.

I shook my head. “I’m not one of the popular kids,” I merely said and he just raised his brow at me before he stood straight.

“I mean,” he gestured his hand to me, “you’re one of the top students, right?”

“And?”

“You should be popular,” he said and marched down the aisle, gingerly poking his fingers to one student’s eye who’s been sleeping. I don’t remember his name but he must have felt something that he jolted on his seat and dropped his books, catching the attention of everybody. Including the teacher.

Mr. Francisco looked at the book and then to the student who’s clearly been sleeping. One could almost see fumes coming out of his nose but then the bell rang. I swear I sighed in relief as it rang. That would mean the student would be free from whatever punishment was Mr. Francisco preparing for him.

“Saved by the bell, Mr. Arthurs.” Mr. Francisco picked his books up and eyed the student.

Saved by the bell indeed.

With normal teachers, the students wouldn’t even wait for the teacher to dismiss them. As soon as the bell rang, they’d pick their bags up and go out. But Mr. Francisco is not someone normal. The class was quiet as he was still in the classroom, erasing the things he’d written on the board. He didn’t say as much as a goodbye. It was until he left the classroom that the students immediately stood and went to their respective groups.

“Ah. Being a student sure is nostalgic.” Mikhael stood beside me with his hands behind his head.

“It sure is,” I said blandly and I heard him scoffed before he ruffled my hair.

“You must have stayed in your house rather than accepting those glitter pen written invitations,” he crooned and I just glared at him. I looked at the group of popular kids talking about their plans for the coming summer vacation. They’re going to have a summer camp. Something I would be invited if I was still alive. Something I would have declined. I stared at them as they planned out everything they’re going to do once they’re there. I could see the look of excitement on their faces. Something I couldn’t see before. Something I should have experienced before.

“Being alive could be nostalgic sometimes,” I heard Mikhael said and I just looked at him.

He shrugged. “You’re thinking out loud,” he said and started walking out of the classroom. I followed the students. The hallway was packed with students all going in one direction.

“Where are they going?” he finally asked before he gasped as someone just walked straight through him. He pointed to the student who walked away. “I still couldn’t get myself used to that.”

“The auditorium. The Principal is going to give some inspirational speech to urge the students to have a fruitful and productive summer vacation,” I said blandly and stepped aside when I felt someone behind me is coming. Sure, being a ghost, you can pass through walls and doors. But when something passes through you, it’s a different story. Like you’ve been hit by an invisible punch but it doesn’t hurt. It just feels weird. And Mikhael was right. I, too, couldn’t get used to it.

“That’s very doubtful,” he answered and I couldn’t agree more. Chances are, most of the students would be too excited to care about the speech. Their minds would be wandering somewhere about what cute dress will they wear once they go shopping, or what bikini to wear once they go to the beach, what video games will they play, or how will they spend the rest of the summer vacation once all of the plans are done. For some people like me, planning what to do during the summer vacation was not a problem.

Staying at home. That would be the first plan. If there’s a spontaneous family trip, cool. The only difficult part is when I have to think about whether to go with them or not. It wasn’t something I’m very fond of doing and sometimes, I’d be forced to go with them as my mom’s secret glared would find its way to my direction.

“Fine, I’ll go,” I’d say and they’d all smile at that.

I sighed and turned left. Down the stairs and along another hall, along with the traffic of students.

The auditorium as packed with students, ready to listen to the Principal. Or not. I roamed my eyes around and saw the students settling down. It was when I stood on the side, near the bathroom, that I felt someone tapping my shoulder.

Tap-tap-tap.

I looked at Mikhael who was busy scanning the surrounding. I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Was that you?” I asked and he looked at me.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Did you tap my shoulder?” I repeated. He gave me a confused look and then I realized he’s standing too far to reach my shoulder. I looked behind but then nobody’s there. Nobody except Mikhael could touch me. But Mikhael’s too far from me. It would be impossible for him to reach where I am and he never moved in his position.

I looked at the swarm of students, slowly filling the auditorium. The chairs were all occupied and the faint music of the school’s hymn was played. The auditorium was filled with murmurs and it was when the Principal climbed up to the podium and picked up the microphone that everybody went quiet. It was also when I felt another tap on my shoulder.

Tap-tap-tap.

I looked at Mikhael and he was looking at the stage. I walked towards him. “Did you tap my shoulder?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you want to?” I said. I’m starting to get pissed. This time, I really felt it. Somebody tapped my shoulder and no one except Mikhael di Angelo could touch me. Even if someone did manage to see us, they wouldn’t be able to touch us. So the only probable explanation would be Mikhael di Angelo is just playing a prank on me.

I gave him a look and stood a few meters behind him. He gave me a confused look. “What in the face of the afterlife are you doing?”

“I’m standing here so you won’t be able to play a prank on me again.”

“I am not playing a prank with you,” he said but then both our attention was caught by the Principal’s booming voice.

“Good afternoon, students!” he greeted and the students greeted back in a not so like the Principal’s enthusiastic manner.

I glared at Mikhael di Angelo’s back.

I was about to tell him something when I felt the tap-tap-tap again.

Third time.

I felt it the third time. And it wasn’t Mikhael di Angelo. I heard a giggle behind me and I swallowed hard as I slowly turned to face whoever it was.

And the moment I saw who it was, I leaped back, muttering profanity, and bumped into Mikhael who looked at me, confused. It was when he saw what I was looking for that I heard him gasped and muttered something about “Holy chocolate buns.”

Because right in front of us was a woman. Probably older than me by a few years. Her hair was slick black and she was wearing a white dress. She would have looked presentable if not for the bloodstain on her dress and on her face.

A ghost is in front of us. But somehow, she felt different. 

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