basically like a balloon with
drawn facial features. I didn’t say my opinion aloud, of
course.
When the bell rang, we put our
works on a picnic table to let the clay dried and hardened. I ran
my fingers gently across my doll’s face and hair, unable to tear my
gaze away from her. I said goodbye to her before following my
classmates to get back to our classroom for history lesson.
That particular history class
managed to grab my attention, for once. Because it was about the
facts and happenings of the Thirteen-Day War. Even though I knew
everything about that war, which had occurred more than a hundred
years ago, I listened with unwavering focus when Mr. Schmidt talked
about it. Somehow, the ghost standing behind me heightened the
dread factor.
The teacher read aloud from the
textbook balanced on his palm, “The headquarters was besieged by
the invading forces. All the guerrilla fighters were killed, either
during the battles or by execution after being captured.”
A trail of coldness was creeping
up my spine as I imagined the horrors they had faced before their
death.
Mr. Schmidt put the book aside
and took in a deep breath. “The next part is not in the textbook.
Non-examinable anyway. Just sharing some unverified news from the
past.… After the war, the heads of the guerrilla fighters were
found stacked in a corner of a classroom located on the second
floor.”
I heard numerous gasps and
whisperings coming from my classmates.
Kelly raised her hand before
asking, “Is it our classroom?”
I was scared of knowing the
answer. An affirmative one would imply that the corner girl was
related to the wrathful spirits of those fighters. As the feelings
of fear sank deep into my central nerve system, my ears picked up
the familiar deep wailings of the stressed wood panels.
They came from right above
me.
Would she drop on me? Would I be
crushed? But she was a ghost. Ghosts were weightless, yes? Then I
remembered her tender touch when she held my hand. It felt so warm,
real and solid.
Maybe the best idea was to
confirm if she was still at her usual spot instead. Spinning around
to check that corner, I saw her staring squarely at the wall.
The eerie sounds stopped.
“Natalie, relax. It may not be
this classroom,” remarked Mr. Schmidt while waving his hand as an
indication for me to calm down. “And Kelly, regarding your
question, nobody has any record on which one.”
I nodded in an apologetic
manner, feeling embarrassed that I had reacted in a dramatic
fashion.
I was glad that she was behind
me instead.
Chapter 11 Fairness?
My
classmates gathered around the art teacher’s table to find out the
scores they had gotten for their clay figurines. I stood by the
side, waiting for the crowd to thin out before going up to check
mine.
Mandy squeezed through the crowd
to get out. Then she ran up to me and exclaimed, “Congrats! You got
ninety.”
Actually, that was within my
expectations. I would be devastated if I got anything below
eighty.
I looked at Mandy with gratitude
for helping me to check my score. “Thanks. How about you?”
Her cheerful expression didn’t
fade away when she replied, “Got seventy-nine. Pretty good, still
an A, but he could have given me one more point to make an
eighty.”
I hoped that she wasn’t feeling
upset about getting lower score than me.
“Our report cards will not show
the marks anyway. It’s the A that matters,” I consoled.
“True …”
Mandy went on to rave about my
artwork and comment that my score of ninety was well-deserved. I
smiled at her as my pride swelled a little. But at the same time, I
wasn’t feeling at ease with the onslaught of compliments. When I
noticed that only a few girls were hanging around the teacher’s
table, I excused myself and then rushed over to there. I still
wanted to verify with my own eyes the marks I had gotten.
Scanning through the list of
names printed on the left column on a sheet of paper, I found mine
and confirmed
drawn facial features. I didn’t say my opinion aloud, of
course.
When the bell rang, we put our
works on a picnic table to let the clay dried and hardened. I ran
my fingers gently across my doll’s face and hair, unable to tear my
gaze away from her. I said goodbye to her before following my
classmates to get back to our classroom for history lesson.
That particular history class
managed to grab my attention, for once. Because it was about the
facts and happenings of the Thirteen-Day War. Even though I knew
everything about that war, which had occurred more than a hundred
years ago, I listened with unwavering focus when Mr. Schmidt talked
about it. Somehow, the ghost standing behind me heightened the
dread factor.
The teacher read aloud from the
textbook balanced on his palm, “The headquarters was besieged by
the invading forces. All the guerrilla fighters were killed, either
during the battles or by execution after being captured.”
A trail of coldness was creeping
up my spine as I imagined the horrors they had faced before their
death.
Mr. Schmidt put the book aside
and took in a deep breath. “The next part is not in the textbook.
Non-examinable anyway. Just sharing some unverified news from the
past.… After the war, the heads of the guerrilla fighters were
found stacked in a corner of a classroom located on the second
floor.”
I heard numerous gasps and
whisperings coming from my classmates.
Kelly raised her hand before
asking, “Is it our classroom?”
I was scared of knowing the
answer. An affirmative one would imply that the corner girl was
related to the wrathful spirits of those fighters. As the feelings
of fear sank deep into my central nerve system, my ears picked up
the familiar deep wailings of the stressed wood panels.
They came from right above
me.
Would she drop on me? Would I be
crushed? But she was a ghost. Ghosts were weightless, yes? Then I
remembered her tender touch when she held my hand. It felt so warm,
real and solid.
Maybe the best idea was to
confirm if she was still at her usual spot instead. Spinning around
to check that corner, I saw her staring squarely at the wall.
The eerie sounds stopped.
“Natalie, relax. It may not be
this classroom,” remarked Mr. Schmidt while waving his hand as an
indication for me to calm down. “And Kelly, regarding your
question, nobody has any record on which one.”
I nodded in an apologetic
manner, feeling embarrassed that I had reacted in a dramatic
fashion.
I was glad that she was behind
me instead.
Chapter 11 Fairness?
My
classmates gathered around the art teacher’s table to find out the
scores they had gotten for their clay figurines. I stood by the
side, waiting for the crowd to thin out before going up to check
mine.
Mandy squeezed through the crowd
to get out. Then she ran up to me and exclaimed, “Congrats! You got
ninety.”
Actually, that was within my
expectations. I would be devastated if I got anything below
eighty.
I looked at Mandy with gratitude
for helping me to check my score. “Thanks. How about you?”
Her cheerful expression didn’t
fade away when she replied, “Got seventy-nine. Pretty good, still
an A, but he could have given me one more point to make an
eighty.”
I hoped that she wasn’t feeling
upset about getting lower score than me.
“Our report cards will not show
the marks anyway. It’s the A that matters,” I consoled.
“True …”
Mandy went on to rave about my
artwork and comment that my score of ninety was well-deserved. I
smiled at her as my pride swelled a little. But at the same time, I
wasn’t feeling at ease with the onslaught of compliments. When I
noticed that only a few girls were hanging around the teacher’s
table, I excused myself and then rushed over to there. I still
wanted to verify with my own eyes the marks I had gotten.
Scanning through the list of
names printed on the left column on a sheet of paper, I found mine
and confirmed
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