The Window of Change
Straight into the face of time (Moustache Academy, chapter four)
Where we left off…
I’m about to give Madame Sollemnis an ill-advised smart-ass response when Constance walks up and pokes me in the shoulder by way of greeting, causing me to startle and turn quickly around.
“Whoa!” she says. “Easy there, just saying good-morning,” she smiles, “I didn’t realize you spook so easily,” she teases, putting her hands up in mock innocence. I hear the headmistresses’ footsteps recede and breathe a sigh of relief.
Chapter four
Candace eyes Madame Sollemnis as she walks away, “never mind asking what your problem is, what’s her problem? Why was she already on your case this early in the morning?” she asks.
I don’t want to get into it again, so I shrug my shoulders and concentrate on the interior of my locker.
I notice the overhead lights are now at their full strength and rub my eyes. I think I preferred it when the school was dark and quiet after all, even if it was creepier. Then I remember the phone call I overhead. I’d almost forgotten in my anxious state.
“Actually, I overheard a weird phone conversation when Madame Sollemnis was in her office this morning. She was talking about certain kinds of students making connections and wreaking havoc, and wanting to make changes around here.”
I saw Constance’s entire body stiffen for a fleeting moment, then she seemed to become aware of the change and made a concerted effort to look unconcerned.
“Yeah… weird…” she said, looking lost in thought.
I’m about to ask what she’s not telling me when the bell rings for class. Perfect timing as always, I think, slamming my locker shut.
“K, cya,” Constance calls as she leaves for her homeroom.
She’s always been so upfront with me, and never short on opinion when it comes to the goings-on in this school. Why did she hold back this time?
I’m still wondering this as I sit at my desk and get ready for class to begin.
Time flies
…yet we’re not having any fun.
Weeks pass in a blur of grey. Grey students, grey staff, grey walls, even the weather is grey. I’m not liking Moustache Academy any better, but I’m getting used to the mundanity, for better or worse. Mostly worse.
I’m walking home after school one day when I pass a group of students, many of whom I now recognize, playing a game of pick-up soccer. I didn’t know the kids here even played sports, most of them seem so… well, bland and boring.
The ball rolls out of bounds and is heading my way. I instinctually pop it up with the top of my foot, juggle it a few times, then boot it back to the kid waiting at the sidelines.
The kid — who’s really not a kid — looks surprised. Yeah, he’s definitely not a kid. He’s older than I am. I think he’s a senior, while I’m a mere sophomore.
“You play soccer?” he asks incredulously. I nod. He looks amused.
“I didn’t think your kind played sports,” he says. I’m about to ask what he means by that when I realize it’s unnecessary because I know exactly what he means. ‘My kind’ are the nerdy outsiders.
I sigh, shrug my shoulders, and start to walk on before he and his friends have a chance to ridicule me.
“Hey! You want to join?” he asks. “We could use a midfielder!” I stop and wait for the punchline, but there isn’t one. He’s actually inviting me, not mocking me.
“Sure!” I yell before I can change my mind (or they change theirs). I throw my bag down and run onto the pitch. I’m not the fastest runner, but I’m a hard-working player, and I know the game well. Luckily for me, midfield is my favourite position.
Someone like you
“Hey, stranger!” Constance catches up with me one morning as I’m heading up the walkway to school. “I’ve hardly seen you in weeks, where’ve you been?” she asks.
“Oh, I started playing soccer with some kids after school,” I answer as casually as I can, even though I know she’s going to mock me for hanging out with the jocks.
“Huh. So they discovered you’re an all-star midfielder, did they?” she says without a hint of sarcasm. I pause at the doors, waiting for the usual biting remark that is Constance’s specialty, but she says nothing more.
“Yeah, I guess,” I say, holding the door for her as we head inside.
“Well, are you still coming to the movies with us this weekend, or are you too popular to hang out with us now?” she jokes as we reach my locker.
I stop dead. Oh no, I totally forgot. She reads me like a book.
“Oh. I guess you have better things to do now,” she says quietly.
“I’m sorry, I made plans with the guys and totally forgot about the movies—” I try to explain, but she cuts me off.
“It’s alright, I totally get it,” she says. “I gotta get to class. Cya ’round.”
I rest my forehead against my locker door, cursing my own stupidity. Constance was the one person who made me feel welcome here, and I’ve already messed things up.
© Jillian Enright
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