“Um… actually, I was thinking of heading to the nurse’s office.”
“Oh, are you okay?”
“I’m, um…” I furrow my brows and say, “What are you doing here, Miss Moore?”
“Principal Rahman wanted me to bring you to her office, but if you aren’t feeling well, I could?—”
“It’s fine,” I mumble.
I follow Mrs Moore down the stairs and towards the office. A few stragglers duck their heads, racing to their classrooms. Blue eyes, brown eyes, green eyes, grey eyes, they all notice me to where I want to be nothing more than jelly—a puddle hiding on a cloudy, rainy day. Yet, it’s not raining. The sky is clear, and the sun glares upon us, burning my back.
We enter the office, and the office ladies—names I can never remember—notice me. Their brows soften, and they look at me sympathetically. Everyone is looking at me. Aside from my friends, who treat me the same, everyone else looks at me like a broken, fragile doll.
It’s funny, actually. I wouldn’t have minded that treatment when I was hurting. But I’m not hurting anymore. I’m no longer afraid of my life, and that’s when sympathy and sadness sweep over me. When it’s already too late, and when I want everyone to leave me alone.
Miss Moore knocks twice. The principal calls us into her office, and Miss Moore opens the door and gestures for me to enter. As soon as I’m inside, Miss Moore closes the door behind me, leaving only me in the room with Principal Rahman.
“Noya, good morning.” She gestures toward the seat. “Please make yourself comfortable.”
I sit and place my hands on my legs, my fingers clenched, tightening on the grey tights. The last time I was here, I exposed myself to Principal Rahman to take down a high school bully—Sarah Jane.
“I brought you here because I wanted to make your school experience as comfortable as possible,” Principal Rahman declares.
I like how she doesn’t beat around the bush and outright says what she’s thinking.
“I can reschedule your classes if it’s too much or you want to be isolated. I can put you in a room with a teacher’s aide, and you can work privately. Or, if you wanted, I could get the teachers to make up worksheets—at least for the rest of this year—and you can pick up a work bucket once a week from the office if coming to school is too much.”
I shoot my brows up at the offer. “Can you do that?”
“Of course.” She smiles. “I’ve been working on a program, actually, for students with learning difficulties. Iknowhow difficult it is to get to school. Some days, students won’t want to go. And so I created work buckets. You have already been through a lot this year, even though you aren’t in that category. If you want to work from home for the remainder of the year, no one will hold it against you.”
“Are you sure?” I persist.
Principal Rahman’s eyes soften, and she nods once, firmly.
“It’s just…” I bite my lip. “I thought I could do it, but I’m petrified.”
“Honey, this school is protected well. I ensured more teachers were on school grounds and even hired security because of those parasites swarming outside the gates.”
“No.” I shake my head. “You have it wrong. I fear whatImight do if someone says something insensitive to me. I think it’s too early for me to come back here. I’m not really in my right state of mind, and people who are gawking at me are getting to me more than I thought.” I lean forward, and my brows knit together. “I’m really sorry for being a burden. But is it okay to accept that offer and go home now?”
“Of course. I will contact the teachers, and we will work out a plan.” She goes into her drawer and takes out an early leave note. “Conner gave me your number already. When the work buckets are done, I will message you. After that, come by the office and the front desk. They will give you the work bucket. As for today.” Principal Rahman signs off on the note. “Go home and rest, Noya.”
“Thank you,” I say as I take the note.
I wait in the office, not daring to leave the school grounds and call Mrs Jones. I don’t want to bother Conner, and I know that if I send him a message now, he’ll run straight into the office and bludge the rest of the day. I don’t want him to miss more school than he already has. His exams are next week. He needs to concentrate on them and not on me.
Mrs Jones enters the office, and we head to the car park. I apologise for calling her. She brushes it off. We head out, and as we head out, my heart skips when she turns right and away from the apartment.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“To my place. Your birthday present is there.” She leans into me, reminding me of how Conner always leans in and smiles. I see where he gets it from. “I’m sorry I didn’t visit on your birthday. Conner told me he wanted you all to himself.”
“Oh… sorry.”
“Noya, it’s okay. I know my son.”
“He’s a weird one,” I admit while looking over the cars that drive past us. My throat tightens when I imagine my dad’s car following us. Taking a deep breath, I tear my sights away. “Thank you for bringing me into your life, Mrs Jones.”