Chapter 4

"...and I heard the others saying that he left. They were wondering why, and the reason was standing in front of them."

I give a shaky laugh and she prowls on with her monologue.

"Hey, listen. I didn't tell you between Aaron today, no?"

She did, but who cares for an answer?

"Well, he was sitting near the window, and I was concentrating on the precipitate that I had just prepared, and then I turned to search for the Sulphuric acid and I saw them. His eyes! I always thought that they were a deep shade of brown, but they almost looked orange then. Perhaps a trick of light or something. But I have a feeling that it was something different; there is definitely something magical about him. Almost as if he doesn't belong here."

"Alien."

"Shut up. C'mon, have you seriously not a crush on him? I can't say I am not happy that you don't. Most of the girls in the class are hitting on him, and you know, you are like my sister. So I'd have sacrificed him for you if you said you have feelings for him."

No one can defeat her in sweetness.

"No. Go on." I have no idea what she's telling me.

"Oh, where was I? So, yes. He looked so forlorn then. As if he has some big secrets hidden away inside him. He is always joking and dancing and playing pranks on his frit, but that look on his face told me that he is battling some mystry within himself."

It is difficult to concentrate on two things at once, so my Gothic style calligraphy with white marker is almost ruined trying to take in my daily dose of Melissa's lovestory, or should I say love stories? I am rescued, though, as the brown handmade paper that wraps the teacher's register is artistically uneven, and my blunder has a minimal effect. I can't feel gratified, though, it would have been really helpful for Miss Honeybee to stop her reminiscences, as I believe them to be, for a minute or two. It is too much to hope that she will actually help me write Miss Shah's credentials on her register, not that I want her to.

"About done there, Azalea, dear?" Miss Shah asks.

"Yes, Miss. Here. I apologise for the untidiness, you see, it was quite an uneven paper and..."

"No, no, my dear. It is really beautiful. It looks almost as if the words are printed over the paper. It couldn't have been better. Thank you so much. And thank you too, Melissa, dear."

Melissa puts out thirty two of her yellow corn seeds on display and replies with sugar infused sweetness, "A pleasure, Miss. We'll be glad to help you anytime. Sure you need not more help from us? We have a free hour next as well. We'll get bored."

Great.

Miss Shah's eyes flicks to me, and I try desperately to keep a straight face. I don't look at her, but I can feel her lips twitch as well as she try not to laugh.

"Well, if you are not doing anything, you might as well help me sort these forms by their years. Admission time brings on a lot upon me. Glad to have you ladies on my team."

She winks at me. And I bite my lip as she brings her chair near our desk and begins to sort out the forms with us. A look on Melissa's face cracks me up and I try to change it into a cough, but I catch a sight of her scowl and know that she is not fooled.

It is an absorbing work, as we divide the admission forms into three stacks and set down to check their credentials to sort them into the right classes. The forms for the second years are already towering. The desk is not big enough for so many sheets of paper, so I try to sweep away my belongings when one of the forms slips and slides down from my hands. I wedge between the small gap to retrieve it, but my hands freeze a few inches away from it. In the few minutes of the echoing silence that seems to push in from all the directions, I register just one thing: those eyes.

Eyes, darker than the darkest of the blacks, deeper than the deepest of the oceans. I feel hypnotised, my world seems to recede slowly into those eyes, and it needs a sharp pinch from Melissa to feel my surroundings again.

"Ow!" I cry.

"Don't tell me your fat arse got struck down there," she whispers, laughing.

"Shut it. Or you might find yours absent the next time you try to sit down!" I retort.

I straighten up and put the form on the twelfth grade stack. Without sparing a glance at it, I know that the subjects of the applicant too will be the same as mine.