A Serenade for the Innocent

One student in my class is dead.

I mean it figuratively, but with the way he behaves like a living corpse, then you might as well take it literally. I don't understand John. He's not stupid, nor is he getting bullied. Most of my classmates want to befriend him. He avoids people for no apparent reason as if we're transparent! He always sits in the back of the class, listening to the lectures, unmoving and mute.

Now, I'm not a nosy person, but once you saw him, you'd be curious too.

"Good morning, Miss President." The girl says, stuttering, by the time she sees me enter this ridiculously spacious room. They call this thing an office; I call it a waste of space.

I gaze at her, trying to conceal my annoyance. "Good morning," I smiled, pretending to be a kindhearted little girly. I hate this bitch. "Anything new with that garbage can issue?"

"Stephanie, there's a problem. They informed us why they don't want to deliver the-"

"Spare me with that, please." I walk towards my table, hiding my frustration. I am not frustrated with the issue; I am frustrated with her. "Give me something I could control. If they refused our request, then that's too bad, but it's out of our reach now." I scoffed as I pulled my chair, I didn't sit yet. "And how many times do I have to remind you to call me President?"

"I'm sorry, Miss President." She mumbled while balancing her glasses. "Ah, I should tell you that the manager at the convenience store-"

"Enough. We're not talking about that." I interrupted as calmly as humanly possible, trying not to show my irritation in vain. "May I remind you, Miss Claire, about what I said before regarding our affairs outside the school? By something I can work with, I mean associated with the committee. Let's not talk about our part-time job while we're here in the office."

"I'm so sorry, um... they're all on your table. I made the usual setup. Student council related matters are on the left side. On the right are some... unrelated ones. You got another letter from that handsome suitor, Steph!" She chuckled, I didn't.

I glared at the girls standing in front of my table so sharp it could pierce through her thick and empty skull.

I'm sorry, ma'am, umm… Miss President." At least she got the memo.

I then skimmed over the files on my table. It seems that there are only about three important ones once I have to think about among them, so I simply took the important ones and pushed the other minor paper works on the side for me to read later. I leaned my back on my chair as I massaged my eyebrows with my fingers; doing this has been a habit of mine for a long time now, and that's why I don't do my eyebrows.

After pondering on a few vague words on the documents, I signed the ones I agreed on implementing with the signature style I always used: my name, which was written on cursive accompanied by the date today, 09/14/2015. 

After a few minutes of deliberating the few important notes, I took the separate document that my simpleton secretary was talking about; for some reason, personal affairs like this still manage to land in my office. I opened one envelope among countless others on my table, what welcomed me is a handwritten letter in a paper with a vibrant yellow color. Ah, so she wasn't lying, it is a love letter.

Tsk. Again?

I thought these stalker shenanigans were over? Here we go again with the same desperate garbage human beings attempting to tell me how much they want to fuck me indirectly. I don't even want to read it! It's already painful to look at already. Haven't I made it clear how I hate to have a relationship with boys who have dicks for brains? Who the fuck is it this time? I bet it's that Lawrence guy again!

I appreciate their purpose, but I don't like them, so that means no! They won't be able to have sex with me today, and that won't change even in my dying breath!

"All right," I said, again with a sweet tone. It gets painful to pull off if I look at this bitch's face. "Thank you very much; you may leave now." Please get the fuck out now.

"You should head to class, too, the bell is about to ring."

"Bitch, bye," I muttered under my breath, hoping she didn't hear a thing.

I sighed when she left the room. It seemed like I tossed the weight of the world off my shoulders. God, I hate her. I opened the letter that got her so excited. I couldn't be bothered to read the rest of it aside from the closing line which reads as follows:

'Sincerely yours,

Lawrence."

Shocking.

Do you know the best thing about letters written in Oslo papers? It feels so damn good every time I rip them.

I stand up as I tear the glitter-clad letter into pieces. I scoffed when a familiar figure of a man happened upon my attention. Staring from the massive window behind my table, I catch sight of him walking on the school grounds. The curtains have unveiled itself, the lights are open, and the backdrop is ready for the world to see: John Smith enters the stage. He's late again, but that's something I'm already expecting.

As usual, bitches whisper when he walks past them. Look at how they giggle with those blushing faces. Their squeals are so annoying! I am forced to listen to it every single day!

Between you and me, the only distinction the bitches and I below have is where we stand. The class difference that loomed between us shows a distinct battle between one sitting on top of the food chain versus the ones below. It's easy to determine the big difference between us, but it's something John cannot see. Whoever you are, you will never be a part of his priority list; you may be the pope, the president, the queen, the emperor, or the prime minister, but to anyone, he has nothing to say. No matter how big, no matter how influential, no matter how powerful, no matter how popular, and no matter how wealthy a person is, he will be blind to it!

No.

He doesn't care.

"John Smith, you motherfucker, you're doing it again," I said, whispering to myself as I study his movements.

I sat on my chair and scanned my table, that's when I noticed the thick pile of papers all lined up for me to skim. I forgot that this is the reason I remained standing up in the first place. I scoffed as I drowned myself in the thought of having the same endless work by this tomorrow once again.

My position made me realize that a leather chair is not the most pleasant place to sit on. The sofa right in front of my table, however, calms my nerves, it's comfortable. But few want to sit there. And there's a good reason why. If you find yourself sitting on that soft furniture, that means two things: you either suck their dick, or you beg them to fuck you. The latter happens a lot, so I'm the one who handles it. I let the others do the former. They love sucking dicks. That's why they're here!

And that's why I've reached what they haven't. I don't rely on slut's tactics to get on top. And I have a nameplate to prove that. Let me read it for you:

Margaux Stephanie Barnes, president!

I can't believe I made it here alive and unscratched. It gets me all the time, a constant reminder for me and everybody. It's my personal trophy and their personal Jesus. However, right next to it, only a few inches away, are papers. Consequences. Oh power, so easy to gain with a pretty face, so hard to maintain with a shitty attitude.

See, we know one another now! We have an intimate relationship! Since we're getting close now, you might ask yourself why I'm even here if I'm not willing to commit. Some always have a difficult time answering that question. They have essays and boring speeches to present an answer. But they are not me. I only need one word to convey my perspective:

Fame.

It turns me on when they say my name and my face pops into their head. There is no better feeling than being the center of everything!

Although, if I am speaking publicly, I would write the same long essays and recite the same boring speeches I despise. Call it the duality of me; it's necessary to have the people's eyes locked on me.

Then there's that guy: John Smith, the man who has no qualms about what other people speak of him. I shine as I walk down the hallway; meanwhile, he casts looming shadows each step he takes. He is the dullest person I've ever laid my eyes on, and I've seen a lot of dull people. I mean, just look at the people I have to tolerate in my office, good Lord! He's a lazy bastard, yet people idolize him, some even worship him! A man with no character, no ideology to speak of, and no known belief. Is this moron supposed to be better than me? Girl... Bye! The clear inferiority of that man compared to a woman like me is a huge problem that always appears in my deepest daydreams. Thinking about it is just too fucking much at this point! Not to mention, no one seems to understand how serious this is!

Which will take your curiosity the most: the intellectual elite such as I, or the mysterious figure with a shady character? Some choose the former, but the latter is remaining to be triumphant. He eats all the fame for himself, and he's not aware of it. I'm losing to a person who's pretending to be a deaf-mute! And here I am, the icon of the student body, trying to win against him? It's making me feel like I'm the losing side when I do nothing but succeed! The war between us is an uneven match, yet somehow, the losing team is winning!

I mean, he is quite handsome, and I get that, but all these praise people give him makes no sense. Look at him; he goes to school with the messiest bed head I've ever seen! Ugh, come on! I wouldn't even dare let others stare at me without combing a hundred times!

Then there are his large eye bags so droopy that it's impossible not to criticize! I take time and effort to give the treatment my body deserves as if I'm carving diamonds that my skin produces to bring out my natural and perfect luminance. And he's there looking like the very avatar of darkness itself, and that's okay with him? I would rather die than to own his style!

They praise him because of how smart he is, but I can say with pride, even to you, that I am far more intelligent than him. I guess the guy's rich? He attends this school without the need for a scholarship or a part-time job after all! But that reason is not enough! I may not be more affluent, but there are other handsome boys out there far wealthier than his entire clan combined! The attention given to him is off the charts, and he is not qualified for it!

Somehow John is just... He's famous, and I do not understand why! Everybody talks about him, everybody knows his name, but nobody knows anything about him. This man is a blank slate!

A man like him is shoving me off the spotlight? If this persists, he might plan to run as the next president, and he will win. Don't ask me how I come up with such a ludicrous conclusion. Fuck if I know! But I'm not giving this position away, not to anyone, not to you, and definitely not to a guy named John fucking Smith!

If someone threatens to overthrow the ruler of the jungle, she must learn to adapt to remain sitting on the throne. No matter how ridiculous the opponent she needs to keep sitting on that leather chair. I need to keep sitting on this leather chair.

So I've devised a plan against him. I will befriend that little tabula rasa fuck. No, I am not planning to help him fix his miserable life! Who do you think I am, the president of the United fucking State of America? I am doing this because he's the new big thing on the campus! Imagine, if I became friends with the infamous unfriendly guy, then I'd be, like, famous-er than him. I can already hear them calling me the hero who helped out a lonely man in need of a friend! And I'm confident this would somehow work because, you know, he's like, famous for some reason.

Who could befriend him better than his classmate? If that's the case, then I am lucky we are attending the same class. We only spoke when it was necessary, but I noticed he's always gazing at me. Those eyes say he knows I exist; those eyes tell me he has something to say! Those are the eyes of a man longing for a woman's touch. That's good, but not under normal circumstances.

Besides, I'm forced to get involved with every student, and they're forced to suck it up.

He is not an exception.

"Hi!" I said with the grace of a queen as I approached him from where he sits. Helen Mirren would've gagged if she saw me!

But to no avail. The man kept ignoring me. That evasive attitude of him is perhaps the single thing about him worth applauding; John is a great equalizer. He treats everybody like shit. I bet this is how he views our teachers too. There is no social class in his world. However, today is the day we'll change that. I didn't cancel all of my after-school gigs only to find out he'll give me the silent treatment... again!

I sat beside him. "What are you doing?"

"Please, stop talking."

He stands up and walks straight out of the room, leaving me in my lonesome, dumbfounded.

The nerve!

I chase after him. The girl is the one chasing after the boy; he should be disgusted with himself! The fact that I'm pursuing a boy in the hallway is a good enough reason to start a rumor that I'm one desperate bitch who wants to have a taste of that poor loner boy's junk. He tries to escape, but when I pull him towards a dark corner, he knows he wouldn't be able to run away from me anymore.

"Are you going to listen now?" I said as I stood in front of him, his only escape route.

"Please, please, you have to let me go. If he found out that I'm with you... then you'll be in danger!"

I was in the process of telling him how ridiculous he sounded. However, a beeping sound interrupted what is about to come out of my lips.

John took a cell phone inside his pocket. When the light of his phone's monitor hit the highlights of his face, his expression contorted as if he had finally seen the arrival of his inevitable doom. His hands shook unnaturally; it was insane. Sweat drips from his forehead, rolled on his chin until it finally dropped from his jaw. As the first bead of his sweat drops on the ground, so did his jaw, revealing an appalling expression I would never have expected a person such as John Smith could muster to summon. He explored his surroundings with his eyes, panting and gasping as he tried to look for something, or perhaps someone. However, he didn't move an inch of his body, not his head, not his hands, not his chest, not his feet. He rolled his eyes all over in random directions.

I am at a loss as to what is happening, but with the horrible state he's in, I realized it's not right. That message he received scared the living shit out of him. He's fidgeting and panting so much that I thought he's dying.

His movement stopped.

He looked at me.

He looked at his phone.

Then he covered his mouth with his shaking hand, his eyes still glued to the monitor of his phone, slightly reflecting the subject of his greatest horror.

"I want you to leave, or else..." He said, looking at me. Futility plastered all over his eyes, tears readying to burst, fear drowning in it.

"What is it, John? Talk to me! The student council will help you!"

"Just..." John paused, trying to regain his composure as he swallowed his saliva. "Run far away from here, please!"

Is he crying? I've been observing John Smith for a while, but this is the first time I saw him shed a tear.

It made me curious. What happened here could be a blessing in disguise; this could be a good step. With the face mimicking that of a concerned parent to her child, I took a step forward. With a shriek, John Smith took two steps backward as I can see the hair on his skin visibly rise. Perhaps he can see the face of a grinning harpy hiding beneath the mask I wear.

"I am not who you think I am, John! You need to trust us! You need to put your trust in me. What is going on?" John, you better start talking before I'd do something we'd both regret.

"Nothing, please, go! Get out of here!"

At the moment, two things are in my head. What the hell is in that text message, and what am I supposed to do now? I thought the wisest move is to take his phone from him. My heartbeat hasten on the thought that something could penetrate John's high expression!

And so I did. I snatched John's phone from his hands.

"Hey, what are you doing?"

"I'm so sorry, John, but this is the only way!" You better cooperate, or else I'll get you on your knees with my heels on your ball sack.

John extended his hands towards his phone, but, for some reason, he became powerless. He tried to snatch his phone back, but with a soft slap from my hand, his entire body got swooped away with a pirouette as if riding a tornado; his feet failing him, his breathing more massive, yet his eyes still filled with vigor. It's as if something had drained his energy into nothingness, but a sense of irrational determination grants his leer a band of courage. He tried taking his phone away from me by force once again, a commendable move… if only he's shaking too much! He can't resist me if he's that miserable.

"I'm begging you, give it back!"

"I only want to see what's on your phone! I know you can find a way to understand!" You're making this hard for me, motherfucker!

"Please, you shouldn't look at it!" He charged forward once again, but I managed to grab his face with my bare right hand; my thumb accidentally entered his mouth, his sweat greasing my palm, drops of tears rolled down the gaps between my fingers, and his saliva dripped into my wrist. My left hand secures his gadget on top of my bust. "You're going to be involved!"

That's the point. I opened John's phone and scrolled past his lock screen.

"You're going to regret opening that message!" He said as I pushed his face away effortlessly.

And then I saw it.

Taking his phone is not a wise decision, after all.

Even my jaws dropped, and my brows furrowed after seeing it. I understand. The fast beating of my heart fills my body with unfathomable chill because I completely understand now. That was the first time John and I had a common understanding.

It's a text message. In it are three photographs. One was a blurred image of John and me when I sat beside him in the classroom earlier. I scrolled down a little bit to see another photo of us back when I chased after him in the hallway.

"Please, give my phone back." He said, begging with a tortured soul. "You don't want to get involved in this!"

But I viewed more. I did not wish to go on any further but, the heavens are my witness; at that very moment, it felt as if I lost control of my fingers paired with a surreal awareness that I am still the one moving. My mind knows I am moving my fingers, but it cannot comprehend what is making it move. Thus I continued to scroll further into the message slowly, and there I know only oblivion awaits—the third image. I was already expecting it, yet it still made my heart skip a few beats. It was another photo of us while talking right here in this dark, cramped alley. Do you know what frightened me the most?

It was a close-up shot.

I looked around in panic. We're the only ones here. I looked up, looked down, examined every area, every direction, every highlight, every corner, everything the light can see, everything the human eye can perceive, and everything the universe has touched. Everywhere! There was no sound, no flashing, just the two of us before the photos proved me wrong. An unknown entity, a visitor of some sort, someone is here aside from the two of us. Who in the world could perform such sorcery? There was no one between us, no one below us, no one above us, no one around us; there's naught but the two of us here living to bear witness of our conversation. There's no way anyone could've taken that photo. Yet there it is! As my heart pounds loud, I move my head, my body, and my eyes in all random directions to find who's responsible for this.

No one, I caught sight of nobody, just the darkened walls, and the crimson sky.

Maybe it was only a delusion. I refused to believe something like this. Why would the person who sent these photos torment John of all people? With sweat dripping on my face, I scanned the images again. I gasped as I accepted this awful truth.

The photos are all real.

I looked at him. He kept bawling with his reddened eyes as he gazed back at me. I nodded and returned his phone to his hands with a clasp of my fingers. He nodded in response.

"I hope you would find a way to forgive what I did today, John." You better not release those photos and make up some weird rumors, John!

I left without saying a word as I heard him cry alone in that dark alley. I went home. I did not talk to anybody. I ignored my mother's nagging for the first time in my life. I didn't call the cops.

Today, it's just me, and this oh so frightening memory. I bury my face on my pillow while sobbing. That night I dreamt of nothing but darkness.