Angel Face, Devil Thoughts

Daggers of dread stabbed through me as the school came into view. The maroon buildings, three stories high, looked like something out of a horror movie. I couldn’t possibly imagine how anyone could find joy in such a haunted place. I suspect whoever invented high school did so with the sole intention of sending teenagers straight to their own personal hell. I should’ve been happy; at least it was the last school day. We had a long weekend. But my joy was lost somewhere deep inside me, swallowed by the terror that gripped me.

I couldn’t wait to pass grade twelve, to rid myself of the torment. Two more years, I told myself. I wouldn’t be here long. I couldn’t stop my heart from gradually creeping into hyperventilation; the nerves ate away at my conscience. As the school’s gate greeted me and a white board with bold, underlined, black letters announced South Coast Academy, for a second, fear rocked my body. I couldn’t move. I had been was diagnosed with clinical depression after my father died. I had a bad habit of over-analysing things.

Of course, nothing could hurt me there. South Coast Academy was the best school in Margate, where the sun shone down on us more than it rained and the stormy days always came with the blistering heat. It was not like I was still bullied. It wasn't like the teacher would try to hurt me like in my old school. I was perfectly safe. I'd tried to convince myself every day, but the attack by my teacher two years ago left me terrified of going to school. The bullying left me scared and not fully comfortable around the other students.

I’d asked my mother to drop me off five minutes before reaching school. My reputation was a negative one; everybody already knew about my lack of social life—- the girl who had starling flaming- red hair, too-big green eyes. So no one, under any circumstances, could ever find out my mother was the school’s janitor. No sixteen year old wants her schoolmates to know that her mother cleans toilets—, that I live in a one bedroom house with my mother and younger brother... And God forbid they found out I was studying through a scholarship. It was too embarrassing, especially if you intended to make friends.

I had been in the school for two depressing months and no one bothered to talk to me unless it was school related, like paying me to do their assignments. I didn’t mind. It was time well spent, money that could help my mother pay for my brother’s medical bills.

I walked through the gate just as the bell sounded. I sighed.

“Elizabeth, did you do my assignment?”

I turned around and came face to face with a crowd of people. I owed them homework. I nodded.

“What’s your name?” I asked. I’d arranged the work alphabetically.

“Amy,.” She answered back, rolling her eyes and looking at me like I was the ground she walked on and I should worship her. She must've been one of the popular girls at school.

I took out her sheet and she gave me a fifty. “You’re a doll.”

“Next,” I asked. I didn’t want to be late. I had to finish before the final bell rang, and I couldn’t afford to be late for class.

“Jake.”

I found his answer sheet immediately. When he took the four page assignment, he looked at me curiously.

“What will I get for this?”

“An A plus,.” I answered nonchalantly.

“Are you sure?” His suspicion was insulting.

“You’ll get a refund if you get anything less than a ninety-five percent.”

“In that case…” He fished in his back pocket for his wallet. Jake was one of the richest kids in my school and drove the most expensive car. He rummaged through the thin pockets of his wallet and handed me a hundred. “Will that be enough?”

I nodded, suppressing my smile.

“If I get above eighty, I’ll give you another fifty.”

I nodded.

“Don’t tell anyone about this,” he instructed. “I would’ve done it myself, but I have a social life to lead. I don’t expect you to understand.”

I shrugged.

“Arlene.” The girl murmured her name in a soprano voice. “Hurry, will ya?”

It went on like that for the next seven minutes. I shoved the bills in my backpack and ran to class.

I was the last to enter the room, and Mr. Watson gave me a stern look and allowed me to take a seat at the back. He wasn’t a man of many words, and I was his favourite student: the only one who actually listened when he talked, the only one who ever did her homework. I normally sat alone in science, except when we needed to do something as lab partners. Only then would my classmates would fight for the desk next to mine.

Mr. Watson cleared his throat and asked us to take out our textbooks. “Can anyone tell me what they know about genetic engineering?”

The room was silent, and everyone turned to look at me:; the freaky nerd who sometimes tripped over her two left feet and couldn’t finish a sentence without stuttering.

I sighed. “I’ve c... covered the whole unit,” I informed Mr. Watson.

He smiled. “I know.”

I was about to answer when he held up his hand and said, “During the nineteen eighties, scientists developed a new branch of biotechnology known as genetic engineering, or recombinant DNA technology. Genetic—…”

A knock at the door interrupted him.

As Mr. Watson boomed “come in,” I read through my notes, but I couldn’t concentrate, trying to figure out what was happening to me. Confused by the overpowering compulsion to look at the intruder, I started to lift my head, peeling my eyes away from the notes scribbled untidily against the white sheet in a permanent blue marker. Anxiety seeped into my pores, and without realizing it, I turned my attention to the front of the room. A nervous snigger escaped me as I wiped my suddenly sweaty palms. As I peeked through the curtain my hair formed in front of me, I felt like I might explode with apprehension. How odd.

“…new student,” Mr. Watson was saying. “Would you like to introduce yourself, kid?”

Suddenly nervous I lowered my gaze again, fighting against my paranoia.

“I’m Bradley.”

When he said his name a shiver ran through my spine and something very weird touched the ramparts of my stomach very delicately. I frowned as Goosebumps prickled my fragile skin and the fine hairs on the back of my neck prickled. I shuddered. That was weird. So weird.

“Take a seat Bradley.” Mr. Watson said eager to continue with the lesson.

I looked up just in time to see a black haired boy walk my way, his tan skin smooth and flawless; his eyes were lifeless, black orbs so dark they made my skin crawl. His hair was naturally messy as though he’d just gotten up from bed. He looked angry, as though his tense clenched hands could land a fist in anyone in his way. I couldn’t look away though from his perfect face. Transferring my attention to what lay past his incomprehensible reaction; I was curious what could have such an effect on the most attractive being I had ever seen. As I locked eyes with the boy in front of me, my breath rushed out of my lungs, booting my heart rate into overdrive as I felt the colour drain from my face. Staggering backwards onto my chair, away from the impracticality, I was unable to look away, equivalently unwilling to believe. Chaotic, illogical thoughts dispersed around my head, forcing my already deranged mentality even further off equilibrium. Something must've been wrong with me. I told my subconscious angrily. He was just a boy. Attractive, but still just another boy. If I were alone I would've kicked myself but in a classroom that full, people would definitely wonder at my sense of mentality.