The Corner (5 page)

Mom and Dad would be devastated.
I would be nothing if I couldn’t make it through high school. I
would be tagged as a loser forever. All the girls would avoid me
like plague.

How I wished that there was some
form of sorcery that could make me disappeared from this world,
without any pain and agony. Life didn’t seem to hold any meaning to
me anymore.

After wiping away those tears
that broke out when I was alone in a hallway, I became aware of the
pain caused by the wound. I continued to walk, like a mindless
zombie, while getting a plaster from my bag to slap it over the
bleeding area. The reason for doing so was to stop the bleeding so
that no one would notice it. It didn’t matter to me if it got
inflamed.

When I turned around a corner, I
saw her.

That ghost was standing at the
other end of the dark, windowless corridor lined with rusty
lockers, beside the stairway that led to my classroom. She was
facing the wall, not moving one bit.

I began to walk towards her.
Inside me, there was a fear of the unknowns. At that moment, it was
eclipsed by my need of someone who could understand me or fulfil my
wish of fading into obscurity.

Why are you following me? Can
you hear me? Can you bring me to another world?

There was no reaction from
her.

Face me if you can hear me!

Regret set in the second I was
surrounded by a cacophony of groans. Those sounded like the slow
turning of a wooden wheel. It was as though the wooden planks were
going to snap due to the pressure.

In a sudden, violent motion, her
head was jerked to the side. I could hear the cracking of the
bones, and those sounds were ricocheting in my brain. It hurt.

She weakly rolled her head
backwards to face the ceiling. Then her head cocked further back,
as if in tune with the winding motion of the wheel.

The noise disturbances
continued, as did the tilting back of her head. The rest of her
body maintained the same stiff and straight position. She didn’t
stop in her attempt to face me even when her head was at an
unnatural angle of eighty degrees to the upright position. Her head
kept on cocking downwards.

My eyelids slammed shut.

Stop it!

When I finally gathered the
courage to open my eyes, she was gone.

I made a run for my classroom
and reached there in minutes. I was half expecting to see the ghost
in that same corner. She was, except that she was staring directly
at the back wall instead.

The first
year students were chatting about the prospects of entering the
National Interschool Gymnastics Competition, the impressive
background of our gymnastics coach and of course, how hot the boys
of St. Andrew's gymnastics team were rumoured to be. The name
“Jareth Michael” was mentioned a few times.

As we trekked to the
neighbouring school, I was trailing behind them, thinking about all
the possibilities of things going wrong for me.

Would my shorts spilt between
the seams? Would they feel that I was an uncooperative snob if I
refused to do the stunts? Would I fall? I might break my bones … I
would be missing classes if I got hospitalized.

Given what had happened the day
before, I was intending to go back on my word to Mandy since I was
in no good mood to participate in group activities. All I wanted to
do were hiding in a corner, avoiding those jeering looks and
wallowing in self-pity. However, the girls proved to be a lot more
supportive than what I had expected. They had commented about how
mean the principal was, without knowing a thing about the bus
incident and my injury. Kelly even went on a tirade against the
oppressive figures of authority.

At that moment, I was glad to
have them as classmates. They might not like me, thus minimizing
the interactions with me, but they never made obvious gestures of
ostracism either, unlike my elementary schoolmates. That alone gave
me the extra motivation to stay on in Lawson Girls’ High, never
mind the corner girl and the principal.

Mandy whirled around to check up
on me. “Natalie, are you okay?”

“Yes. Good.” I touched my
loosely secured bangs to confirm that they were well-clipped in
place, ensuring neatness and perfect concealment of my wound.

“Don't worry. I think you’ll do
great.”

I smiled in response, and then
she turned back to chat with the other girls.

A senior student of our school
was waiting for us at St. Andrew’s main gates. When we met up with
her, she introduced herself as Rachel, third year student and
captain of Lawson Girls’ High gymnastics team. A brunette with
unruly, wavy short hair and dental braces, she had a warm, megawatt
smile that could break any form of ice. Maybe cutting an iceberg
wasn’t a tall order for her.

“Hi gals. It’s great to see all
the fresh new faces. Sorry that you’ve to make your way here by
yourselves.” Rachel went on to explain, “I got some urgent admin
stuff to settle with the guys here.”

Almost everyone assured her that
it was okay. I didn’t say anything as it was unnecessary to repeat
what others had said, even though I felt the same way as them.

“Cool. Okay, let’s go. Our
coach, Kenneth, is waiting in the gymnasium.” The senior began to
climb up the sloped road through the main gates.

Though St. Andrew Institution
could match Lawson Girls’ High in terms of age, its buildings and
facilities were well-maintained and in mint condition. Their
outdoor stadium looked impressive. No wonder our Track and Field
team preferred to go there for practices.

The gymnasium was equally
impressive. Its floor was lined with bright blue PVC Gym tiles.
Attached to the high ceiling were countless of bright, white lights
that shone like dazzling stars. With exception of the uneven bars,
all the equipment and fixtures required for men’s and women’s
events were available. And they were all amply spaced from each
other.

A group of boys had gathered
around the pommel horse. One of them was doing a handstand on it
with his hands gripping the handles. The others were either
cheering him on or doing the countdown.

When we stepped into the place,
most of the boys turned towards us. I took two big steps to hide
among the girls. They wouldn’t notice me even when I walked by
myself, but I hated the feeling of strutting around like some kind
of exhibits for people to scrutinize. In addition, my presence
spoilt the wholesome image of our gymnastics team.

Rachel waved to them in a
confident manner. Almost all the guys responded to her friendly
gesture.

There was one in gymnastics
competitive shirt and shorts—the only dude there who dressed like
that. He waved and shouted, “Good afternoon, Metal Teeth!”

“Same to you, Tissue Muscles!”
Rachel yelled with a wide beam on her face.

“Mr. Muscles” smiled broadly
before going back to barking commands at the boy on the pommel.

Noticing that all of us were
staring at her, Rachel informed, “That’s Jareth, the team
captain.”

Quite a number of girls were
stealing peeks at him. There were flushing faces within our group.
He had an attractive outlook due to his short, tousled, yet stylish
dark brown hair and sharp features. I believed that he was very
proud of his physique, based on the observations that he was the
only one who didn’t wear his school T-shirt.

Jareth reminded me of those
half-naked men on those embarrassing, somewhat disgusting covers of
romance books. A bunch of narcissist show-offs who thought that
they could conquer the women with their big muscles. The main
differences were that he had leaner muscles, looked smarter, a lot
younger, less lecherous and not as predatory.

Rachel then revealed, “I call
him ‘Tissue Muscles’ because he’d tore his muscles or tendons on
quite a number of occasions while trying out those difficult
drills.”

I did feel a bit sorry for him
then.

“Who’s that tall, blond guy
beside Jareth?” asked Fiona in a hushed voice.

It was then I noticed the blond
who looked like a prince of the fairy tales … in modern clothes. He
was that type of handsome guy who could take a girl’s breath away.
In fact, the ugly green school T-shirt actually looked like
designer wear when on him. No wonder the first year girl couldn’t
take her eyes off him.

Rachel threw a glance at the
boys before replying, “Brian. Vice-captain.”

“He’s so …” Fiona bit her lips
to prevent herself from saying more.

“Hey, focus on our training, not
on them. They’re not going to help us to get an A for ECA,”
remarked Charmine, who was from Class 1/1.

Mandy shrugged while I nodded in
absolute agreement. Not that I cared about scoring an A for
unimportant subjects, but boys should be the last of our
concerns.

Rachel waved it off. “Relax.
It’s okay to check them out. Just don’t gape so much until you
executed the moves improperly and get hurt.”

We giggled, only Charmine seemed
unimpressed.

After an introduction to
Kenneth, a man in his late twenties, not an old man with a paunch
that I had expected, we headed to the restroom nearby to get into
our sports attires.

When in there, I made sure my
long fringe was still firmly clipped in place, just above my ear,
before tying up the rest of my hair into a ponytail. I hated to do
that, but there was no choice. The pulling force on my hair was
getting on my nerves. A slight headache started to develop at the
back of my head. I tried to ignore it because I couldn’t afford to
waste my time dwelling on it. I would get left behind if I was too
slow. Also, it was awkward if they chose to wait for me.

T-shirt and shorts over the
gymnastics leotard—the get-up that all the girls had changed into.
I was an exception since I didn’t have a leotard, for the obvious
reason that I wasn’t sure if I was going to stay on for long in the
club. When we went back into the gymnasium, I immediately regretted
not buying one.

A boy—should be Brian—was doing
repeated backflips across a clear area meant for floor exercise.
His shirt rode up his torso whenever he was upside down. Fiona
seemed thrilled to see his bare abs, but I was distressed by the
thought that I didn’t wear a leotard underneath to prevent wardrobe
malfunction. Then again, buying one wasn’t an option for me. That
garment was too expensive to be brought for one time use only.

Do nothing drastic, and I’ll
be fine.
The boy on the pommel horse just now had his shirt
tucked in securely under his shorts while doing the handstand …
proved the method worked.

When we were instructed by the
second year seniors to line up and do warm-ups, my mind was already
coming up with excuses to avoid doing certain stunts. The initial
exercises appeared to be non-strenuous, so I decided to try them
out in order to reserve my excuses for more urgent situations.
Stretching my limbs and doing those splits were actually quite easy
for me.

“You do have a talent in this,”
remarked Mandy, who was doing a graceful side spilt beside me.

I smiled at her. If only
gymnastics consisted of stretching exercises only, I would have
enjoyed it a lot more. Then the real task came.

Kenneth went up to Charmine who
was first in the line, then told her to follow a second year girl’s
lead. The senior stood up straight before arching backwards until
her hands touched the ground. She performed that feat with nary an
effort. Charmine followed suit.

The horned butterflies in my
stomach were crashing into the walls with increasing speed and
intensity as the coach made his way down the line. Since I was the
last, the inside of my tummy felt like a bloody mess by the time he
reached me.

“Your turn … eh, Lynn …” Kenneth
tried to recall my name. I was the only one whose name he had
forgotten. Though I expected him not to take note of my existence,
I still felt quite awful about it.

“Natalie,” I corrected him in an
almost inaudible voice. The pain on the back of my head was
spreading.

“Oh yes! Okay, try the back
arch.”

Rachel went up to my side, ready
to guide me. Doing that stunt would pull the lower hem of my shirt
out from underneath the shorts, so I had decided not to do it.

I didn’t try to bend backwards
at the waist in spite of Rachel’s instructions. I kept my back as
straight as possible instead. The loss of equilibrium caused me to
fall down, landing on my backside. Rachel’s last minute attempt to
prop me up did soften the impact a lot.

“It’s okay. Let’s try again,”
Rachel encouraged with a gentle tone.

Frankly speaking, I didn’t want
to. I felt bad enough about displaying my clumsiness in front of
the most agile and graceful people. However, the prospect of
revealing my bare tummy seemed more daunting.

“Come on. You can do it,” Mandy
cheered me on.

It was hard for me to put a
damper on my friend’s encouragement. So with great reluctance, I
repeated the same routine, with the same results. Sitting down on
the floor, holding my thighs close to my chest, I hung my head in
shame. I swore that I would just call it quits if they refused to
let me go.

Noticing that Kenneth took a
glance at his watch, Rachel proposed, “For the next practice, she
can come in earlier to work on this. I’ll coach her.”

He gave the thumbs-up to her
suggestion. My whole body then relaxed.

“Time to try out the handstand.
Follow me,” the coach announced while walking towards a corner.

When we gathered around him, he
informed that as novices, we could use the wall as support to avoid
tipping over. When Rachel did a demonstration of the handstand, I
made a firm decision to bail out of doing it. Mandy was the first
to be called to perform the feat, and she executed it
beautifully.