The Corner (8 page)

Maybe I should just crush the
Cinderella into pieces.

The stillness of the air in the
room was punctured by a drawn-out groan from beneath the picnic
table.

Startled by the loud sound that
came from an unexpected place right by my feet, my hands went numb
and lost grip on the cluster of brushes. I wasn’t sure if the floor
was slanted, resulting in my painting tools rolling away from me
and towards the space under the table. Those brushes moved in an
unnatural way, like they were attracted to some kind of magnet
below the furniture.

I scampered away from that table
and headed for the door. When standing at the doorway, I realized
that I couldn’t possibly leave my belongings scattered around. A
verbal warning could be issued to me if I got found out. Bracing
myself for what was to come, I whirled around to see what was
hiding under the table.

There was nothing there, except
for my brushes, and the groaning was no more.

It was better for me to quickly
retrieve my stuff before that girl struck again.

I crept to the table,
cautiously, then squatted down and moved forward to pick up my
items. The deep moaning—it sounded like a person retching in a
robotic, rhythmic fashion—started again, but it was from above the
table instead.

From the corner of my eye, I
noticed a pair of girl’s legs dangling in the air, right beside the
picnic table. I couldn’t see the rest of the body from above the
knees though it was obvious that she was facing me, from one look
at her shoes.

I pressed my hands against my
mouth as I watched those legs gently swaying back and forth. The
body was tapping against the side of the flimsy table. The unholy
sounds made seemed to be in sync with the movements of the body. I
could feel an army of invisible creepy crawlies scuttling across my
skin. Their touch was cold and sinister.

The swinging continued and was
gaining momentum. With each subsequent cycle, the body was rocking
more vigorously. After a while, it was banging into the table and
toppling several clay artworks. A small ball-like object rolled off
the table and smashed onto the cement floor. I found myself staring
into those vacant eyes of my doll. Her previously beautiful facial
features were disfigured by the cracks. The formerly serene
expression was distorted into one filled with pain and horror.
Brownish red colour—where did that come from—stained the jagged
edges of the broken-off neck, just like blood adorning the severed
jugular.

It was my fault. I made that
wish. Why did only bad wishes come true? I was cursed. The constant
rattling of the table confirmed my belief.

All of a sudden, those limbs
were pulled back by an unseen force to a position where they were
almost at right angle to the legs of the table.

Then the pair of legs were
hurled towards me.

I sucked in a sharp breath,
stood up and stumbled backwards to steer clear of them. The next
moment, I heard the table crashed, followed by the cracking of more
than a dozen of clay objects. All the supernatural occurrences had
vanished in that instant. Those haunting were actually not so bad,
as compared to facing the consequences of my actions. I had screwed
up big time. My classmates were going to hate me for what I had
done.

“What’s that?” There was someone
in the corridor outside the art room.

Few seconds passed, and Mandy
appeared at the door, accompanied by Kelly. Both of them stared at
the wreaked art pieces. Shock was evident on their faces.

Mandy looked up at me. “I come
to see if you’re okay …”

“What happened?” asked Kelly
while striding up to me. Her tone was unmistakably harsh.

“I’m sorry. It was
unintentional,” I said through quivering lips. The guilt of
destroying my classmates’ hard work—it was pounding on my head,
causing the tears to almost flow out.

“Then tell me what had
exactly
happened,” the class monitor pressed on.

How could I tell her that all
were doings of a ghost? She wouldn’t believe me. Thus I didn’t say
anything.

The blond planted her hands on
her hips and let out a loud sigh. “Natalie, you refused to explain
yourself. How do you expect me to just take your words for it? And
you were acting strange just now … if there’s any problem, you can
share with us. Shutting yourself off is not going to do us any
good”—she pointed at the mess—“look at where it got us to.”

Her accusative attitude simply
cemented my decision to disclose nothing. Everyone was going to
have bad impression of me either way.

Mandy patted Kelly on the
shoulder to calm her down. “I believe Natalie. We all know that
she’s not that kind of person. She’s even scared of going near the
exhibits, remember?”

Surprising that Mandy could
catch my mumbling about the fear of accidentally breaking the
artefacts displayed in the school’s mini museum, which was located
in a corner of the library. But why did she talk about it as if
Kelly knew also? Were they discussing about how weird I was behind
my back?

After seconds of silence, Kelly
held up her hands as a sign of disassociation. “Whatever. I’ll let
this go. But Natalie, you really need to speak out.”

I avoided eye contact with
Kelly, unwilling to respond to her advice. Mandy went to get the
broom and dustpan to clear up the clay fragments. Kelly proceeded
to haul the plastic table back to upright position. There was
nothing I could help with. My blunders might make things worse
anyway. So I just stood at the side and kept on saying,
“Thanks.”

Mandy’s staunch belief in me had
made me realized that she was really a good friend. I didn’t think
that I could find another friend after I had fallen out with
Carmen, my first and last best friend. Unlike Carmen, Mandy had
actually stood up for me and never expected anything in return. I
was determined to show my appreciation for the sincere friendship
she had offered to me. I must do what I needed to do, no matter how
difficult it was.

After everything was cleared up,
the three of us headed back to our classroom in absolute silence.
Kelly was walking ahead of us. She must be still fuming over the
incident. On the way back, I was envisaging that corner girl to be
standing at the same place.

I found out that she was, except
that her body was tilting slightly outwards from the wall that she
used to stare directly at.

For the
past week, every weekday morning, I had managed to take the same
bus as Anton. And the outcome was the same every time: he didn’t
sit with me. I had made a promise to myself: if he ever sat with
me, I would take the initiative to befriend him. It was necessary
to take that first step out to fulfil what I had set out to do for
Mandy. However, part of me was hoping that he wouldn’t sit with me,
so I didn’t have to try. Rejection was something that was hard to
swallow, even though I had experienced it umpteen times.

When the bus pulled to a stop at
Anton’s bus stop, I nervously waited and threw quick glances at the
staircase to see if he was among the passengers boarding the bus.
The moment I spotted him, I quickly looked out of the closed
window. Through the reflection on the window panel, I saw him
strolling down the aisle.

Please walk pass my seat.

The boy halted when he was near
my location. Then he pulled off the guitar case sling and the
school bag’s strap from his right shoulder and proceeded to settle
down into the seat
beside
me
. I found it unbelievable
that he would actually sit with me. For a few minutes, the grey
matter in my head was swirling wildly, unable to process any
information. I felt my heart, which was pumping blood at full
force, being pulled up to my throat, blocking my air passageway and
pressing on my vocal cords.

Did I smell alright? Did my
behaviour seem normal? Any remnants of my breakfast stuck between
my teeth? Did he know that I was nervous? Would he have the
impression that I was a creep?

I dared not move, much less say
anything. The idea of abandoning my plan crossed my mind. But as a
friend, what had I done for Mandy? For my sake, she had carried the
burden of withholding the truth from our classmates. I was grateful
to Kelly too, but she had done the same thing because of Mandy, not
me. I hardened my resolve to step out of my comfort zone.

I squeaked, “Hi.”

Anton was just staring ahead,
not responding to my greeting.

Did he ignore me on purpose? One
more try … and after that, I would avoid taking the same bus as
him.

“Hi,” I blurted with a voice
that was a few decibels higher than usual.

He turned to regard me with a
seemingly puzzled expression. His bright, blue eyes, the soft dark
blond hair … I found him to be better-looking up close. His name
“Anton Thorne” was embroidered across the top of his shirt pocket.
The heat was rushing to my cheeks. I wanted so much to look away so
that he couldn’t see that I was blushing.

“I saw you once in the gymnasium
…” That was like the only topic I could talk about. I couldn’t be
telling him that I had been observing him for a while already,
right?

“So?” His voice was smooth and
calm, but I could feel the hostility in it.

I bowed down my head. “You were
really good on the high bar.” I was contemplating whether to look
up to check out his reactions to my words.

“When?” He sure sounded
wary.

Clasping my hands, I began to
rub my thumbs against each other. The frequency of the motion was
getting higher as I got more nervous. “Two weeks ago.”

“Monday or Thursday?”

I found it odd that he would ask
that question since my school’s gymnastics team didn’t have any
practice on Monday. So the answer was obvious. “Thursday. We had
practice on that day also.”

His voice and facial expressions
softened as he replied, “Oh. That one was quite okay. I wasn’t in
my best form. Didn’t pull off a clean execution of the flip. I
neglected to keep my anchor arm straight during the half-turn
swing. Made an early tap when doing the back giant.”

He was so critical of himself.
Maybe that was why he could perform well in his studies, sports,
and probably music too. “To a novice like me, your routine looks
perfect …” Maybe “novice” was the wrong word to use in my case.

I stole a peek at him and saw
that he still had that nonchalant look. Was it because he didn’t
really care for compliments, or his heavy lidded eyes had brought
about that impression?

“You’re a first year student,
right? With more practices, you’ll learn to know what to look out
for.”

When he mentioned that, I felt
kind of ashamed that I didn’t tough it out. “I dropped out after
the first lesson,” I confessed.

He shrugged. “Not
surprising.”

I was taken aback by his brutal
frankness. But then again, I wouldn’t feel comfortable if he tried
to console me since it might feel strange and inappropriate, given
that he had just known me. “Yeah, after that fall … it’s obvious
that I’m not—”

“What fall?” He tilted his head
to an angle where I could catch a glimpse of his face even though I
was looking down at my hands.

“I fell off the vault on my
first lesson. Everyone present knew about it.”

After a snort, he chirped, “I
didn’t. Was aware that there was a commotion, but it was none of my
concern.”

“Oh …” I just realized that I
had let slipped the shameful bungle I had made. There was an urge
to knock myself on the head.

“Anyway, your name …”

“Natalie,” I croaked.

“Anton.”

I gave a slight smile in
acknowledgement despite knowing his name already.

“Natalie, you’ve to understand
that gymnastics is not for everyone,” he stated with a poker
face.

I nodded in dejection.
“True.”

“Some of the boys in my team are
not cut out for it either. They shouldn’t be wasting everyone’s
time. Luckily, Jareth is handling those kids, so they won’t bother
me.”

My eyeballs nearly popped out
when Anton said that. He sure didn’t hold back his criticisms on
his teammates. Having so many things to juggle with, he had to be
focused … I guess.

Somehow, I felt a bit comforted
that his harsh words weren’t specifically directed at me. “Is it
the same with guitar club?”

His lips pressed into a slight
frown as he shook his head. “Didn’t join that. It’s impossible for
me to play in an ensemble. I don’t have the patience to deal with
all the nonsense. Some are in there to impress the girls only.
They’ve neither the talent nor the passion.”

Still reeling from the impact of
his uncompromising comments, I gaped at the guitar case that was
crammed between his knee and the back of the seat in front. “Then
this?”

Placing a hand on the case that
encased his instrument, he replied, “To play it during breaks, or
for unplugged practices with my band.”

I wondered what kind of band he
was in. I imagined him to be sitting on a lush, beautiful lawn,
strumming his guitar and singing a light-hearted love song. The
willow trees swayed with wind, dancing to the beautiful tune he was
playing.

“But we’re disbanding soon,” he
continued.

“Why …”

The melancholic-looking boy let
out a soft sigh. “Guess I’m not easy to work with. Had gotten the
nickname, Control Freak, from my bandmates. I just want to create
music that’s as good as or surpasses that of
The Engineers
and
Godai
.…” His voice cracked when he mentioned
The
Engineers
.

How I wished that I knew how to
play an instrument so that I could help. But my skills might not be
on par with his expectations. Nevertheless, the names of those
bands sounded weird.

Then he added, “And they want to
go into pop rock. I want to stay in alternative metal.”