Restoria VII

Sprawled out on top of the bed, Lutèce wakes up to the rude awakening of the alarm clock. The time it flashes is ‘5:45am’. She reaches over to slam her fist onto it. Again and again, the fist collides with it until the correct button is hit. Sleepless eyes look up at the ceiling. Lutèce let’s out a long, disinterested sigh.

“Luè!” A nagging shout comes from a sisterly voice, “It’s time to get up!”

Up and out of her pajamas, and into her school uniform. Short sleeves and skirt. Time has moved forward for the change of uniform, yet nature has seemed reluctant to agree. Some time spent in the bathroom for the necessities of hygiene and presentability. She grabs a designer hoodie on the way out of her room. Out from the family home and onto school.

The walk has a certain chill to it. Rays of the early morning sun having yet reach the frosty ground. A breeze whips through the concrete sidewalks by the busy streets. Additionally, gusts of wind whirl past with each passing car on their routine commute. While the distance to-and-fro is short for Lutèce, it isn’t a pleasant one for half of the year. The memo of change seems to haven’t been received by nature. Spring in name alone.

Lutèce’s senses light up. While walking up the sidewalk, a feeling tingles in the back of her brain. Around her ears. Down her spine. Knowledge that there is something out of sight. A shadow. A person. No— but something. Her body spins around like a revolving door. To where the spot her brain felt the peering shadow had to be. Yet, there’s only other commuters walking the same path like any other day. Students of various schools and workers of nearby businesses populating the same sidewalk she is on. The sense dissipates as she turns back. It doesn’t fully disappear from her mind, but enough to vanish behind the annoying nip of the early morning breeze.

Onto school grounds, the campus is isolated by decorative walls. On all sides the wall stands but the front gate. A campus of multiple buildings. A number of tiny ones encircling around the edges. Patches of greenery— like gardens— separating these tiny ones from the building that tower of them all. The parts that matter. Three huge buildings sit in the center of the whole campus. Elongated down the middle, each of the three are connected by these outdoor stone pathways that the gardens surround. Every main building made of the same substances. Material that exude prestige and moderate wealth. Enough to fill out four floors worth of educational duties. A private institution.

Lutèce moves swiftly as her hood bouncing off. Into the furthest building, past the lockers, up the stairs, and down the hall. Clocks on the hallway walls click on every shoe tap. Lutèce enters into the classroom at the midpoint of classroom rows. The time is ‘6:44am’. It’s time for homeroom.

Rows of desks fill the classroom. Blackboard, a teacher’s desk, hard plastic chairs, and a series of windows populate the room. A full length of bookcases line up against the wall underneath the windows. Nearly how one would picture a classroom. The room is filled with other students. All in their summer uniforms. All having the standard white button-up underneath. Black loafers covering the navy blue socks as far as the eyes can see. Most bringing along either their school blazer or sweater this morning. Most packed into groups; a few with their heads down or their noses in some book.

Blazers between the two sexes are identical. A yellow highlight outlines the features on everyone’s blazers. The lining of the lapel, outer breast pocket, jacket pockets, and the top collar. A unique section of the sleeve cuffs aren’t even exempt from all this sunflower yellow fabric. Something about it brings a grit to Lutèce’s teeth. A reminder of something she couldn’t place her finger on.

The skirts and ties fall victim to this as well. One plaid while the other striped in their patterns. Both intersect a mix of blues and white, yet a distinct yellow line infiltrates them in the most minimal of ways. Even the socks of a single yellow line. The only thing seemingly not infected with yellow are the sweaters one could opt-in for instead. That, and the voluntary leggings girl students could wear to fight the colder days.

Nevertheless, not every student follows the rules of a dress code. Accessories and alterations compliment the more preppy or rebellious of the student body. Some in this classroom, but quite a few more in the various other rooms amongst the three sizable school buildings. Then, there are those that simply choose what they want to wear. And, those students usually don’t stay long in this specific private institution. Yet— under certain circumstances— this can be more lax. Especially, if the groundhog has seen its shadow.

Lutèce makes her way to her assigned seat. In a seat closest to the windows, she drops her backpack and takes her seat. Her designer hoodie fading into the navy blues in the room. A bunch of other teens still talking— whispering— across the room. The teacher is late.

Faces shake back and forth. Eyes for those more subtle. Hands cover the mouths from the field of vision these windows possess. Whispers just loud enough to garner context chatter in-between each other.

“She’s back.”

“She’s been gone for months.”

“What happened to her hair?”

“I heard she was trafficked.”

“What was her father thinking?”

“She doesn’t look herself.”

“You’re right. She looks run down.”

“Yeah. Who takes their teenage daughter to dangerous places like that?”

The rumors grate against Lutèce’s eardrums. Things from strangers. Words from those she once called friends. Her elbow on her desk, and her chin upon her hand. Her foot taps. It taps increasingly as the shushed gossip continues. As they grow, the patience of the girl decays. A boiling point rises within her soul. A needlepoint festers at Lutèce’s temple.

“Hello,” the girl sitting in front of Lutèce turns around, “Lutèce.”

This classmate’s meek introduction breaks Lutèce out from her downward spiral. A light twinkles back into her eyes; back into the here and now.

“Oh,” Lutèce pauses, “uhm…”

“Wrenley,” the glasses girl replies disheartened.

Wrenley’s hazel eyes dart towards and away at Lutèce. Not out of embarrassment for talking to Lutèce, but in signs of a more organic reason.

Black braided hair hangs past both sides of her glasses. Equally black are the rim of the glasses as red bows accent the ends of each other the two major braids. She matches the other students in attire, but the navy blue sweater choice lessens the amount of yellow afflicting Lutèce’s pupils.

Thumbs twiddle along with these eyes of Wrenley. Ghostly pale skin and fingernails that don’t get enough attention as they should. A bookworm on the fragile side of thin. A figure that would cause a slight bend her in posture. Yet, a posture that may be more attributable to her shyly nature than the body alone. A person that stays on more of the quiet side of life.

“I’m sorry,” Lutèce her eyelids downtrodden.

“It’s okay!” Wrenley waggles her hands frantically, “It’s been awhile, and we didn’t really talk much. And—“ She cuts herself off into a flurry of mumbles that probably continue finding additional excuses ad-nauseam.

If eyes could smile, Lutèce’s would be almost there. Wrenley’s frantic excuses drowns out all the other antagonistic voices in the room. It’s a nice distraction. It’s a nice voice. The skin around Lutèce’s eyes begin to un-wrinkle, and a warmth revitalizes the surroundings pores.

Lutèce chops through the endless mumbling, “Wrenley, did you want to talk about something?”

This flash of joy raises Wrenley’s brows. “Oh, yeah. Yes,” her braids scramble around to some degree, “I wanted to tell you that I like your hoodie.”

Her pale finger puts at the logo that is plastered on the front of the piece of clothing. A wavy chequer pattern piece overtop a stylized black hoodie. Strands of brown hair fall into Lutèce’s face as she has to look down and double-check.

“Oh— ahh,” a nervous grin overtakes Lutèce, “this isn’t the one I meant to grab.” A weak, nervous laugh soon follows.

“Thanks though,” she continues with a sincere replacement, “I appreciate it.”

Teens begin to move towards their respective seats. The morning school bell rings past what the classroom clocks report. The time is now ‘7:01am’. Both the teacher and school bell are late.

“Lutèce,” Wrenley concludes, “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Thanks, Wrenl—“

A third voice cuts in, “Aha~ when did bird girl get all snuggly with Luè Luè?”

Another girl walks up to Lutèce’s desk. One with a flair of drawing the eyes. Accessories collect throughout the girl’s attire. All of various bright colors. Each in carefully designed patterns. Decorative nails, sparkling creamy hair flowing with the tiniest breeze, and a curated style. One not as thin as Wrenley, but one that far surpasses when it comes to athletes.

The girl has a stride in her walk. A bold smile that can uplift a whole room. Outgoing and feminine in every trained beat. Someone that knows who they are, what they want, and how to get it. One that shared the same cheery personality of her friend at one time. A friend of Lutèce’s from before the incident. A pretty close one at that.

“Hmm—“ the preppy girl puts her glossy fingernail to her lip, “are you still reading that ‘Dorian Gray’ book? Wow~ you must be a slow reader after all these years.”

The girl is looking over Wrenley’s desk. A book is open, and the pages are all that show. By sight only, the preppy girl knows it. Be it either the truth she speaks or the excuse she’s using today. It doesn’t matter. Lutèce know this girl, personally. Knows of her character. She knows that this girl isn’t like this to anyone else. It’s bad blood over something long before Lutèce knew her. A thing Lutèce has nothing to do with; a history she doesn’t have any right to interfere with. It’s a headache all the same.

“Shut up, Bea.” Blunt is the statement that comes out of Lutèce, “You’re getting annoying.”

Feathers are ruffled. An expression washes over Bea. One look of betrayal. Her head hurtfully turns to Lutèce.

“Where did your bubbly personality go, Luè?” Bea’s words are layered with honesty, “Where did my friend go?”

A door opens. “Alright, everyone,” the homeroom teacher finally arrives, “sorry I’m late. It’s time for to begin the day. So, butts in seats!”

Bea struts harshly back to her seat across the classroom. Glances and glares pass over from a number of other students. Wrenley shoots Lutèce a small, appreciative smile as the school day kicks into full gear.

As the teacher talks, the short, brown-haired student with the hoodie fades into the sea of nippy students. The monotonous droning of the homeroom teacher becomes like white noise. School events or club notifications or any other miscellaneous updates; none of it could interrupt the thing that catches any average student’s attention. The freeing light of the sun— that now stretches above the horizon— shines through the beautiful flora and into the school’s giant windows. While homeroom ends, Lutèce’s attention is trained out into the great outdoors.

First Period: Class is about English literature. A new teacher walks in. It’s an older lady, yet she possess an enthusiasm to fuel generations. The time is ‘7:59am’. Something about Alice in Wonderland is said to the students. Pages are read. And, Lutèce is deep into thought. The weather is clear outside.

Second Period: Class is about science. Another teacher. More work. Brain tingling. The temperature is now hotter outside. The weather is still a sunny clear.

Third Period: There is now a cloud in sight by the sun. I repeat, there is now a cloud in the sky.

The time is now ‘11:30am’. Lunchtime bell rings across the school. While not every student eats at the same time, this time slot is designated for the class Lutèce is in. Students either get out their homemade meals or begin to head down into the cafeteria to purchase some food. A multitude of volumes rise as teenagers are set free for the next thirty minutes.

Lutèce’s stomach growls. She checks her backpack for the lunch she packed. There’s nothing. She checks the pack again for a wallet that must have a few dollars in hit to purchase a little bite to eat. There is no wallet. A blush of cherry red consumes her once beige skin. That is until Wrenley turns back around.

A saving grace. Yet, not one for long. Without as much as of a speck of time after Wrenley makes eye contact with Lutèce, the same third wheel comes back over with more fire than before.

“What kind of sandwich is that, Birdy?” Bea acknowledges the lunch that sits on Wrenley’s desk.

It’s simple meal. A sandwich, vegetables, and a small bottle of water. Nothing much out of the ordinary. All except a folded up notes that’s snuggling into between the sandwich and the bottle.

“Really, Wrenley?” Bea points at the folded up note, “Aren’t we a little old to have our mama’s write us notes in our lunchboxes? We’ll be adults in a ye—“

Lutèce stands up immediately. Her eyes blank.

Bea verbally pivots, “Oh! Sorry, Luè Luè! I—“

Pow!

A haymaker right into Bea’s face. A force enough to knock Bea off her feet. While none of her teeth are falling out, her cheek is already pulsing a red mark. Tears begin to form around her eyes. Maybe not all from the pain, but more so a sense of something deeper.

Bea doesn’t say a word. She just rushes out of the room. Former friends chase after her. Boys and girls alike; their eyes vilifying Lutèce as the run out of the classroom after Bea.

Regret claims the face a blush had been relishing within. A piece of Lutèce left on the other side; of a place she cannot remember.

Why did I do that to my friend?

“Lutèce Sinclair!” A scratchy male voice barks from the classroom’s entrance, “Office, now!”

Putting her hands inside the hoodie’s pockets, Lutèce briskly walks out of the classroom with her head hanging down. She makes her way on fancy tiles of the hallways and down two flights of stairs. Disappointment filling up her tense body. The needlepoints grow sharper onto her temples. That tingling sensation in the back of her brain returns.

Across the garden courtyard, Lutèce’s head twists left and right. Whichever direction that is currently behind her being the next place her attention will sharply drawn towards. She enters the closest main building to the front gate.

…!

Into the main hall by the building’s front entrance, she sees the edges of shadows trailing behind her. Her breathing gets heavy. The heart beats harder. That needlepoint pain splinters into acupuncture quantities. Every time she turns to try and catch the one that casts the shadows, the less of the shade she sees. The front office is close. It’s in sight of Lutèce. She dashes towards it as if trying to outrun a devil— or a roadrunner. She crashes through the office’s front door.

“… Lutèce?” A worried feminine voice calls out.

The person gets closer. Taps of heels hit the thin carpet as she makes her way over.

“Oh, jeez,” the lady grasps ahold of Lutèce’s closest arm and pulls her up, “are you okay, dear?”

“Mrs. Seres,” Lutèce blurts out, “the substitute math teacher?”

“Oh,” Mrs. Seres graciously chuckles away, “not anymore. Oceanview Valley hired me as their new guidance counselor A couple of months ago. I guess you won’t have known yet though.”

Lutèce nods— more baffled by the crash than the face she’s witnessing. Getting to her feet, Lutèce follows Mrs. Seres to one of the rooms in the office. No one else of note is in the office. A volunteer or two helping with the paperwork or the odd student leaving as soon as they enter. Ultimately, the two sit in a furnished room alone.

Dazed eyes look around. Lutèce’s attention span matching her dulling patience the longer the school day goes on. Two chairs, a tiny desk, a mini fridge, and a big window are all that make up the room. Walls as grey as the carpet itself. The true color in the place coming from those who enter it and whatever unfortunate thing outside comes close enough to see what lies within the window. The shadows are gone.

“Lutèce,” Mrs. Seres soothingly asks, “why did you come to the office to— is there anything you want to talk about?” The councilor changes her intent as the kid’s expression melts from anxious to grimace.

“Uhm—“ Lutèce hesitates, “where do I begin?”

Both share a chuckle in the thought. One of genuine sincerity, and the other of a startlingly routine nervous uncertainty. The words come out— convoluted. Lots of gaps and disconnected plot points comes out of Lutèce. None of it making all too much sense to Mrs. Seres. Seres face— while outwardly engaged— can feel the judgment of absurdity fill in the dimples of her smile.

Mrs. Seres stops Lutèce at some point. The little portion of Lutèce’s dream she did hear happening to be a step too far. She simply falls back onto the basics of guidance, “It seems like a lot has happened in your life.”

Mrs. Seres drones on with pseudo-platitudes. Advice for advice’s sake. Thus, she begins to use her own past as anecdotal examples of life-advice.

Dozens of minutes pass. Mrs. Seres’ examples become full retellings. These develop into indulgences that drag on. Lutèce’s pupils wonder. The acupuncture head pain grows fiercely. The point is lost. Until, something catches Lutèce’s eyes. Something lands on the seal of the window outside.

No— it can’t be. How?

“Mrs. Seres, Mrs. Seres,” Lutèce points frantically at something outside the window, “there it is! It’s the red silk bird with the veiny toucan beak! It exists— it shouldn’t be here!

They both turn their attentions towards the window. Regardless of the pointings, all that changes with Mrs. Seres is a raising of her eyebrows.

“Lutèce, what bird?” That, and a look of pity to match it, “there’s just red roses outside this window.”

The head pain reaches its climax. A body drops to the ground.

“Oh my god!” Mrs. Seres screams, “Lutèce, Sinclair!”

Things have become dark. Presence is slipping.As Lutèce starts to pass out, all she can hear are the yells of aid rapidly fading with her consciousness.

“Sinclair, wake up!”

“… Luè Luè…”

“Someone call an ambulance!”

“Stay with me, Sinclair”

Within the the next dozen minutes, an ambulance arrives to drive her to the hospital. Arrival at the hospital, arrival of her sister, and a voluntary overnight stay come not too longer after. Time ticks onward as test results come in. The conclusion, every test comes up healthy. Nothing out of the ordinary. It was just a severe migraine.

The next day, both sisters go back to see Dr. Tarsh. Back to the place with the elf.