The Second Day (1)

I’m restless. For an hour now, I’ve been lying awake waiting for something to happen. It's already midday, the sun trying to knock down my blinds tells me that much. By this stage I've usually been subjected to a couple of attempts to get me up and productive... but not here. Some sort of reverse psychology at play? If it is it's working, I have to go and be unproductive somewhere else.

Stepping outside my room, I'm stopped in my tracks by a peculiar obstacle; the folder I discarded last night is staring me in the face. It has a little note stuck to it; "Please take care of me! <3".

That pisses me off.

I hook the folder back into my room with my right foot and close the door behind me. I can deal with the folder later, dispose of it better.

The schoolyard is almost dead silent when I intrude upon it. There’s a light wind coming in over the walls that gives it a little atmosphere, enough to be heard but not enough to blow much of consequence around. It really is a weird place now that I look at it more closely. Everything feels very thrown together, amenities are spread out across the yard with no rhyme or reason. For every deliberately placed trashcan, there's a leather couch just sitting in the middle of nowhere. There's no path marked down from one place to the other either, just a sandy, dusty plain that ends when you reach a new thing. It feels odd being in a place with so little order but also quite liberating. You don't feel obliged to make your own path out of spite when none have been laid out for you in the first place.

After wandering around aimlessly for a while I come face to face with what could reasonably be called this place's centrepiece; The shoddily made gazebo. I think that's the word for it anyway.

The unmistakable creaking of a faucet, followed by the sound of several different streams of water one after the other as if someone is trying to find the correct setting on a hose. Whoever it is finally settles on what sounds like a light spray. I suppose I should take a look inside, see what kind of people I'll be dealing with for the week.

Peaking into the entrance I find what I'm looking for. The inside of the structure is quite spacious. There's a nice garden table in the middle with a couple of chairs tucked beneath and each wall is lined with flowers.

This is complemented quite nicely by the girl in the middle of it all happily watering the flowers.

"Hmm. Hmm. Hmm."

She's humming away to herself contently, so engrossed in her task that she's still failed to notice me even though I've made my way completely inside by now. I quietly lift one of the chairs out and sit myself down at the table. Oooooooh! Seems she's brought some lemonade for when she's done. Think I'll pour myself a glass.

*clink*

Damn, I didn't account for the ice, I'm a fool.

"Huh, who's there?!"

Reacting instinctively to this incursion on her soundscape, the girl snaps around to face me. The hose comes with her, so she soaks me. Perhaps due to the shock of seeing me she doesn't move or turn it off but instead allows the spray to keep raining over me. It's kind of refreshing actually.

"I'm not a plant you know."

I go to take a sip of the lemonade and the girl changes the power of the hose, blasting me in the face.

"Now what was that for?" I reply as calmly as I can.

"You may not be a plant but you are a thief."

I figure that's fair enough so I put the glass back down without drinking.

"You can't unsteal something, so just have it."

"Alright, I will."

She takes this opportunity to return her attention to the flowers which seemingly have gone too long without water. Now that I get a proper look at her I'm struck by how beautiful this girl is. It seems she's put some real effort into her appearance, I wonder where she got the make-up she has on? There’s no way it’s sold this side of the walls. Her pretty face is complimented by shoulder-length brunette hair, styled to be much longer on the right side of her face than the left. Her outfit suits her well, a nice pink and white top with a turquoise bow complemented with a navy skirt and a pair of white kneesocks.

This is my first time seeing a skirt in person. It feels like I shouldn't be overly aware of that but I am.

"So thief boy, you have a name?"

She doesn't even turn to face me while she says this, clearly more interested in the flowers than any sort of conversation.

"I do, yeah."

"What is it?"

"Thief boy, apparently."

This draws her attention a bit as she glances over at me with a little smirk on her face.

"Well does thief boy have another name he'd prefer to be called by then?"

"Why are you so interested in my name?"

"Names are important."

"Names are important when they're attached to important people."

"Classmates are important."

Seems like Lloyd did notify the students of my arrival. Shame, I was sort of hoping I could play the part of the ‘strange man’, get a few reactions from the other students.

"My name is Abel."

"Nice to meet you, Abel, I'm Emma."

She returns her attention to the flowers, seemingly satisfied with having pried what she wanted from me. She even offered up her own name as compensation.

That's not how this works though, I can't let her think she can dictate the terms of conversation.

"Why are you watering the flowers?"

"Hmmm? What do you mean?"

"Is this a job or something? A favour to a friend? Did your partner die and curse you with their dying breath to keep an eye on their azaleas?"

"Nothing like that, no."

"So why are you watering them then?"

"Because I feel like it. I like seeing the flowers in bloom, they're pretty."

"Not so pretty when they wilt though. Seems like a lot of effort just to watch it all go to waste."

"So what, you'd just let them die before they even sprout?"

"I guess I would."

She turns to face me while still keeping the spray focused on the roses.

"That seems like such a sad way to look at it. They're going to die whether or not they blossom, the wilt is a reminder that they were once beautiful to begin with. If they just died without poking through the soil, no one would ever know they were there."

"It's cruel to let them blossom when that can't last though, isn't it? Might as well leave them underground where they don't know of that possibility."

"If I were a flower, I'd trade an eternity under the soil for even one second in bloom."

For a brief moment, a solemn look takes over her face as she stares vacantly at the flowers. She loosens her grip on the hose a bit and it dips down, splashing the ground in front of her and causing her to regain her composure.

"You're strange, this isn't where I expected our first conversation to end up."

"I try my best not to meet the expectations of others."

Emma finishes up her watering compulsion and stores the hose away. Sitting down across from me, she pours herself a glass of lemonade.

"So now I'm worthy of your undivided attention?

"You've become momentarily more interesting than the flowers. You're worthy of, at best, 40% of my divided attention"

"What about the other 60%?"

"That belongs to the lemonade."

She's hard to get a read on. have I genuinely caught her interest or is she just humouring me or maybe even humouring herself.

"So Abel, why is it that you're here?"

"I'm not here by choice so there is no why. At least not on my end."

"I didn't ask if you're here of your own volition, there's no one that wants to be here. I asked you why."

"I did some things I wasn't meant to do."

"So did I, we're delinquents, that's why we're here. But I'm sure you agree that there's a difference between a delinquent with a skirt and one with a knife."

“A skirt is a more powerful weapon in the right hands."

"Flattery is welcome but it won't make the question go away."

"I think you've misunderstood, you definitely aren't 'the right hands.'"

Oooh, there it is! One of my favourite expressions; the flash of annoyance from someone trying to hide it. If you're not paying attention it can be easy to miss but if you're looking out for it you'll notice the split-second dip of the eyebrows and twitch of the mouth that convey the wearer's true feelings before they wrestle their mask back under control. I'm going to count that as a point to me.

"Well, I guess I'll just have to squeeze it out of you over time."

She flashes me a lukewarm smile.

"Not sure I like the sound of that."

"Well tough, I'm interested now."

Emma downs the remainder of her lemonade elegantly and places the glass on the table.

"So are you planning to drip dry your clothes?" she asks.

"Ah yes, I was wondering what you were planning on doing about that."

"Why would I be planning to do anything about it?"

"Well, it’s your fault that I'm wet."

"Yeah, and I gave you some lemonade."

"I didn't ask for lemonade."

"That's because you stole it."

"Exactly, so you couldn't have given it to me because I already had it."

Emma massages her temples with her thumbs as she struggles for a response.

"I'm going to continue watering now."

"Are you saying I should leave?"

"You're going to do what you want to anyway, aren't you?"

"Probably."

"Then why would I waste the breath?"

And she doesn't, returning herself to the prior state of ignorance she’d been in until she had the displeasure of noticing my presence. I decide to stay sitting for a while, and do nothing but observe the person in front of me.

So she's ‘like Lloyd’. In what way? I can't imagine that two different people have the exact same reasons for wearing girls’ clothing. Or maybe there is no reason, after all, I don't need a reason to wear a shirt, I just do it. She looks so decidedly female, at least compared to what I've seen in media, it's hard to picture her as anything else. I've defaulted to ‘she’ in my own head, it would feel unnatural to think otherwise. You'd have to actively be choosing to use ‘he’ to refer to this person. Not that that's gonna stop me from doing so if I need to, but it won't be my status quo.

I watch her silently work her way around the small gazebo, making sure to give all the flowers enough water. She isn't humming like she was earlier, maybe she's conscious of the fact that I'm here. She put on a show about not caring but it's only natural to care about appearances, even when, or perhaps especially when, in the presence of someone you don't care for.

I know I'm making a value judgement based on how she waters flowers but in my defence, I think it's a totally valid way to judge value. People put huge stock into how others speak and act when trying to read below the surface. And sure, that will give you some insight into an individual's complexities but true human depth is much more simple.

You can think about how to talk to people, consider how you should treat them. You should always know that the other person is watching you as closely as you're watching them. But flowers can't scrutinise you. You can't water a garden deceitfully. The hum must say something about Emma she doesn't want me to know, because she's hidden it from me. That probably says a lot in and of itself.

It's through those less considered actions though that I can grasp a tiny piece of her true nature. Even when conscious of me she's still taking immaculate care to not miss any of the flowers. She has a pair of shears in her pocket but doesn't appear to have much interest in using them. A couple of times she finds a flower that should be pruned and her hand motions very briefly towards those shears before twitching and returning to the hose. By the looks of the place she rarely, if ever, does any pruning.

And that reveals a lot. She cares about the flowers, but the overgrowth suggests she cares about them a little too much. She probably knows that it would be better for the arrangement's health, which is why she brings the shears in the first place but she can never bring herself to actually cut anything off.

I won't go further and say what that implies about her, that would be too much. Of course, there's a parallel to be made if you're that kind of person but in truth, these observations are not all that helpful. Who someone is at heart doesn't translate to who they are over it. I can't tell why she cares, only that she does.

Emma stops herself in front of one particularly obvious problem flower. It needs to be cut off but she's stood there frozen. It seems this one is so blatant that it's making her internal debate last longer than what I assume to be usual.

Since it seems like she could use some, I decide to help out. Grabbing the flower by the stalk, I snap it to weaken it and then rip the head off.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

"You looked like you were having some trouble, so I decided to help out."

"I wasn't going to cut it!"

"That was pretty obvious, I'm helping by doing that for you."

"That's not helping that's just being an asshole. Why did you have to do it so violently?"

"I'm sorry, should I have snapped the stalk with tender love and care?"

"You shouldn't have snapped it at all!"

"But it clearly needed to go."

"You don't know that!"

"Would you chill out for a second? It's just a fucking flower."

Huh. That must have done it. I wasn't even trying but one of my words has made her see red. She points the hose straight at my face.

"Fuck off and die."

Before I can protest I'm met with a face full of water that catches me by surprise, knocking me out of the gazebo and then onto the ground. A beautiful marriage of head and concrete blacks out my vision.

***

I'm woken up by the sound of metal being dragged across the ground. I prop myself up too quickly and a throbbing pain spreads across the back of my head. When my vision finally straightens itself out, I'm met with the sideways sight of Emma, fidgeting in front of me and hiding something behind her back.

"Uh… um...mmmmmmm..."

"Is that a shovel?"

"No."

"Then what is it?"

She thinks about it for a second, draws a blank and then swings the back of the shovel at my face. I roll myself out of the way just in time.

"What the fuck are you doing?!"

"I thought you were dead so I got a shovel!"

"I meant why are you swinging it at me?!"

"I don't know it just felt like the right thing to do!"

I reach behind my head to feel the bruise and my hand comes away significantly redder than before. Emma drops her shovel at the sight of my hand.

"Oh my god, I'm sorry!"

"Yeah you should be, I could'v- don't pick it back up!"

I stumble a bit as I throw my hands out in protest/defence.

"You're not OK, come here."

She grabs me by the hand and starts leading me towards the school.

***

"There we go."

Emma cuts off the loose end of the bandage she's wrapped around my head and starts putting away the supplies she used to do the job. She had lead me, against my will, to the infirmary. It seems she is the school's pitiful excuse for a nurse on top of being its pitiful excuse for a student. That being said she did a good job after I convinced her to put down the shovel and use two hands. Usually, this is the type of injury I'd have to treat myself and I've never been good at it.

"Something to say?"

"You'd make a good nurse if your top was cut a little lower."

"My God, are you always this insufferable?"

"Sorry."

"That's what you apologise for?"

I should probably apologise some more but instead, I'm going to change the subject.

"How many students are here anyway? The only one I've met so far is you."

That seems to take her mind off of mutilating me as her face softens considerably.

"Yeah, the other two just sort of do their own thing."

"Other two???"

"We only have three uniforms."

"Incidentally what is that uniform?"

"Lingerie."

"When do I get mine?"

"Grow your hair out a bit and we'll talk about getting you a set."

A big bright smile. She seems to be enjoying herself.

"Now come on, I need to get back and start dinner for everyone."

"I'm partial to a bit of beef stroganoff."

"Everyone except you."

"I'll settle for whatever you're making, I'm sorry."

I follow Emma back to the dorms and we chat on the way. She seems nice, but I can’t help but wonder if she was the right one of my classmates to meet first?