The professor sighs extremely loud. Consequently Tap Tap Tapping her ruler on my desk. Thereupon more not readily identified noises.
finally she claps her hands and sighs tiredly.
"Yoohoo! Ms. Striker!" snap snap snap
The professor snaps her fingers at me, a bewildered expression twisted on her splendid face. She really was something to look at. The headmistress had the body type of Victorian Ladies in fine art paintings.
I cringe when I feel the heat redden my ears. Since I had fair skin I knew she could see the pink not only in my cheeks but dotting across my neck. Like a rash that I kept itching, the feeling only got worse as the headmistress sneered at me.
I'm dead. Totally dead.
As I looked at the headmistress I realized not only was my mouth hung open but these strange sounds came out and as soon as I'd caught on to my weird behavior I slapped a hand over my lips and bit my cheeks.
I'd nead a closed casket by the time she was done with me. I couldnt even think about what mom would have to say about this.
Huh
So that annoying noise I was hearing during my panic attack was the headmistress trying to get my attention. Not that it made any difference.
Life came crashing down on me and I was so screwed. I couldnt imagine getting out of this one. There were no words that I could say right now that would mean anything.
I winced. If I was remotely any good at reading into situations like that one I would affirm myself as a prime candidate for detention. I tried not to think about how Darcy would have a companion, someone to corrupt after hours if I didn't get it together and follow through.
The professor sighs completely exhastperated at that point. That made two of us.
"Ms. Striker, now that I have your attention lets see if you can restore your good grace, hmm?"
Third time the charm she glances at me before reading the question.
"If you get this correct you can breath easy for now." She tells me with a too-nice smile. Like the vindictive double o agent. Like the other gemini twin.
Oh, dont get it twisted. She had a beguiling allure; one that could dazzle you right off the spot, or snap your cap make you foam at the mouth.
Like pushbutton panic that loud thud beating in my ears happened the moment I became perpetually aware of everything in the room; the way the fluorescent light hit my face gave spotlight a whole new imagery, the turned heads of classmates either too engrossed in their need for me to fail that's why they didn't look away or simply wondering what I would say this time. If I would make her proud.
Bracing myself I wipe the sweat from my hands on the outer part of my pants, the straight hem line raised up against the flesh of my palm as I slid my hands up and down the worn-out denim.
Not caring about the stain I just made, I grab hold of the side bar of my desk, the anticipation making me fidgit in my seat as I came up with scenarios that end up in me looking like a fool and them laughing because of it.
Gosh. I had to work on not being so grisly.
Please, oh please let it be something I know.
"Explorer Christopher Columbus made four trips across the Atlantic Ocean from Spain. Fill in the missing numbers in consecutive order: 1492, 1493,...,..."
I tense up, my expression grim. That complicated pit and fall intensified my absolute dread when everyone looked back at me, half-expecting me to fail. Splendid.
To block them out completely I play with the Lester laced bracelet that was small enough to fit my wrist. Bright neon pink looped over right end, captivating vibrant yellow square knot tucked left end and under in the back, both strands pulled with a slow tug. It twisted and threaded diagonally in a continuing pattern, all four strings tied in a safe knot at the end.
I pulled a strained look on my face. "Yeah...Ughm." Not 'all-there' I choke shamefully. Clearly I did so well under pressure.
I bring a fist to my mouth and clear my throat wishing I was in a really bad dream.
I exhale shaky and look at the headmistress. No one in the universe could have felt anymore embarrassed. Feeling stupid I moan erratically. "1492, 1493,..uh...uhhm...uhhh..." My no-tint-moisture-free lips trying to catch eight digits in the air en rebound.
My god, were my palms always this sweaty?
"You are not sure." she retorts a snide remark as if she couldn't believe I was in her class.
I shake my head. I may not have liked Starkhouse or understood why the headmistress brought me here but none of that was important. What I needed to do was impress her. Maybe then she would start looking at me in a better light.
"Please just give me a minute." I plead anxiously searching my memory that had anything to do with Christopher Columbus and came up short.
Last night I'd concluded that ambitious success was an unpredjudiced luck never to be garaunteed. By his third expedition concerns about his mental welfare struck many which I somehwat sympathized with given my own narrative history.
And just like that, that part in my brain where I retained information and knowledge opened up like a vortex, the energy moving and balancing itself out without much force on my part as facts and data started out small and grew wider until I remembered something. Like a retrieved wet corner puzzle piece, that impossible figure outlined the most significant details.
The missing subsequent number received notable stigma after a long drift at sea, not to mention there was a supply of water shortage during that particular voyage and that's why I remembered the number. Greif and distress just seemed easier to believe in. Fairy tales were such crap.
I'm not saying that I'm perfect but it would be foolish to presume in happily ever afters. Relationships whether business or personal aren't meant to last. They're like a plate of cookies.
You get your hopes up by recreating another batch using the same recipe from before but when you eagerly take your first bite the taste is not as you remembered it and so you spit it out feeling dejected and pissed off. The aroma of spices coming from the oven might trigger happy memories but the cookie itself embodies a different quality and aftertaste leaving you feeling spiteful and remorseful.
What really struck me, however, were all the catastrophic hardships Columbus had dealt with and yet he'd managed to make trade with the natives anyway.
"1492, 1493, 1498, and 1502." I tell her. I could feel myself smiling.
"Well done Ms. Striker." she watches me under her scrutinous eye just waiting for me to screw up so she could reprimand me again.
Ultimately the bell rings so everyone bumps over the other to get out first.
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