"Are you still coming over?" Tina shouted across the road, loud enough to turn the heads of people who weren't even part of the conversation. She was doing that on purpose just to provoke me. We were not friends, just group mates for a project that had landed me at her place.
"Nah, I'm good," I yelled back, though my reply barely made it through the breeze, and even if she heard, I hoped she would take the hint and not come running over asking why I had suddenly decided to flake. I would join them from home through a video call.
I wasn't ready, emotionally or socially, for another round of humiliation, especially after today when I had to sit through a portion of lunch trying not to cry as girls I had never spoken to laughed like monks in the courtyard about my little mishap as though they had never bled through their skirts in Year Nine before. It was a damn period stain, I was just dealing with something completely natural.
It wasn't exactly headline-worthy, but let me tell you, their laughter could have been recorded and used as evidence for cruelty. Thank goodness for the emergency hoodie in my bag, it rescued what was left of my reputation.
"Hey!" a male voice called, and I turned to look.
He was seated in a dark grey motor-car, the window drawn low, with one arm hanging out lazily.
I had heard far too many stories, news stories, horror stories, school group warnings about girls getting snatched right off this very road. I knew better than to stop or give anyone the benefit of the doubt, especially not when I was the only one walking in this roadside. So I ignored him.
I walked like I couldn't hear, but he continued to slow-drive his car, matching my pace.
"Sandra Macholyn!" he called out, and my knees buckled so hard I nearly collapsed into myself. How could a man I had never met before know my name, how could he say it like he had known how my tribe would pronounce it? I was not a niece or a goddaughter or someone he had seen grow up.
I stopped moving, and my eyes darted around in every direction just to double-check that there wasn't another girl walking nearby who happened to have my name, though the odds of that were laughable. There were a few people about, scattered across the pavements, some chatting, some strolling, but none of them looked like they bear that name, and that left me.
"You've become such a big girl," he said.
"Did I know you, sir? Please?"
"Never mind," he muttered, already pulling on his gloves, Then he rode off, leaving me standing there with my thoughts thrown in every direction.
He looked like a man in his fifties, maybe late fifties. He had a face of a man whose face doesn't stay in your memory unless you try very hard to remember it. But I wasn't just shaken because he said my name. That was not what kept my breath caught in my chest. It was the fact that he knew my sur name. No one ever has. Not in school, not in passing, not even by accident.
I have always used only my first name, for everything, including registration and stuff. I have always kept it hidden within the safety of my house, buried in my private life. And still, in a town where no one knows my bloodline or where I come from, this man did.
After I got home, I stormed into my room and bounced on my bed. It was sad that I was staying alone. At the same time, I was happy.
I so much wanted friends, but I haven't seen one.
Those who call me friend mocked me
Yesterday, After I hung out with them for a sleepover I was embarrassed my period came at the wrong time.
"It all in the past." I whispered.
I sighed and quickly went to the loo to splash water on my face. I was so relieved this was my last period for the month. I stared at myself in the mirror. I've become so skinny like a toothpick, and it never ends. I lose weight almost every single day, and I'm scared to visit the health care for a checkup, afraid to hear the worst.
After taking a shower, I jumped into bed for a quick nap, but I couldn't sleep, probably because I'd just had coffee.
The next minute, the window opened with force, then a strong wind scattered all the papers on my desk.
Bang! Bang! I flinched as I grabbed my pillow for the comfort of safety. Two gunshots were aimed straight at my coffee mug and flower table vase. The coffee was spilt across the surface of the rug, and the glass situated by the window was dashed upon the floor into a thousand glittering shards.
I screamed and buried myself beneath the pillow, drawing the bedsheet close about my head as if such fabric could grant protection. My heart beat increased, and I held my breathe. I took a quick peek at my window, and pushed myself to close the door. I flung the covers off and stood up all at once with my legs wobbling, then rushed to the windows to slam them shut, one after another, before turning to the door and locking it fast behind me, even though I still couldn't say exactly what it was I thought I had heard.