" A life with love 

is a life that's been lived "

- Supermarket Flowers, Ed Sheeran

☀

arashi

PORTMOUTH HIGH is enormous in every sense of the word. And beautiful too. The building is designed like a court in a vintage-elite style. Since Portmouth is considered one of the best private schools in the state, the construction lives up to your expectations if not exceed. The walls are high and white, and the vast gates have this way of making you feel smaller than what you already are. Like you're being encompassed in an ant hole overflowing with ants. Except the ants here are not as uniform and orderly.

After I finish concentrating this school's massive entirety, I start to move towards the entrance. My heartbeat grows fast. I don't know why I'm feeling so scared, though. Not one person has thrown me an awkward glance until now, neither has a bully has charged at me. In fact, one guy even smiled at me, to which I gave a half smile back. If everything is so normal, why am I still scared?

I'm not scared of not fitting in. I'm not scared of standing out. I've never been one to care. Then what exactly am I scared of?

Dad had asked me this morning if I wanted him to come with me. I said no, of course. He hadn't gone to work because of me for a whole week so that I could adjust to this new city comfortably. My guilt levels are at an all time high and if he hadn't gone today, they would've exploded. 

I've already reached the top of the staircase, and the doors of the school look bigger than ever. I'm still contemplating to go inside, God knows for what reason. As I can't make up my mind, I just let my feet drag me into the school. 

And suddenly, I'm inside.

A sprightly voice greets me before I can admire the infrastructure. It belongs to a very, very blonde boy who has very, very light-coloured eyes. Almost golden. Looking at him feels like looking at a dim flashlight.

"Hey," he says, like we've known each for years. 

I try to remember if I ever saw him before, but there's nothing familiar about him. "Hi?"

"What were you doing outside?" he asks.

I tilt my head. "Nothing. Why?"

He lets out a laugh. "It's just that I saw you standing at the exact same place for five minutes straight."

"Oh, right," I say, laughing along. I must've looked like a weirdo. "I was just thinking if I should enter."

His lips form into a small 'o'. "Wanted to bunk? I'll join you," he says, smiling. "Wanna get coffee from Ramsey's?"

I shake my head. "No, but can you take me to the principal's office?"

His expression now fills with bewilderment. Why would you want to go the Principal's office? his face clearly asks. What kind of shit did you do?

"I'm a new student. Mrs. Burton asked me to meet her before my classes start." I explain, still quite shaky.

His body eases. "Oh, okay," his cheeks flushed suddenly. "I'll take you there then," he says with a smile. 

He takes me there, talking about how this school is enormous like a huge black hole, and like a huge black hole, it sucks, quite literally. I'm surprised that in all this time, he hasn't asked me a single thing. I'm even more surprised he hasn't even told me his name.

We finally reach the principal's office. The boy knocks on the door from me. There's no response. When he knocks on the door again, the deep voice of a woman answers, "Come in."

The boy looks at me, his eyes clearly telling it's time for him to leave. I wave at him as I see his back walk away from me. I enter the room.

A pale and skinny woman sits in front of a desk. She looks like she could be a relative of the boy I just met, but her sheer stare makes you reconsider your thoughts. Her eyes scan me.

Although she looks like a grandmother, Mrs. Burton does not give off any grandmotherly aura. The first thing she does after seeing me is ask me to take a seat in front of her. Then in the softest voice, she demands who I am. When her questions stop, our session starts off (and pretty much ends) with her introducing herself as Mrs. Burton and then giving a short speech about Portmouth High.

"Here's your timetable. And if you ever need to talk to anyone, you can go to Mrs. Everhart. She's the School Counselor and her office is the first room to the right on the second floor," Mrs. Burton concludes, handing me a sheet of paper.

"Thank you," I tell her, taking my timetable.

"Sure," Mrs. Burton coughs. "Now leave before your classes get over."

I bow down almost to a right angle, a habit I picked up from my Japanese mother. It's a good replacement for words when you're leaving a certain place. No awkward silences will ever ensue its finality.

When I get out, I check my timetable. First period is Chemistry Lab.

Who wants to go to a lab during their first class? I have zero interest in standing in a room full of students creating random explosions right at the start of a day. In my previous school, one kid somehow ended up with a blue face and blue lab coat. I never imagined it to happen out of Disney shows and sitcoms.

I realize that I have no idea where the Chemistry Lab is. There's no student around me either; it's already been ten minutes since class started. In the end, I decide to go back the way I came. I can at least ask the receptionist for directions.

As I walk, I try concentrating on the walls around me. Good architecture should be felt, Mom always says. Said.

I know I'm too lost in thoughts, because suddenly I run into someone. There's barely any impact on me, but the man I run into staggers for a few seconds, until finally falling on his butt. He frowns, forming a dark crease on his forehead. I lend out my free hand and he scoffs at me while taking it. 

"Students these days are just so mindless! Keep your eyes on your way!" he scolds. I apologize and then bow. He seems mildly impressed, but that fades away the next instant.

"Now go to your class!" he shouts. I nod and he turns towards his way.

Just as he takes the first step, a small idea pops into my mind. "Excuse me, Sir?"

"What?" he frowns turning back at me, forming that crease again.

"Can you tell me where the Chemistry Lab is?"

"1, 2 or 3?"

I look at the paper. "2."

His expression hardens and then normalizes again. "That's my class. You must be the new student."

I'm taken aback for a short moment, but I answer him. "Yes, I am."

"Follow me then. You're lucky even I am late today. Normally, I don't allow students into my class if they're late," he says, sounding stern. It looks like an act almost, but his voice sounds genuine.

When he starts to walk, I notice him limping. It's not very subtle. Either the fall took a toll on him, or it was because of the limp that he fell. I want to help him, but I don't know how, so I just keep my mouth shut.

On the way, he tells me that he's Mr. Ian Letterhead and then asks me my name to which I reply, Arashi Murphy. I add in a bow with my introduction, hoping I'll be able to make it to the good side of his opinions. It works. I catch the small smile before he tries to erase it.

We don't speak after that. Within all the silence, I make up my mind that I'll call him Letterhead. It goes well with the super-villain-turned-professor vibe he radiates. The name is so naturally good for him, it's creepy.

We stop in front of a door and Letterhead ushers me to go in first. I do. Some awkward glances come in my direction, while some others are curious ones.

"Introduce yourself," Letterhead tells me. I turn to face the class. Students of all shapes and colours look at me expectantly, expecting I don't know what. Do they think I'm going to do three flips while telling them my name?

"Hi guys," I start off. 'I'm Arashi Mu -"

"Excuse me, Sir!"

I am interrupted by a shrill voice of a girl at the door. It's quite a sight. Her short and cropped hair is tousled. She's wearing a grey sweatshirt, pink pajamas and blue sneakers. It looks as if she's directly teleported from the comfort of her bed.

"Sorry, Sir," she says, smiling apologetically.

She's dead, I think. Letterhead's gonna roast her.

But no. "Come in, and don't dare be late next time," is what comes out of his mouth. He's glaring, but he doesn't shout.

He told me he didn't allow late comers to his class normally. He was either joking, or this girl is one of his best students. Or maybe he let her off because he was late too.

The teleporter enters the class with her head hanging low. She still has that smile wavering on her face. She looks at me with guilt and walks off to one of the counters at the end of the room, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"Okay then," Letterhead clears his throat. "Let's start the class now! It's already late!"

He points me to go to a counter. Every one of them already have pairs, except for the one at the end; the one where the teleporter was standing alone and muttering things to herself. I walk there as fast as I can, because all the stares from the others are beginning to annoy me.

"Hi," says the teleporter with her head held low. Moments later, her eyes meet mine. She smiles, her face a little less red.

"Hi," I tell her.

That's all we get to talk because Letterhead starts his class right after. He explains what chemicals we need to use and what we need to mix, but it's not long before I my concentration wavers. I try to make sense of his words. When I make some progress, he suddenly stops and then announces us to begin with our experiments.

I feel dejected. I thought I paid attention to the first part, but I can't even recall the main chemical needed. My eyes dart around nervously. And luckily, my partner seems to already have started working.

The teleporter takes a little bit of white salt from a jar labelled as Lead Nitrate. She puts it in a test tube and carefully knocks on the glass wall for all the powder sticking on the sides to fall down. She does it a second time, and then gives the test tube to me.

"Thanks," I say. She only nods. But now that I see her, she's not being quiet out of embarrassment. Her mind is plainly in the experiment.

I just stand there awkwardly. While looking around, I catch Letterhead glaring at me. That crease on his forehead is very unsettling. Damn, I need to start working.

I don't know if it's because she noticed Letterhead, but exactly then the teleporter asks me to give something to her. She keeps pointing at it, and I keep pointing at things to check if we re thinking about the same thing. Suddenly, her eyes grow wide and her face shouts, yes, that! I reach out for the mini-stove - no, wait, I think it's called a Bunsen Burner - and give it to her. She mumbles a thanks and quickly lights it up.

The rest of the experiment continues similarly, with her doing all the work while giving me some occasional instructions. She even lets me copy her notes at the end. Just as I finish writing the reaction, the bell rings.

"Thank you, students!" Letterhead says thanklessly and leaves. The teleporter and I begin to clean up.

"Thanks for today. I'm sorry for being so useless," I tell her.

She smiles. "You weren't useless. You held the test tubes. My hands hurt from holding the holders too long."

She's being too nice, because I held the test tubes for not more than thirty seconds. I decide I like her. She seems cool. Especially with that outfit.

I'm about to ask for her name, when I suddenly notice she's not next to me. Looking aorund, I find her at the door.

"Bye!" she waves from the other end and leaves quietly like a cat.

I take my stuff and head out too. My next period is Geometry(2). I know where the classroom is, because Letterhead and I happened to cross it on our way to the lab.

As I walk, I decide to look around the place. Mom had bestowed me with the habit of observing architecture, no matter how big or small the site is. 

I'm pleasantly surprised by the interiors. The crafting is amazing. The walls are a striking mix of colonial and modern architecture, lined with posters of students and paintings of people. There are windows all over the place, even where people cannot reach it. What I don't like about the whole setting is that it's too white. Almost blinding. Creamy colours like ochre or off-white at few points would've suited it better. I'm sure Mom would say that too.

Mom.

So that's what I was scared of. Ever since I saw the pamphlet in the brochure.

The architecture, it reminds me of Mom. How she'd go on talking about buildings and poems and poems about buildings. How she'd say that the design you make is the world that you reflect. How she'd marvel over old houses and pretty gardens like a small girl.

I was scared of this feeling of never getting her back. Now I'll never get to listen to her talk about Ando Tadao or Zaha Hadid. I'm not going to ever get scolded because of drawing over her blueprints. I won't get to hear the poems she wrote and couldn't read out. I'll just never get to feel her as a whole again.

Just as I feel like my legs are going to collapse, I find myself leaning onto a pillar. My body had somehow led itself there. I run my hands through the pillar, trying not to look suspicious. It's rough with texture. Gritty like the reality.

I can feel it, I think. It's there. I'm here.

But Mom's not.

But I'm here. I've got to do something about that.

You can't do anything for Mom.

But I can do something for myself.

Selfish. Don't you remember the time you burned her papers because you were angry at her? You never even apologized.

Shut it. I can't do it now.

Exactly. Selfish.

"You okay bro?"

The voice of a boy comes from above. Then I realize I am crouching on the floor. 

"Hey, you okay?" he asks again.

I don't say a thing, but I try getting up. The boy holds my arm firmly until I'm completely upright. I stand there, still, processing what happened with me in the last minute. My stomach suddenly starts to ache. I clutch it.

"You want me to take you to the nurse?" he asks. His tone sounds partially concerned and partially unsure. 

I almost decide to not reply again, but that would be plain rude. After getting a fraction of my senses back, I speak out. "No, I'm fine."

My voice is so shaky, I surprise myself. I try to smile back but it doesn't form at all, so all I do is acknowledge him with a brief nod. The boy hesitantly walks away, constantly turning to check on me. I force myself steady.

Maybe, just maybe, I regret not letting Dad come with me.