Bailey

Language Arts

November 29, 2001

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7:30. Babson Middle School was empty, except for the early morning janitor, grumpy as usual, or occasional groups of adolescents, whispering and giggling. The silence of the lobby seeped into my body like sleep does- gradually, but sinking with every second. I noticed the carpet, the debris from yesterday now cleared and in the trash somewhere. The walls, 25-year-old paint starting to peel, having been leaned on by generations of sluggish teenagers and are seeming to sag from the weight. Babson is pretty much a normal middle school. October 12, 2012 started like a peaceful day for me. But it changed in just 5 minutes.

I started the day normally, twisting on the stubborn dial of my locker. I yanked it open, grabbed my books for first block, and headed down the hall. "Hey Mr. Dolphini," I said breathlessly to the ghost that I recognized as my homeroom teacher. What? A ghost? I shook it off my mind and took a seat at one of the many tables in the room. The student leader of our room took attendance and led us in the pledge. Even though I had hidden in the back of the room, I could still hear Mr. Dolphini droning out the pledge. It’s not Halloween yet, so why is Dolphini dressed up like that? I thought to myself, cautiously peering over the edge of my book.

Hoping that Mr. Dolphini was the only one messed up today, I plodded up the stairs for math, looking cautiously at passersby for any sign of weirdness. When I arrived at math class, Ms. Rees was in her usual state. To my surprise, math stayed normal, except for the fact that Ms. Rees kept on talking to her pen. However, she often did that. I began to think that Mr. Dolphini was the only one who was acting weirdly. I was sadly mistaken.

Language Arts required a trip downstairs. Out of breath and just on time, I arrived in the doorway of the room and almost fainted. The room was as black as pitch, and Mr. Cambridge was wearing robes of the same color. The only illumination in the room was the torches on the walls. "Hello, Ariel," said Mr. Cambridge. His extremely long nose was longer than normal, and he seemed to be talking through it. I took my seat, and Mr. Cambridge flicked on the overhead and began explaining to us the importance of paragraph structure. But a rat, unseen by the class, jumped into Haley’s quill ink (splattering her) and scampered across the overhead. "What was that?" I whispered to Bekah, sitting next to me.

"What are you talking about, stupid?" She replied. Hmmm, I thought. Something is wrong here. I better keep this to myself. After class adjourned, I dashed to my locker, pulled it open and grabbed my bassoon. I sprinted up the stairs and quickly walked towards the Band room. It was filled with the sounds of honking and tooting. The loudest thing in the room, though, was Mr. Tammer, the band teacher. He was bouncing around in a clown outfit, yelling into a megaphone and was (apparently) having the time of his life. Band was really scary because of the noise.

After band was lunch. I sank into a seat next to my friend Kelsey. She eyed me suspiciously and asked, "Are you okay, girl? You’ve been pale since Language Arts and during Band you were trembling like crazy."

Uh-oh! "I’m fine," I lied. I grabbed an apple from my lunch bag and bit into it. "Just fine."

My friends Meg, Bayley and Carrie joined Kelsey and I at our table. We chatted like any other day. I was thankful that we didn’t bring up my personal issue. Lunch was over in two minutes and the gang and I headed back to our lockers. Meg and Bayley joined me on the walk towards the Social Studies room. Unfortunately, Mr. Cambridge was our Social Studies teacher as well, so I prepared myself for the dark and scary environment I had seen earlier. It was there, but without the rats.

Almost as soon as I entered the classroom, a voice crackled over the old intercom system. "Excuse me, Mr. Cambridge, do you have a kid named Ariel Shavone with ya?"

"Yes, I do," said Mr. Cambridge. "Should I send her to the office?"

"Yeah, thanks, that would be great." I left the classroom and walked down to the office. "Phone call for ya. You wanna sit?" The secretary indicated a chair and handed me a portable phone.

"Yello."

"Howdy, Ariel, it’s Mom."

Uh-oh. What was so important that she would need to tell me?

"How are you doing?"

"I’m fine," I replied. I could almost feel her concern for me.

"Uh, honey, Dr. Moose just called. He said that because of the accident, you were prone to hallucinations. OK? I’m really sorry about this, sweetie." She hung up.

Hallucinations were my problem?. I thanked the secretary ("Anytime, kiddo"), and took a stroll towards the school library. The librarian was at her desk, and I asked her for the automated catalogue CD. Once I had the catalogue activated, I searched it for ‘hallucinations.’ There was only one book on the subject, but it provided some useful information. ‘The only way you can get rid of hallucinations,’ the book read, ‘is to remember the accident that caused them.’

The accident. Of course. I remembered the hospital, but it was farther back than that. Finally, from the depths of my memory, I remembered doing the laundry for Mom. I stood at the top of the stairs, trying to figure out why the light wouldn’t turn on. Oh well. I knew the basement like the back of my hand. But going down the stairs, I tripped on another laundry basket. I hurtled down the stairs, crying out in my agony. Suddenly, everything went black.

Forgetting where I was and who was around me, I let out a cry of sheer exuberance. I leapt out of my chair, like someone whose favorite hockey team had won the Stanley Cup. I almost danced up to the librarian’s desk and returned the catalog CD. She reminded me that I was in a library and that I would have to be quieter if I didn’t want to leave. I just smiled and left, rejoicing inwardly.

On my way back to class, I collided into Bayley. "Hey, Ariel. What’s up with you today?"

"Nothing. I’m fine," I replied cheerily. Then I realized that it was the second time I had said that today. But this time, I wasn’t lying.

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