Four

I woke up to the aromatic smell of bacon. A fatty meat, that just truly tasted amazing. What would we do without bacon? I’d probably die. It was the only thing at the orphanage I ever recognized on my plate, the eggs were always running- the sausage always under-cooked. I slowly rolled over and checked the clock on my night stand as I ticked away through id rusty gears. Following the time of day because humans couldn’t do it ourselves. It was 7:45. School started today. The orphanage kids don’t go to school, but winder break is over and- somehow- Miss Oakland got me in.

 

I was so excited, I even picked out the best outfit Miss Oakland’s granddaughter had. I put on the dark grey leggings and purple dress. Even though I was boyish in my actions, I was still very girly. I liked dresses. I liked hairclips. I liked horses. I didn’t like boys. And I was very excited to go to school.

 

“Alaska!” Miss Oakland bellowed up the stairs. “Come on and get breakfast before it gets cold, child!”

 

I came down the stairs, wobbly in my Mary janes, and sat at the table. My plate was completely filled with breakfast fixings. My first day of school must have been special in her opinion. I was excited, too. I didn’t get why my new ‘guardian’ was so excited. She wasn’t going to make new friends and learn new stuff. She was just going to walk me to the headmaster’s office and leave to come back here and do old lady stuff. Why was she so excited?

 

I hate my bacon, which was delicious as bacon always is, then my eggs, and then my hash browns. I figured now would be a good time to tell her about stuff I like to eat, this way she never messed up and made something I wouldn’t, or couldn’t eat.

 

“Did the orphanage tell you my allergies, Miss Oakland?” I asked, curious to see if they did. I have a few allergies, all of them to food. And I didn’t want to get sick and cause a burden for my new parent. She looked up and nodded, with her mouth full. Okay, so at least she knew what I couldn’t eat. What about stuff I didn’t like? “What about a list of foods I didn’t like to eat?” I asked. Usually the orphanage gives a plethora of unnecessary paperwork, and I knew a list of dislikes was usually included. She nodded again. I was shocked the orphanage knew what I didn’t like- considering I never spoke to anybody. I guess they watch what you do, or don’t, eat on your plate every day. I felt slightly violated. Why did the orphanage watch me so closely? It was always me. I couldn’t go outside by myself, or to the bathroom without an escort. I didn’t remember until now, but there was a lady taking notes on us and how we acted. I thought she was looking for a child to parent until she explained she was a psychologist. That’s a mind doctor. They try to understand what you’re thinking or why you do certain stuff. She explained this to me as well, though I never got her name, nor did I care about it.

 

I finished my plate and cleaned it in the sink, it was warm- she had the steam heater on again. I scrubbed my plate so the grease was off, but left it in the sink to marinate. Usually oils remove themselves when its in water, so maybe it’ll be clean by the time Miss Oakland gets back from taking me to school. I instantly reminded myself that this woman was a killer, and it wouldn’t be good to leave a plate in the sink. It might annoy her that I didn’t finish cleaning up. She was putting on her shoes in the threshold of the front door. I didn’t want to keep her waiting and, suddenly, I didn’t know what to do. I slowly removed my plate from the water, it didn’t feel greasy or oily. It seemed clean. I wiped it off with a drying rag and placed it on the kitchen counter as I tuned around to leave. Miss Oakland gave me a coat, and I place my arms through the sleeves. The jacket rested on my shoulders and warmed my body. It was a down jacket, prepared for the chill of winter with goose feathers. I loved it. It was black, and had buttons to close it. I buttoned up and Miss Oakland opened the door. It was colder than it was yesterday, and my metal pail almost froze my fingers on the walk to the schoolhouse, but I managed- careful not to complain about anything.

 

We approached the school and she opened the door. It looked heavy, even with a grown woman controlling it. It groaned open and a large hallway was ahead of us. The hall was filled with children of all ages. Ranging from seven to fourteen. This was an elementary school with a middle school attached to it. Most schools were like that these days to save space. They don’t want to have to knock down any more trees. Education was a choice around these parts. Most children got jobs to help out their families and never even gave school a second thought. My father didn’t go to school until he was older, and he really regretted it. He told me so on my very first day. My education was very important to my Poppa, and I took it just as seriously, if not more so, than he had. I promised him I would always do my best, and my best was always better than everyone else. He was proud, and I wanted to keep it that way, so I was definitely going to my very best here- no matter how many kids make fun of me or how many teachers under estimate my intelligence. I was going to prove everybody wrong about me one day. I didn’t know what I wanted to be, I’d been asked that a lot since my Poppa was taken away. What did I want to be? I never knew how to answer or what to say. I always pictured myself wood working with my Poppa. Building people’s sheds, or houses, or even just a walking stick (which reminds me, I need to make Miss Oakland a walking stick). I wanted to be like my dad. Maybe I still do, who knows? I didn’t know what I wanted nearly as much since what happened. I always used my Poppa as a crutch, I was always happy.

 

We got to the principal’s office, and Miss Oakland explained to the secretary our business here. The secretary looked over the counter to me where I was sitting. I made myself comfortable in on of the chairs along the wall. Usually when you go places, they make you wait. Like doctor Greenberg’s office. I had to write my name of a piece of paper and sit in the waiting area until I heard my name. I figured school was like this, since I had only done a few weeks of grade school before I was sent away, I wasn’t exactly well-versed in how these things worked. So, I took the chance I made the assumption that this was where I was supposed to sit. She nodded and picked up the phone next to her. Miss Oakland came and sat down next to me, I did the right thing. I was now, at his point, very unlikely to be killed. People were staring. Both kids and teachers that came into the office all stared as we sat there. I didn’t get it, why were they so interested in me? Us?

 

I looked down, I didn’t like when people stared. It was rude, violating. Why was I the center of your attention? What did my business have to do with yours? Why am I so interesting? I didn’t think I was very interesting. Yeah, a lot of stuff happened to me, but still. That’s not anybody’s business, and nobody knows about me or my past. I looked up, Miss Oakland was reading a book, and the secretary was busy writing out forms and doing other secretarial duties. The phone rang and I jumped, startled by the loud noise. A noise I wasn’t accustomed to hearing.

 

The Secretary listened, nodded, mumbled an ‘Okay’ into the phone, and hung the phone up softly, as if trying not to break it. The tucked a loose hair behind her ear, her hair was in a very tight bun. She looked up at me, and smiled genuinely. “Alaska, the principal could see you now.”

 

Her voice was barely above a whisper, I struggled to hear her- though I did hear exactly what she said. I slid out of the chair and onto the floor. Miss Oakland didn’t get up, or follow me. Nor did she look up from her book for a fraction of a second to acknowledge the fact I’d been called in to see the person who runs the school. I stumbled through the office, passed the secretary’s desk, and stood at the principal’s door.

 

My body froze, I couldn’t even knock. My first meeting with my first principal. I never even saw the principal at my first school. Not that I was there long enough to have the pleasure. I stood there, unmoving, unsure if I should knock, or if this person could somehow feel me through the door and know to open it.

 

I was nervous. Trembling.

 

What was going to happen in there? What was I going to say? What was this person going to ask me? Why did I have to meet with somebody to go to my classes?

 

Why is this world so different? This world outside the dark wood of the orphanage. A place I somewhat missed right here at this moment. As I struggled to collect the courage to knock on this glass paneled portal.

Reviews

[chubbycatchan]

In the paragraph where you wrote about breakfast, you wrote "I hate my bacon," but I think you meant "ate." I really loved this chapter! It really captured the fear, anticipation, and excitement of going to school for the first time. Alaska is adorable, I just wanna give her a hug. And cake. And balloons.

[ZombiieszAreReal]

Thank u, my goal is to make her as adorable and naive as possible while still being too smart for her own good

[Jibey]

The nervous tension builds up nicely, with the threat of Miss Oakland on the one hand, and the uncertain, unknown principal on the other. Good cliff-hanging technique - and, of course, we're dying to read on.... What lies beyond the door?!

[ZombiieszAreReal]

I'm pretty sure we realize this girl is very innocent and it literally the cutest thing I have written


No, I'm lying.. I wrote about an overly intelligent gerbil named Minnie at one point... That was adorable