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“Unfortunately.” I reply quietly.
One of the boys sitting beside Abercrombie says, “Nice though, pity she can’t talk right.”
Then Abercrombie retorts, “Yeah but she doesn’t need to talk to do certain things.”
The girls who’d been laughing with them scowl now, as if the fact that he made a sexual innuendo about me means that I’m suddenly a threat. Talk about the death of feminism.
Completely out of the blue, Caroline sticks up for me. “It really is depressing how retarded you are Josh.”
“Shut up, ginger,” says Abercrombie.
Then a boy I hadn’t noticed before speaks up, he’s sitting directly across from Caroline and me on the other side of the circle. “Hey Josh, you wanna throw abuse, direct it at someone your own size, what do you say?”
Abercrombie turns to look at the boy who’d just spoken, an angry expression causing his forehead to crease. But before he can say anything Miss O’Brien returns to the class, handing out photocopied sheets of paper and beginning her lecture about the formation of the United Nations.
I take a peek at the boy who had sort of stuck up for us. He’s got golden brown hair and his eyes are bright blue. He’s sitting beside a boy with shoulder length black hair and a lip ring. If I didn’t know any better I would have said they were brothers. They look nothing alike but their auras are strikingly similar, and strikingly unusual.
Both of their bodies are surrounded by blazing orange, it curls and swirls like fire. In fact, the more I study them, the more their auras resemble the element. Orange is a good colour, it indicates vitality and stamina. Perhaps they are athletes.
Preoccupied with the auras of these two boys, I fail to notice that the one who’d spoken up to Josh is staring at me. He looks over his shoulder a second, seemingly wondering what I’m gawking at. He can’t see the fire, only I can. I avert my eyes and look down at the notes Miss O’Brien handed out.
Caroline whispers to me again, “Franklin Marsters is giving you the glad eye.”
I turn my head a fraction to her. “Who is that?”
“Twelve o’clock,” is all she says. I look up. Fire aura boy is gazing at me. His expression is quizzical, then he smiles and I quickly look away.
Miss O’Brien asks the class, “So can anybody tell me when the U.N was founded?”
This is a simple question, it’s printed right there on the notes. One of the girls who’d laughed at me earlier speaks up. “1945 Miss.”
She’s got long dark blond hair and her aura is pink, but not Barbie doll pink like the nail varnish she’s wearing. It’s more of a dark, murky pink, usually a sign of immaturity, sometimes dishonesty. Don’t ask me how I know which colours mean what, I’ve always just known, it’s intuitive somehow.
“Well done Ingrid, you managed to read the notes then,” says Miss O’Brien, with a hint of sarcasm that makes me smile. “And since you’ve volunteered to answer, maybe you could also tell me where the International Court of Justice is situated, what its function is?”
Now this one isn’t in the notes. Ingrid scans the paper in front of her. Nope. “I don’t know that one, Miss,” she almost sneers.
“Well if you’d been listening to me you would know, since I mentioned it not five minutes ago. The ICJ is located in The Hague in the Netherlands, and it is the main judicial organ of the U.N.”
Miss O’Brien continues to tell us the ins and outs of the U.N, and I wonder why we never did CSPE in my old school. Then again, it was in a run down part of Tribane, and I suppose those kinds of places only bother to give you the bare essentials of an education.
When the bell rings I shove the print out into my bag and Caroline asks, “What’s your next class?”
“English,” I reply, after consulting my time table.
“Damn, I’ve got biology next, but I can show you where your room is, my brother’s in your English class.”
“O-okay, thank you.”
Caroline smiles and shows me the way to classroom number twenty-six, where I’ve got English with Mr Sinclair. She tells me that she and her brother Christian are twins, and that I should introduce myself to him as a friend of his sister’s, she assures me he’ll be nice to me. I nod in agreement, but have no intention of introducing myself to anybody in my next class. It’s hard enough being looked at like an oddity when you’re new. Speaking would only gain me more unwanted attention.
Thankfully, the seats in my English class aren’t organised into a circle like in Miss O’Brien’s. That must be a hippy thing. The teacher is in his fifties with grey hair and a brown shirt on. He gives me a look over, probably noting that I’m the new girl and then turns back to sort through the papers on his desk. Thank God he didn’t tell me to stand in front of the class and talk about myself like before. I take a seat in the middle row beside the window.
I sit and gaze out at the front gates of the school as the class begins, and I notice a boy to my left raise his hand to ask a question.
When Mr Sinclair asks, “Yes, Christian?” I realise that this must be Caroline’s brother.
I turn a little in my seat to get a better look at him. He’s got the same auburn hair, only it’s a little darker, and the same black eyes. He looks like one of those cool nerd types. There’s a copy of a Sandman comic sticking out of his bag. His aura is similar to Caroline’s, he’s got the yellow but it also has some green in it, creativity and good communication skills.
