7 July 1994
[Elizabeth's POV]
Lonely.
No superlative could capture the growing hollowness inside me. This version of me had matured far beyond what a normal seven-and-a-half-year-old should ever be.
"Hmpf! I'm not going to friend you!" Desiree snapped at me.
"Why not?" I asked, irritated by her sudden outburst and the fact that I had just missed what the math teacher was saying.
"Why? Oh gosh! I don't know how to explain it to you. You just don't get it, do you?" Her eyebrows shot up in exaggerated disbelief.
Being friends with Desiree meant that, every other day, I got the unfriending treatment. There was always something—something in Desiree's point of view that wasn't right with our friendship. But whenever I asked, she could never explain it.
And somehow, every time, it ended up being my fault for not knowing what was wrong.
"This time, I'm serious. I'm no longer friending you." Desiree folded her arms like a grown-up, rolled her eyes, and turned her head away from me.
"Childish…" I muttered under my breath, chuckling at the irony that I was a child calling another child childish.
Who knows, maybe the very next day, Desiree would come up to me like she had a few times before and declare that we were friends again. The only reason I put up with the ridiculous cycle was because she was the only 'friend' my mother ever gave the stamp of approval to.
I turned away from her, trying to shift my attention back to the teacher, focusing on catching up with the bits of math I had just missed from Desiree's sudden outburst. In a corner of the classroom, a boy left his study table and was now jumping and hopping around with a crayon in his left hand, while the teacher remained oblivious to his actions.
Soon, it would be playtime for the children of Pearson's Junior K-2 School. Pearson's was where kids from families who didn't have much were sent. Children who needed extra help were also placed at Pearson's.
In a class, there were always children who had trouble hearing. Children who mixed up their p's and d's. Children who lived in their own world and melted down for no reason. And children who just couldn't seem to sit still.
Pearson's was poorly funded and heavily subsidised by the government. Parents paid next to nothing in school fees. Teachers were underpaid and, frankly, didn't care. Child development, emotional needs, learning differences — none of it mattered. Their daily mantra might as well have been: Anything is fine, so long as there's no trouble.
Playtime today was scheduled at a nearby neighbourhood playground. It was an old and neglected, with dried leaves mixed into sand that reeked faintly of urine and sometimes, dog poop. In the middle stood a faded slide shaped like a mythical Chinese dragon, towering over three rusty, creaky swings with worn-out rubber seats that eager children would race to take turns on.
At exactly 9 a.m., the classroom clock struck. The children of Pearson's dashed from their study seats with their red school hats, lining up neatly into two rows. Many chattered excitedly about what kinds of games they might play.
"Silence!" barked Mrs. Pereira, the school's headmistress. "If you are not silent and well-behaved, playtime will be cancelled, and we shall have extra classes instead!"
"Now, go find your partner and make sure both of you hold each other's hands tightly. I want no one out of my sight. IS. THAT. CLEAR?" Mrs Pereira raised her voice, the pitch climbing in a crescendo.
The children, not wanting playtime to be taken away, scrambled in silence to grab their partners and quickly lined back up in rows of two.
As the number of children was always odd, someone would end up without a partner, and that person was usually me. Somehow, Desiree was Miss Popular and could get anyone to be her partner. And if she happened to declare me unfriended, then no one would want to pair with me either.
I'd had enough of being the odd one out. I thought that if I just tried harder, worked faster, and asked nicely, maybe this time, I wouldn't be the last odd person in the line. I reached from row to row, asking softly if anyone was willing to be my partner. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Mrs Pereira clearing her throat and tapping her fingers impatiently. I froze for a second, then glanced around quickly.
"Great… I'm the only one not in a line." I mumbled, head down in defeat, joining the line all the way at the back. Alone.
The acrid smell of the playground assaulted my nose the moment we arrived. Soon, little voices started playing in my head, and I began to drift.
"Remember the world out there is filled with bad people. You do not talk to strangers."
"You do not make friends that I don't know of."
"How many times do I have to repeat myself—never play with children I haven't approved?"
"Just tell them you can't play with them because your mother says so."
"Your mother says so is the only reason they'll ever need from you."
"And it's all for your own good!"
"Elizabeth!" Daisy tapped me on the shoulder, snapping me out of those voices. "Come play with us. You're the catcher!"
Screams erupted as children scattered in all directions. It was the dreaded game of catching, where the catcher must be avoided at all costs. The catcher must tap another player on the shoulder to pass on the role.
I squinted, scanning the playground with an eagle's eye and locked in on a good target. Nimbly, I dashed across the playground, faking out movements in random directions around my 'prey'. As soon as I saw him relax, I changed course, and before he even realised it, my hand tapped his shoulder.
"Ahh! No fun! Elizabeth always catches someone so fast!" he huffed, stomping his foot. "I want revenge!"
With both his hands lunging for me, I took off at full speed toward the bush maze. Surrounded by trees, it had a vibe of mystery, like the entrance to Wonderland in Alice in Wonderland. Logically, the cover of the trees and bushes was ideal to confuse my chaser.
That's when I saw him.
A strange-looking boy, standing at the maze's entrance.
He was dressed in blue robes intricately embroidered with Chinese patterns, the front half of his head shaved, the back half tied into a neat braid. He looked a year or two younger than me.
There was something regal, almost untouchable about him. And deep inside, I knew — this boy was not of this world.