Changes in the air

A shrill voice pierces my ears, but I struggle to turn my attention to the direction it comes from.

«Miss Raven, I would like to remind you that this is a school, not a recreation center» so, straining, I turn my head to the desk, glowering at the figure of the woman behind it. Her blue glasses rest on a horrible potato nose, while the straw-blond curls surround the tired and wrinkled face of what is Miss Karen Connor.

A history teacher from the Paleolithic period, at the same time this woman is one of the main pillars of Saint Jeremy, although for her students, she is only a sort of poisonous spine in their sides. When she starts talking, sleep gets the better of good will and the eyelids, those bastards, become as heavy as boulders.

Anyway, now I stare at her and she does the same in return, challenging me from the top of her school authority.

I wish I could look for support in some friendly faces, avoiding fighting this battle between the classrooms of a private school too full of sleepiness, but I give up even before trying - none of these snooty little girls in blue uniforms can help me and, least of all, there is none that I can call "friend".

It may be that the idea of having a person of the same sex next to me hits my spirit - probably because having the coordinated periods is the equivalent of outbreak of a new nuclear bomb -, or it may be because I grew up with Jace and masculinity, but there is no companion who has ever attracted my interest.

The only one that has this privilege, if one can say so, is my dearest and fiercest nemesis: Misha Jocelyn McCoy.

Our past, like the present, cannot be defined as the best, and the most vague attempt at a friendly approach has turned into an apocalypse - I hit her person so deeply that it made her become a harpy.

With a snort I close the music magazine I have on my knees, the one from which I distracted myself just long enough to look out the window and get caught.

I blink my eyelashes again and again, raising the eyebrows and preparing to sign my sentence - not that I'm not used to it, of course, but it's tiring every time.

«A pity. Seriously»I put a hand under the chin. «Do you know that in some Northern European countries, it is possible to take short breaks from lessons when the mind is too tired? England should not be outdone, in my opinion, we could disfigure if someone found it out»I see the professor's face veering towards a disturbing shade of red, but it doesn't seem to be enough to stop my tongue. As I think I have already said it enough, the instinct of self-preservation must have been removed from the list of qualities that should have been delivered to my home.

«Right now my brain is really tired, Miss Connor. I believe that the quarrel between Henry VIII and the Church is among the most told stories in these classrooms, so why it still so important to dig it up?»I still say, highlighting the fact that, at least, I know what we are talking about.

From my side, just a few paces away, Misha takes the word: «Oh, wow! Did you have anything left in that head?»And annoying giggles line up with that kind of prehistoric joke.

I don't even have the decency to turn to her, even if I feel her eyes well anchored to my face - who knows why...

«Who suggest you certain jokes, Churchill from the underworld?»

Before she can answer, however, the teacher puts herself in the middle of our feud, reminding us of the context in which unfortunately we find ourselves. Her incapacity to manage anger is almost unbelievable and, in no time at all, I find myself confronting yet another groomed.

«Is it possible that you don't know how to maintain a minimum of demeanor, Miss Jane Jacqueline? For years we have always taken it up for the same reasons, and yet you persists in not wanting to bring respect to the figures and to the institution itself that is this school!»The high notes become more and more intense, exactly like the redness on her face and the blood vessels in the eyes.

She snorts and yells, while putting the chalk on the table and brings her hands to the bony hips.

«At this point I have nothing else to do but to ask you to go directly to the presidency. Wait for me there, as soon as the lesson is over we will talk about it with the Headmaster and your parents» and to avoid exploding in front of all her very diligent female students, she closes the speech using the authority of the secretariat - an authority whose only merit is of being able to stir up Catherine's anger.

Rolling up the magazine and shamelessly putting it under my armpit, I get up with a sigh of pity, bringing my eyes to the sky.

I do not have time to walk towards the exit that the teacher immediately adds: «I hope this walk can help your brain relax, Miss Raven». I admit it, at least Professor Connor's comment is more sympathetic than Misha's.

I sketch a smile and let the ticking of the shoes - strictly in black paint - mark my exit from the scene. I cross the threshold of the class and, as soon as I am out, I take a long breath of liberation; because to hear about betrayed wives, divorces with the popping of fingers and squabbles with a Pope capable only of preaching well and scratching badly, just isn't bread for my teeth.

Let me be clear, I love history and I am a fetishist of biographies of revolutionary characters. I like to know what has led us to where we are now, to see the changes in the world decade after decade, but it is the way some teachers tell me to go through certain topics that bothers me - I prefer to find new conversation to chat with Charlie.

Slow, I start to move through the corridor, looking for a strategic point in which to spend a few minutes before going to knock on the door of a too formal Headmaster that look like a stereotype worthy of the worst films.

I walk near the baths and, before passing them, I deviate inside to give myself some nicotine and tobacco shots.

I put my hand in the pocket of the pleated skirt, but before I can pull out my beloved Lucky Strike package, a flush makes me jump. Quickly I hide the body of the crime, knowing that running into the wrong person would be pretty much ruin my career - but then, just when the door to one of the toilets opens, Elizabeth appears.

My sister rolls her eyes and I do the same. We stare at each other cautiously, both surprised to meet here - despite being quite normal and already happened in the past.

«Were you smoking?» I ask her immediately, studying her blouse and the skirt underneath.

She frowns, staring at me grimly: «No, I won't ruin my lungs with some rubbish, but I suppose it was in your plans, instead» she teases me, pointing with her chin to the hand hidden behind my back. And as a criminal caught, I raise my arms in surrender, showing the magazine to one side and the cigarettes on the other - it's useless to deny my faults.

Liz snorts, going towards the sinks: «You really don't want to be good, uhm? Did they kick you out of the classroom?»

I chuckle, sitting on the sink next to her: «Miss Connor doesn't appreciate my humour».

«I doubt that, apart from Charlie, there is someone to do it» she says, blinking and letting out a resigned sigh. One of the many reasons why we bicker is my continuous wanting to get out of the box that our parents imposed on us, while for her, it's an impassable limit that cannot be challenged.

I put the cigarette between my lips, lighting it up immediately after. I allow myself the luxury of being silent for a few moments, enjoying the acrid taste of nicotine and feeling a certain burning down my throat. An istant of peace in a morning that is alredy too difficult.

«Did she send you to the presidency? Will they call mom?»

I nod, throwing out a white gust.

«My good resolutions for this year do not coincide with what she would have liked» I laughed to myself, fully aware of how wrong it is to reason in this way. I could really work a little more, but I can't find any good motivation.

Elizabeth shakes her head and gives herself a smile, then grabs a paper towel and goes to the exit: «You'll make her crazy!» My sister throws what she has in her hand: «Do you know that a new student has arrived? It's your year, in the class next to mine. It seems to come from Wales».

I fix her without understanding.

Is there any reason why the topic should interest me? Or was she also influenced by the speeches of our mother, dad, grandmother and Jace?

However, before I can find any sentence with which to address her comment, she slips away, leaving me alone in a bathroom that will soon be filled with smoke.