Chapter 3

I sigh and huff when I get to the classroom, feeling exhaustion fill my muscles and my lungs after running so much. I look around and sit on the first empty desk I see. It took me longer than I expected to get here, because I had to follow the crowd to find the building where classes are held. I look at the rest of the people there and I find the blond hair of the guy who woke me up a while ago, letting me know I'm in the right room.

I look around, feeling disoriented and intrigued by how fancy the classroom is. The walls are white and have silver decorations, matching with the colors of the desks. A small, simple chandelier hangs from the ceiling with bright bulbs. Two big windows can be seen on the wall opposite to the door, allowing a lot of light to shine through the place. I stretch my neck to see what's on the other side of the glass, but, before I can take a look, I sit back in my initial position and clench my muscles when I hear some steps. I face the front and see a teacher walking in with a fast, determined pace. She's wearing a uniform the same color as the jacket I'm wearing. Her long pants match the j¡coat, which she removes to hang from the back of her seat at the front of the class.

I look around the classroom to check what books I should take out of my backpack as the teacher starts checking attendance. I mimic the others, to then look at the board with boredom. I let my thoughts guide me, trying to arrange them, without much success.

"Do you hear me, James?" An angry voice and impatient tapping of a pen against the wooden desk make me blink in surprise. I turn my head towards the sound, with my heart running nervously. "I'm calling the roll, James. Pay attention to the class."

I blink several times and nod slowly. I go over my name several times, frowning with a hint of disappointment. I sigh heavily. 'I thought that, when I remembered my name, everything would make sense, but everything still feels strange and foreign', I say to myself in my mind. I know it feels somewhat familiar, but there's something telling me it doesn't fully belong to me.

I think about opening my mouth to tell the teacher to forgive me, but I close it when I see her walking up to me and staring at me with her eyes wide open. When she stands next to me, she shakes her head and sighs.

"If you keep coming to class wearing pajamas, I'll have to continue deducting points from your grade."

Even though her voice is serious, her eyes look tired. I gulp, feeling my cheeks turn red, and I look at my outfit, trying to escape the gaze of my classmates along with the snarky chuckles. 'I'm so stupid. How could I not notice this?' I scold myself internally.

"I'm sorry, I think I didn't sleep well last night and I'm so tired I didn't realize what I was doing."

I zip my jacket up to try hiding my pajama and smile sheepishly. The teacher nods rigidly and goes back to her desk, talking as she walks.

"Don't let it happen again."

She resumes calling attendance carelessly as the people surrounding me start punching and pushing me playfully while chuckling softly. I grunt in response. I set an elbow on the desk and lean my cheek on the palm of my hand as I open the book that everyone's mindlessly turning the pages of. I try to distract myself by skimming the text and pictures, but more doubts start piling up ferociously. I look at the words the teacher writes on the board and I try to hear what she says, but shortly after I get distracted with the hurricane of thoughts engulfing my mind. I sigh heavily and I raise my hands to my hair, forcing myself to pay attention.

"... the animals and human beings are quite interesting beings," the teacher explains. "Multiple species share similar traits, even when at first glance we seem completely different."

I frown and rub my eyes with my fingertips to try clearing my mind. Each minute that goes by, I feel frustration piling up by not being able to remember anything. I look around, sighing. My classmates are making notes and others are staring ahead with bored expressions.

I look around for the guy with pale skin and see him a couple of desks away from me. He moves his pencil frantically on the paper, absentminded from what happens around him with an expression showing his intense focus. After a few moments, he suddenly stops. He turns his head towards me and our eyes meet. He looks at me with a sarcastic, amused smirk as he acknowledges me nodding, to what I nod in turn. I open my mouth to tell him something, but I close it quickly. We're too far away for him to hear me without getting in trouble with the teacher. 'Besides, what could I tell him? I don't know what's going on here and I have no certainty about anything, but I know I've got to talk to him', I think with a little more confidence.

I frown slightly and move on my seat, looking at the front. 'Apparently, he's my friend', I think, trying to make some sense out of my ideas. 'Then, he might know more about me and he could help me remember'. A hint of hope appears deep within me, but it vanishes as fast as it arrived, leaving me alone with the frustration and the overwhelming feelings increasing by the second. I force myself to hide my agitated breathing and the sweat running down my back. 'I don't know if everything he'd tell me would feel foreign to me or not', I think, analyzing my options.

I sigh long and heavily, trying to calm myself down. I ponder whether there's another alternative and which one would be the best as I play with my pen. I tap on the desk, synchronized with my agitated heart, making some of my classmates give me annoyed glances.

"... there are different types of connections between neurons that help our brain work and perform a wide variety of tasks. Even though there are some differences in their performance between species, the connective mechanisms are practically the same in all brains."

My teacher's words make me go completely still and my breathing stops for a second. I raise my eyes towards her, fearing she will change the topic if she notices any sudden movements.

"From the most basic and simple command, like moving a finger, to complex tasks, like creating a memory," she starts drawing some kind of star with a tail on the board, "they're all controlled by the electricity and electrochemical exchanges emerging between neurons."

She writes and says the last word simultaneously, pointing towards the drawing representing that part of the brain. I tilt my head, fascinated and intrigued. I know I have to keep listening to what she's explaining, but I can't stop thinking about the magnitude behind her words. I can't stop thinking about what it means to me.

I look at the clock on the wall, pleading for the class to be over and feeling anxiety growing in me as I wait to do what I'm thinking. I smirk without noticing. 'If the teacher knows about the brain and its connections, then she might know how to recover my lost memories'.