The Notebook and the Favorite Toy

June 13, 1938

Monday

    It was finally the day of the classes that Martha usually taught. She was very young and more often just looked after the children, especially those who had chickenpox. Unfortunately for me, that's probably was the reason why classes were very rare at the Wool's Orphanage. Frankly, I was looking forward to it, and now, finally, I was going to one of them. Another small variety in this permanent existence were the books that got into our class thanks to Martha, and which I always read in just a couple of days.

   Martha told us to split into pairs, and she left the classroom for the break to help in the kitchen. There were only three wardens in the orphanage: Mrs. Cole, Miss Blair, and Martha. Sometimes I was genuinely surprised at how they handled everything, but my respect for Mrs. Cole did not want to appear; on the contrary, she seemed to annoy me more and more year after year.

   The children were noisily taking their seats at the old, shabby tables. There were quiet whispers and snatches of phrases behind me that said, "There's no way I'm sitting with Riddle." I rolled my eyes. Well, at least they had enough intelligence for something! I physically couldn't stand their slowness, which was literally starting to irritate me, and their stupidity. Thank you for getting a point and for depriving me of the inconvenience of explaining that I wanted to sit exclusively alone.

   "May I?" A familiar voice brought me back to reality from the realms of my mind. I turned around slowly — Irene was standing behind me, with a good-natured smile on her face for some unknown reason, and hugging a textbook and a notebook. God's fool girl!

   "No," I said indifferently, and looked away unconcerned at the desk where the battered textbook lay.

   First you sit at my table in the dining room, and now here? No way.

   "Yes," Irene objected, and her face turned to stone. She suddenly hissed through her teeth: "I'll pretend I didn't notice you following me in London, and you'll just let me sit here."

   Not even her brazen attempt to dictate the terms, but the fact that I was caught red-handed, responded with sharp irritation. I hesitated. On the one hand, she'd finally come to me, but on the other, it was the little hermit girl who owned the situation, not me. If I kept answering now, wanting with all my being to put her in her place, we might have a fight; then some of the staff would come running to the noise, and we would both be punished. And her face is much prettier than mine, and people sometimes rush around her like around the Fabergé egg, which Martha once told us about. Therefore, I'll probably be the one who gets punished.

   "So be it." I sat down in an old chair whose legs were rickety. Irene sat down confidently beside me and placed her things on the edge of the table.

   "Great, otherwise I already thought I'd have to sit with one of those morons," she chuckled contentedly, throwing back her long, tightly braided black braids.   

   My furtive glance immediately slid from the top of her head to the ends of her hair, and the urge to pull one of the braids with all my might arose instantly. I put both hands on the old cracked tabletop. Looking at my fingers, I thought how beautifully they would wrap this night darkness on my fist.

   I breathed out.   

   Our thoughts are definitely the same, Irene. But you have to earn a place next to me.

"I left my homework in my room. Can I copy yours?"   

   She arched an eyebrow questioningly. I continued to convince her, trying to distract myself from the obsessive, stupid thought.

   "Don't worry. No one will understand anything; I won't copy word for word; I will change it."

   "Okay." The answer sounded a little incredulous, but she still handed me her notebook.

   A red-haired Bella with a good-natured smile on her face showed up in the doorway. She peered into the rows, trying to spot Irene. Soon her gaze was fixed on the pale girl, and she waved happily, beckoning her. Irene hurriedly got up from her seat, and her black sandals trod the old floor toward the exit. I allowed myself to stare at her for an unacceptably long, indecent time, but only when she didn't see it. And now I clung to the thin silhouette, moving away with a death grip, and fear made me tear myself away from it. No, not mine. Bella noticed the way I was looking at Irene. The blood seemed to have drained from her face for good, and she would have turned blue for sure. She swallowed hard and squeezed her eyes shut, barely shaking her head. Did you realize that the new girl herself sat down with me? It even amused me and made the whole situation even more poignant. I looked intently into Bella's eyes, and a smile flashed across my face. She, who'd lived with me for eleven years, froze in fear when she saw the sweet smile on my face. Her fingers crumpled the hem of the gray dress. As soon as Irene approached her, she immediately grabbed her hand, and they disappeared down the hall.

   My gaze drifted lazily around the classroom, where the kids were scattered about: some were diligently finishing their homework, others were playing patty-cake, and somewhere in the room's front was the noise of the boys with whom I'd once had a big fight. Irene was still absent, probably absorbing like a sponge everything Bella told her about the strange incidents that had been credited to my account.

   I was definitely intrigued to see how the new girl would behave upon her return. I smiled at my thoughts, anticipating the events of the next ten minutes.

   It was getting dark in the classroom. I cast an indifferent glance at the window, where the clouds were gathering, heralding a summer thunderstorm. Well, that was good. I always liked the air after the rain; its smell is special. Whenever I could, I always went outside to take a deep breath of it—there was something amazingly beautiful about it. Rare, large drops of the coming downpour rattled the eaves.

   Small black sandals stomped toward the table, the sound of which was quickly caught by a sensitive ear. The shadow of a smile touched my face. My sweet friend was back in time, just before class started.

   "So, have you figured it out?" Irene smiled.

   "I'm sorry, I couldn't." I turned slowly toward her.

   "What do you mean, you couldn't?" There was a look of surprise on her face. She sat down in the chair next to me. "Well, then give me back my notebook."

   "You see, Irene, unfortunately, there wasn't enough time to rewrite the task by changing it. So, I just wrote it off."

   "But," she didn't understand what was going on, and a note of frustration came through in an effortless imitation of calm speech, "that doesn't explain why you can't give me back my notebook."

   I looked at her as if she was insane, and my gut trembled with a thirst to catch the full range of her emotions.

   "Irene, are you serious? It's not like you and I have the same job."

   "Of course!" Her eyebrows furrowed in a way that made it seem like she was about to strangle me in front of everyone. The next thing I knew, she was whispering, making her voice sound more like a snake hissing. "Where's my notebook?"

   I absent-mindedly shrugged my shoulders and put my notebook with the "ready-made" task on the desk, and then carelessly added, "In the trash can. Outside. At the main entrance."

   "You're such an asshole!" Irene jumped up sharply from her chair, ready to run after the coveted notebook. I yanked her sharply on the wrist, pulling her back down.

   "Look, it's coming down in torrents." There was a fatherly smile on my face. "You're not going to run all the way up there, get all hot, and then get caught in the cold rain and end up with a cold."

   Speaking out loud about the potential course of events, I sincerely did not want her to get sick. If she is down with the flu for a week or two, what would I do? I'd be bored out of my mind! Although it looked as if I was acting in her best interests, cooling down her hot impulses. Irene, after a brief silence, leaned back in her chair, struggling to accept her fate.

   "Well done. It's just a notebook."

   Her pale face seemed to get even paler. She was trying to figure out in her head what to say to our teacher, Martha, in her own defense. I opened my notebook with an elegant, graceful gesture, looked with flickering eyes at my homework, and then patted Irene on the shoulder in a friendly way.

   "Well, anyway, you're late. I should clarify... About the trash can at the main entrance."

Irene glared at me silently with her huge green eyes, ready to pounce and strangle me with her bare hands. But I knew she wouldn't dare, or her more or less fair name would be ruined.

   "In fact, dear Irene, I burned your notebook."

   The winning point made me particularly diligent in the class because I felt a rush of energy and vigor that was unprecedented. Irene, however, sat through the rest of the class with no contact with me, but when she heard the bell ring, she jumped noisily from her seat and rushed away. I saw her off with an indifferent glance. Well, you can mourn the trash can with the ashes of your notebook, dear Irene.

   It was time to rest, which meant I didn't have to see those annoying, stupid faces. I took my time stepping out onto the playground so that I could finally get a welcome breath of air. The sun was breaking through the dark clouds, and there was even a rainbow somewhere in the distance. I wandered along the building. Inhale. What a beautiful moment this was. Exhale. One day I would have a home of my own—not in the city, but closer to nature—and I would always enjoy these beautiful moments at the end of a summer thunderstorm. The muffled echo of voices interrupted my thoughts.

   "You're crazy," laughed a boy.

   "You know, you're too weird." another voice. "Freak... Like the other guy in our orphanage."

   "You deserve it... And you won't tell anyone about this, do you understand?" Someone threatened and, at the same time, sneered, feeling superior.

   It must have been the company of chubby Chris and his buddies. They tried to pester me, too, until I hurt them so much that their ears and noses bled. They couldn't prove it was me, of course. But I did it. I don't know how, but they deserved it.

   I slowed my step and leaned quietly against the wall, peering cautiously behind it. Standing in the brick cul-de-sac of the building was Irene, surrounded by four boys who were bigger and stronger. And she was the one they were going to beat? Little, puny, and pale, as if in a fainting state? How vile the bastards were!

   With renewed vigor, I felt disgust for this place, full of the same wretched people. Hate surged through my body.

   "I'm leaving," Irene said calmly, taking a confident step forward.

   Chris immediately pushed her against the wall, ignoring the fact that the girls were physically weaker. There was a muffled thump of her frail body against the brick surface, followed by a low moan. The painful sensation reverberated throughout Irene's body, which was reflected on her face. After a moment, catching her breath, she stood up again confidently to just walk away, but a second jolt of even greater force followed. A bump against the wall. She felt to the muddy, damp ground. The scraped knees and small palms of her hands collided with the concrete slab that reminded her of the path that had once been there.

   "You'll leave when we let you," the boys hooted.

   Anger rose somewhere in my chest and spread through my body in a wave. My pulse quickened, and my heartbeat became so distinctly audible somewhere in my head. No, no, no. I can harass her and burn her notebooks, but not you. A confident step forward. One more. And there I was, right next to this bunch of savages.

   "Step aside."

   Chris looked at me in surprise. His chubby face was full of fear and, at the same time, annoyance that he had been caught for another intrigue.

   "Step aside," I repeated softly for the second time.

   "Is she your girlfriend?" one of his friends chuckled.

   "I won't repeat for the th…" Before I could finish, one of the boys fell to his knees and started writhing in pain.

   "Stop it!" shouted Chris. 'Stop it, Tom! We're leaving now! Please stop!'

   Anger slowly dissipated into oblivion, and my mind was filled with wonder and incomprehension. Chris's friend continued to writhe in painful convulsions, and his nose bleeding. The unwinking stare of emerald eyes from beneath frowning black eyebrows. A lock of raven-winged hair fell out of its tightly braided locks. Her light-colored dress was muddy. Bleeding abrasions on her knees and palms. Her chest heaved with how hard she was breathing, trying to control herself.

   "Tom, I told you we'll leave; nobody touches her!" Chris shouted.

A smirk of satisfaction flashed across my face, and triumph filled my heart, which had longed for a thrill.

   "Apologize to her." I nodded toward Irene.

   After looking at her, it dawned on the boys: It wasn't me. At that moment, Irene seemed to come to herself and clung to me with a bewildered look. I took the three cherished steps and grabbed her by the wrist, dragging her around the corner of the brick building down the path to the orphanage.

   "We weren't there. Get it?" I was throwing out clipped phrases as I walked.

   I quickened my pace, going up the stairs. Irene couldn't keep up with me; she had to run. I dragged her into my room and slammed the door.

   "Tom, let go of my hand," she exhaled quietly.

   When I complied with her request, I cast a quick glance at her thin hands and saw the marks from my fingers. I clutched at her so hard, wanting to bring her to my room as quickly as possible, but she didn't squeak in pain once.

   "You are just like me."

   I confidently took Irene by the fragile shoulders and turned her to face the mirror, where two people were looking at us: a thin, pale girl with a head of black hair and a boy who was at least half a head taller than her.

   I placed my palm over the raven-wing curls and gazed fixedly into those emerald eyes in the reflection, solemnly dropping what was tearing my mind from the here and now.

   "You're special, too."

   I pulled back a little, examined her carefully from all sides, and then waved my hand gently as the dirt on her light-colored dress disappeared. Too bad I couldn't do that with the abrasions on her knees and the small palms of her hands...

   I grabbed the girl's frail body and held it to me, as if I'd finally found my long-lost favorite toy.

   "No one will hurt you here anymore, Irene."