The Tearsmith

CHAPTER 3: Different Ways of Thinking

Gestures, like planets, are moved by invisible laws.

---------

Billie helped me adjust.

The school was big, and there were so many activities to choose from. She showed me the classrooms of different grades, accompanied me to all the classes, and introduced me to the teachers. I tried not to be too clingy because I didn't want to be a burden, but she told me that, on the contrary, she loved having my company. When I heard those words, my heart felt a squeeze of happiness; it was a feeling I had never known before. Billie was kind and helpful, two qualities that were not abundant in the place I came from. As soon as the bell signaled the end of classes, we walked out of the classroom together. She passed a long leather cord through her head and then released some strands of curly hair from the strap. "A camera?" I studied the object that now hung around her neck with curiosity, and she lit up with joy. "It's a Polaroid! Have you never seen one before? I got this as a gift from my parents for my birthday." She proudly showed me how it worked, taking a photo and watching it develop before our eyes. It was magical. We spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the school grounds, taking pictures of interesting things we came across. Billie captured moments with her Polaroid, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging and excitement in this new world.

Parents a long time ago. I love photos, I have my room covered in pictures! My grandmother says I have to stop filling the walls, but I always find her dusting them off while she whistles... and in the end, she forgets what she told me.

I tried to pay attention to her chatter and not end up bumping into people; I wasn't used to such a busy environment. But Billie didn't seem to mind much: she kept talking to me like a parrot while bumping into others.

"... I like to photograph people, it's interesting to see facial expressions captured on film. Miki always hides her face when I try with her. She's so cute, it's a shame she doesn't like it... Oh, look, there she is!" She raised her arm, excited. "Miki!"

I tried to spot this ghostly friend she had been talking about all morning, but before I could locate her, Billie was already pulling on the strap of my backpack, dragging me through the crowd.

"Come on, Nica! Come meet her!"

I struggled to keep up, but only managed to get a few bumps.

"Oh, you'll see how much you'll like her!" she said, excited. "Miki knows how to be charming. She's so sensitive... Have I told you she's my best friend?"

I tried to nod, but Billie gave me another tug, urging me to keep moving. When, after many shoves, we reached her friend, she took a leap and stood behind her with a little jump.

"Hi!" she chirped, ecstatic. "How was class? Did you have Physical Education with the D section? This is Nica!"

She pushed me forward and I almost hit my nose on the open door of a locker.

A hand emerged from the metal and pushed her aside.

"A charm," Billie had said, and I prepared to smile at her. Before me appeared eyes heavily made up. They belonged to an attractive and rather angular face, with a thick mass of black hair disappearing under the hood of a wide sweatshirt. A piercing clasped her left eyebrow and her lips were busy noisily chewing gum. Miki looked at me without showing interest and simply observed me for a moment. Then she adjusted the strap of her backpack on her shoulder and closed the door with a bang that startled me. She turned her back on us and walked away down the hallway. "Oh, don't worry, she always does that," Billie chirped, while I stood petrified and wide-eyed. "Making friends with the new ones isn't her strong suit. But deep down, she's a sweetheart!" "Deep down... how deep?" I looked at her with a frightened face, but she considered the matter closed and convinced me to move on. We headed towards the entrance door, surrounded by a whirlwind of students, and when we arrived, Miki was there. She was attentively watching the shadow of the clouds moving across the concrete of the courtyard while smoking a cigarette, with an absorbed look. "What a wonderful day!" Billie sighed happily, drumming her fingers on the camera. "Nica, where do you live? If you want, my grandmother can take you later. Today she's making meatballs and Miki is staying to eat at my house." She turned to her. "You're eating at my house, right?" I saw Miki nod without enthusiasm, blowing out a puff of smoke, and Billie smiled happily. "So, are you coming with us...?" Someone bumped into her as they passed. "Hey!" Billie protested, rubbing her shoulder. "What kind of manners are those? Ouch."

Other students hurriedly passed by us, and Billie approached Miki. "What's going on?" Something was not right. The students ran towards the inside, some with their phones on, others with a look of terror on their faces. They seemed excited about something that hung in the air, and I pressed myself against the wall, scared of the frenzied crowd. "Hey!" Miki growled at an agitated-looking guy. "What the hell is going on?" "They're fighting!" he shouted, holding his phone. "There's a fight by the lockers!" "They're fighting? Who?" "Phelps and the new guy! God, he's giving Phelps a good beating! To Phelps!" he exclaimed, beside himself. "I have to record it on video!" He ran off like a greyhound, and I stayed against the wall, with my arms stiff and my eyes wide open, staring into space. "The... new guy?" Billie hugged Miki as if she were an anti-panic doll. "No violence, please! I don't want to see it... Who could be crazy enough to fight with Phelps? Only a fool... Ouch!" she exclaimed, wide-eyed. "Nica! Where are you going?" But I couldn't hear her anymore: her voice faded into the mass of students. I pushed forward towards the crowd, making my way through shoulders and backs, trapped like a butterfly in a labyrinth of stems. The air crackled, almost suffocating. I could clearly hear the sound of blows, the clang of a metallic noise, and something hitting the ground. I managed to reach the front row as the screams pulsed in my temples; I ducked under an arm and widened my eyes. There were two students on the ground, consumed by blind fury. It was hard to distinguish them amidst so much rage, but I didn't need to see their faces.

That unmistakable black mane stood out like an ink stain. Rigel was there, squeezing the other guy's shirt between his fingers, his knuckles red and scraped, as he pounded the boy underneath him. His eyes gleamed with an unhealthy glow that made me tremble to the bone and froze my blood. He delivered brutal, swift punches with a terrifying ferocity, while the other desperately tried to fight back, striking his chest furiously. But there was no trace of mercy on the face above him. I heard the crunching of cartilage as screams saturated the air and people shouted, inciting them... And then everything abruptly stopped. The teachers made their way through the crowd and managed to separate them. One grabbed Rigel by the collar and pulled him forcefully. The others descended upon the boy on the ground, who now looked at his rival with eyes of madness. My pupils froze on his face. And then I recognized him. He was the guy from this morning. The one I had collided with at the entrance, the one with the books. "Phelps, you just returned today after a suspension!" a teacher shouted at him. "This is the third fight! You've crossed the line!" "It was him!" the young man shouted, beside himself. "I didn't do anything! He punched me for no reason!" The teacher pulled Rigel back, making him take another step. When he tilted his face, I saw that sarcastic smirk cutting through his lower lip under his disheveled hair. "It was him! Look at him!" "Enough!" the teacher roared. "Straight to the principal's office! Let's go!" They were escorted, held by their shoulders, and I noticed a lot of indulgence in the way Rigel allowed himself to be led. He turned his face and spat in the fountain without anyone stopping him, while the other followed behind him, firmly held by the teacher.

"And all of you, get out of here!" he shouted. "I don't want to see any phones! O'Connor, if you don't disappear right now, I'll have you expelled! And the rest of you, move along! There's nothing to see here!" The students began to reluctantly file out, dispersing towards the exit. The crowd deflated quickly, and I stayed there, fragile and imperceptible, with his shadow still in my eyes, pounding, pounding, and pounding, never stopping. Billie came running, pulling Miki by the backpack leash. "Heavens, you scared me to death! Are you okay?" She looked at me with wide eyes, agitated. "I can't believe it, so he was your brother!" I felt a strange shiver. I was left speechless and looked at her confused, as if she had slapped me. In my great confusion, I finally realized she was referring to Rigel. Of course... Billie didn't know the whole situation. She wasn't aware that we had different last names, she only knew what the principal had explained to her. In fact, to her, we came from the same family, but the way she said it grated on me like nails on a chalkboard. "He... He's not..." "You should go to the office," she interrupted me, distressed, "and wait for him there! Goodness, he got into a fight with Phelps on the first day... He must be hurt!" I was sure he wasn't the one who was hurt. I remembered the swollen face of the other guy when they managed to pry Rigel off him. But Billie pushed me forward, excited. "Let's go!" And the two of them accompanied me to the entrance. I wrung my hands. How could I pretend that I wasn't affected and dismayed by what I had witnessed, and instead show concern for him? I remembered the madness in his gaze, clear and unmistakable. The situation was absurd.

From the doorway, you could hear them speaking quite loudly. The accused boy was shouting like a madman, trying to make his case, and the teacher was shouting even louder than him. I noticed that the teacher's voice sounded hysterical, exasperated, probably because it was yet another altercation he had been involved in. But what struck me the most was how shaken the principal sounded and the words of disbelief she used when referring to Rigel: he, who was so good, so perfect, was not the type to do such things. He, who would never be capable of initiating something so serious. The boy protested more vehemently, swearing that he hadn't even provoked it, but the silence maintained by the other party, indicating that they had no intention of defending themselves against the accusations, cried out their innocence. When the door opened half an hour later, Phelps emerged into the hallway. He had a split lip and several red marks on the parts of his face where the skin covering the bones was less dense.

-