Chapter 23: October 21, Thursday– Three in the afternoon (chapter .17 part 2)

At the same time, Deil dreaded the coming of three in the afternoon. Pan Rita, that snake-like woman, threatened him to join the English club. How could a teacher act like that?

Wasn’t this considered hooligan behaviour?

Deil buried his head into the crook of his elbow. The chemistry teacher explained things and wrote on the big board. Her tiny scrawl made the chemical equation seem exceptionally difficult against the vast black space. “So this is an acid-base reaction or neutralisation. We have an acid,” she tapped on the first half of the formula, “and sodium hydroxide – NaOH – is a base. Sodium is an alkali metal belonging to group one of the periodic table, atomic number eleven, right?”

There were a few grunts.

“Come on, kids. Wake up!” The chem teacher knocked on the board in quick succession. The crisp rattles shook the half-asleep class from their stupor. Deil’s deskmate jumped in his seat.

“Sodium is unstable with a high reactivity rate. Sodium hydroxide is a highly caustic base...”

“Hey, Deil,” whispered the deskmate, a cheeky dark haired boy with freckles that came and went with the summer. The two became deskmates by coincidence. It was the act of fate, drawing a number and sharing a desk with the person who also drew that same number. “What is she talking about?” The boy jerked his chin towards the chem teacher.

Deil grunted but did not raise his head. Without looking, he passed his open book to the side. “At the top of the page.”

“Thank you, thank you,” his deskmate whispered.

Deil had bigger problems than where they were in the book. He thought about skipping club, going straight home and not coming back.

Ah, it annoyed him to no end. If he did go to the club, he had a free period beforehand. He could go home at that time. But, once he went home, he would never want to come all the way back. That was a problem. Deil did not feel an inch of desire to do this.

By the time class finished, he was still pondering it. The problem that got him into this mess was his absence from class in the first place. Disappearing again did not seem like a wise choice.

“Pst, Deil,” his chem deskmate held him back before the classroom cleared out, “Do you wanna stay and play a bit?”

Deil was an easy target to incite in certain ways. He asked with interest, “What are we doing?”

The boy gave him a wide grin. “We thought up something crazy. You know how there’s the forecourt just below our classroom? The guys started shooting paper planes from the window. The one that lands the farthest wins.”

“That’s,” Something crazy? In what way? “...pretty lame,” concluded Deil.

“Yeah,” the boy laughed and swept a hand over the top of his head. “But we bet on it.”

Deil’s brows shot up. “Interesting.”

Now at least he had some past-time activities until that cursed English club.

---

The forecourt was lush with plants and shrubs and evergreens. It looked like a small park from a distance, and there were even benches at odd intervals. Cypresses tall or short, lean or fat, several types thrived between flowers in wooden boxes. The tricky thing was to manoeuvre the paper plane around the taller trees, which no matter what, somehow always got in the way.

The boys divided into small groups making planes with different designs. It looked like a craft camp. Some even searched up videos about the know-how of a sleek and extra sharp nose or the technique of smaller, harsh wings.

Deil felt this wasn’t so bad. He had a good grip and a bit of luck. On the first try, his plane went all the way to the paved trail.

“Deil, awesome!” His classmate congratulated him.

“You just got here. Damn, that was only your first try.”

Deil shrugged and smiled, thinking, Since when had these mental geniuses been playing this game anyway?

But soon, another plane passed the one with the big bold initials of ‘SD’ written on it. The owner of the ‘SD’ plane got disqualified. Hmm, so it wasn’t so easy after all.

Deil went from window to window, watching the others’ trials. Unobtrusively, he stuck his arm out at each opening, propping his elbows on the ledges, all the while chatting.

There was a bit of upwind that could be caught from the foremost right window. Deil hurried to make another model with the support of the blackboard. He wasn’t even sure what they were betting on. Was it money? Or trivial benefits like meting out homework for others to make, swapping day duties, or perhaps access to someone’s online subscription?

“How long do you usually play this?” he asked the classmate who stopped next to him.

“Dunno. It’s not like we time it. So, until we get bored, I guess. But hey! That’s not a bad idea!” The boy went to call their classmates’ attention with a loud whistle. “Guys, Deil says we should time it. You know, by rounds or some shit. That way, if you putter with a single plane for twenty minutes, Yohan,” he bent down and raised his voice by the ear of one of their classmates, a boy with hair sticking out every which way all over his head, “There’s no need to try in the first place.”

The guys nodded while considering this new rule. Deil wondered whether they even had rules up to this point.

Yohan said something under his breath that got scattered before anyone could hear it. His tone was too soft, while these boys were rather loud.

Someone clapped Deil on the shoulder. “What a great idea!”

“Oho, way to go, first-in-class!” Although since they were still before the midterms, that nickname was not yet official. But everyone knew that Deil had the best score on the entrance exam out of the entire science class. His classmate praised, “Now I see why they say honour students are in a league of their own.”

Deil, who did not say anything of the sort: “…”

They started on the second round, timing it as well. This new set of rules cast a shadow on several contestants’ performances. Everyone could still shoot out as many planes as they made, but they had to make a new one only after letting one go; no hoarding and no passing over the three minutes time limit.

The production of the planes got rushed; thus, they did not fly so well.

Deil threw three planes. He did well on two, but one plopped down the second he let go. Still, he chatted whilst folding his paper planes, not minding the time. Two of his classmates started chasing each other, their discord based on the threat of drawing paper confiscation. They collided with Deil at the first window. “Sorry, sorry,” they said afterwards, placing their palms together.

That boy, Yohan, only let one paper plane out of the second floor, but it showed how much care he put into making it. The craftsmanship was well done; the design clear and dynamic. It would have landed farthest had he known which window to stand at. Ultimately, Yohan’s plane crashed into a tree.

At that time, Susu arrived at the classroom. She had volleyball training in the afternoon, so stayed at school until it started. Having eaten her lunch, her mood elevated, even skipping on the last few steps leading to the doorway.

“What are you doing, you reckless bunch?” she hollered, stepping inside. “Oh? What’s this?”

The boys in the science class really liked this girl, so they invited her at once. “Competition on whose plane can land farthest. We bet on it. Care to join?”

“Hurry, there’s only a minute left.”

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“You’re timing it?” asked Susu, a bit baffled. “How professional.” She only had to smile, and four freshly finished paper planes got offered for her to choose from. The power of a girl’s smile in the eyes of foolish high school boys was something to be reckoned with.

Susu walked from window to window. She licked the tip of her forefinger and reached outside at every stop. Deil turned around, his back leaning to the window sill, his hands crossed over his chest. When Susu approached the foremost right window, she did not do her trick as if she knew, that was the one.

She said, “Deil.”

To which he countered, “Susu.”

Susu laughed like bells clinking. “Move a bit, please. Thank you.”

She dug her elbow out, so Deil had to step back. She was the only girl who dared to look him in the eye, speaking to him so straightforwardly. They had been classmates for a while now, counting the time in junior high, and they even gamed together once last winter. Thinking back, the same light glinted in the girl’s eye then as well, right after she shot down twenty men in the game.

Following this little exchange, Susu bent forward so that half of her upper body was over the window. The breeze swept her hair around as she measured her stance, positioned her arm and let the plane fly.

Three paper planes shot out of the second floor at that moment. The time on the clock neared a quarter, exactly three minutes since the start of the second round. Susu’s plane whooshed over a scatter of white on the ground all the way to the walkway on the other side of the decorative garden.

“I won, didn’t I?” she asked, already triumphant.

Alas, her plane landed in the hair of the chemistry teacher.

---

 

The woman flinched and let out a scream, grabbing at her hair. After she checked that there was no imminent danger, realising it was only a paper plane that attacked her, she became indignant. A grown woman, a teacher at that, and she even screamed out loud and crouched down; how embarrassing. Her gaze shot upwards to the classroom overlooking the path, eyes filled with a hard glint. “Who’s there? What are you doing!?”

Inside the room, all the children ducked down at once. They listened without taking a breath.

A male teacher went to help the chemistry teacher. Their voices floated up through the windows. “What happened? Oh, a paper plane.”

“I– That surprised me,” said the chemistry teacher.

“Where did it come… which class is that?” asked the male teacher. “I’ll go check it out.”

The kids currently huddling on the classroom’s floor screamed out in their hearts in unison: “… please don’t.”

“First year, Class E.” The chemistry teacher fully composed herself. “I teach them.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes, thank you. I’ll go with you.”

---

 

Hearing the last line, all the kids moved at once. The chemistry teacher was not someone to mess with, especially in a bad mood. Grabbing bags and uniform jackets, the crowd scrambled about.

“What did I win?” asked Susu. Since Deil was the closest to her, she directed the question at him.

“What? It’s not the best time,” replied Deil. And even if it wasn’t a bad time, it was not like he actually knew.

Susu insisted. “What’s the bet about? What do I get?” She grabbed Deil’s arm.

“I don’t know. Let go.” Deil stood, then promptly made his way out of the door. Susu followed him; he had to turn back to say, “Go away.”

“You’re not just trying to shake me off because it’s a ‘bet between men’, right?”

“What?” Deil could not get his head around it. Since no one knew from which way the chemistry teacher would come up, he rushed up to the third floor first. He tried to escape in the other direction – the farther, the better. It was not like Deil cared that much, but he didn’t want to listen to an earful of nagging, which would also make him be late. Suddenly, he stopped. Why not get held up and be late? That wasn’t such a bad idea!

“What are you doing? Don’t stop!” Susu tugged at his arm, and they stumbled a few steps.

As they were walking away with big strides, Deil said, “I don’t know what the bet was about. They only invited me today.”

“Huh, wouldn’t have guessed,” Susu said. They stopped at the end of the hallway. A different stairwell led the way down, out of reach from their classroom. “Are you going home?”

Deil shook his head. “Nope. I have club.”

“Really? Me too. Up or down?”

“Down. You?”

“It’s volleyball.”

The two shared an understanding look.

“We run?” asked Susu.

Wouldn’t that potentially call more attention to themselves? But, oh well.

“Okay.” Deil shrugged. “Fine. Bye then.”

They both rushed down. While Susu continued to the ground floor, Deil stopped on the first floor. He was just in time for the damn English club.

The language lab’s door stood wide open, inviting and cursed. Deil took a step, a bit out of breath, and found himself face to face with Saering.

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