Chapter Three: My Life HereAfter by Rosaline Saul
Two trucks pull up to the reception building and these large
vehicles are similar to those who drove the other group of forty kids down the
hill into the valley.
Vera instructs us friendly, “Please proceed to get into the
vehicles.”
Charlene gets into the truck ahead of me and I follow her
in. The truck looks like a military vehicle, not that I have ever been in one,
but I have watched a lot of action films. There are no windows and two long,
narrow metal seats along each side. Charlene sits down and I sit down next to
her. Mark climbs into the vehicle after me. Hunching over he walks over to us
and then sits down next to me. His leg is pressed close to mine and I feel
strangely nervous with him sitting so near me. Besides, although I think he is
utterly gorgeous, Charlene likes him, so I would never consider him as a
possible love interest for me.
Each truck holds ten bodies, five on each side. I count ten
of us, and then the door closes, and it is pitch-black dark.
Unintentionally my hands grab onto Charlene and Mark sitting
on opposite sides of me. In the dark, I grab onto Mark’s hand, and I feel his
fingers curl around mine. He squeezes my hand sympathetically and suddenly
images spark through my mind. His mum and dad are both hard working, which
leaves Mark on his own a lot with his twelve-year-old sister, Amy. He looks
after her, makes sure her homework is done, and he makes sure she does not
watch too much television. Instead of playing sports at school or going out
with his friends after school, like his twin brother, David, Mark goes home to
stay with his sister. He is a protector.
Self-consciously I lean away from him and lean closer to
Charlene. What is wrong with me? Why am I getting these flashes, learning more
about people than I am sure they want me to know?
The little fellow on my shoulder, however, begins to taunt
me, insisting I should hold Mark’s hand again. To see what happens when
Charlene notices. I adamantly push him out of my mind and resist his
temptations.
Two little red lights in the roof of the truck flicker on. I
glance at Mark inconspicuously. The crimson light shines on his face and the
shadows playing across his features make him look mysterious; making his strong
chin look stronger, his dark hair darker.
I hear him speak to Lionel next to him, on his other side.
Never before would I have imagined the two of them having a conversation.
Lionel has been my friend for ages and has absolutely nothing in common with
anything or anybody sporty or popular.
The truck jerks suddenly and I bump into Charlene. She turns
and smiles. Immediately I feel an immense sense of guilt wash through me.
Charlene has always been my friend and we are hardly ever apart.
She is pretty and her brown, auburn hair is long and just
curly enough to make it look thick and full. Her eyes are an iridescent blue.
Boys like her and are always vying for her attention when we walk down the
halls at school, or even in class.
Usually the spit balls they throw to attract Charlene’s
attention hit me in the head, where I sit beside her. Yet, never did I feel an
inkling of jealousy toward her, after all, she is my best friend and my
confidant.
The little voice in my head laughs sarcastically while
telling me I am a big fat fake. I ignore him because my friendship with
Charlene could never be considered as fake.
Charlene leans over me and taps Mark on his thigh. He turns
to us and then Charlene asks, “So where do you think we’re going?” Charlene
looks past Mark at Lionel, her pretty brow furrowed questioningly.
I turn my head to look at them as well, eager to hear their
reply.
Lionel says, “What I would like to know is why we were split
up into two groups.”
Charlene replies, “Well, did you notice the other group
consisted of the troublemakers, those who had no concern for others or their
feelings.”
Mark says, “But some of them in that group, I never thought
of as trouble-makers, like Rudi. Most of them have never displayed any
tendencies toward being mean and cruel. It must be more than that.”
I say, “Maybe that metal detector, we had to walk through
was a sort of detector of…”
The truck rumbles loudly and my words are lost in the noise.
Mark looks at me and our eyes connect. I berate myself when
my heart jumps wildly in my chest.
Luke, a boy with whom I have never seen eye to eye, says
from across me, “If it was only a matter of who was good or bad, I think you
are in the wrong group, Sunel.”
My head snaps toward him and I am about to retaliate
vehemently, when Carly, who all this time was sitting quietly while huge
crocodile tears were running down her cheeks, says, “That’s not fair. While we
were waiting in the reception building, I could see a little of the monitor and
I saw the images on the monitor as each person walked through. The image it
reflected of Sunel was no different from the one of Mark. Sunel is not bad, at
all, and I am sure if she was, that machine would have detected it.”
Lionel interrupts her, “Sorry, Carly.” He turns to me and
insists, “You had to go back again Sunel so they could double-check you.”
I sit staring at the floor in front of me, brooding. I am
not going to defend myself as being a good person when in my heart I believe I
am.
Sometimes, only sometimes, I give in to the little
persistent voice in my head and I will prank someone, but it is always in good
humour. I never meant anybody any harm.
Except on the bus, it went a tiny bit too far. I blink
rapidly. I did not want to remember what happened on the bus, and I know it is
imperative I did not remember all the details. If I remembered, I will be sent
to join the other group and deep down within the depths of me, I know I did not
want to be with all those bullies. I could not be classified the same as them.
The truck comes to a sudden jolt and stops.
I look at Lionel irritably, while I try to keep my balance.
“You are supposed to be my friend, but now you are sitting there and judging
me. I am not bad.”
He smiles apologetically. “I did not mean you were bad. I
was merely pointing out you had to go back and through the machine again.”
Every person on the truck is silent as they watch Lionel and
me interested.
Unexpectedly the truck door is opened and bright sunlight
rushes into the dim interior of the truck.
We all blink and squint at the sudden brightness, and then
we hear Vera call out, “Please get out of the vehicles. We have arrived and we
are a little behind schedule. The trucks are needed back at the reception
building. Hurry now. Please.”
I get out of the truck, second to last, and hunched over, I
jump down the step from the truck onto the tarmac.
We are gathered in a parking area, and in front of us is a
red brick building with a huge arch entrance.
Above the entrance arch, the words G.A. Academy shines in
bright golden lettering.
The garden in front of the entrance is filled to the brim
with white rose shrubs, neatly trimmed. In the distance, I can hear the sound
of a lawn mower, and I can hear the drone of voices coming from the classrooms
to the side of the entrance area.
School?
I suppose I should have surmised this because the place has
the word Academy in its name, but still.
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