ill timed — 3

Ill timing of a fangirl's bite — chapter 3

"Your name?"

"I—uh, um…don't know…?"

Headmistress Lissy tipped her navy beret an inch overhead, watching through her cat-eye glasses the audacious presence of a stinking child soiling the beautiful teal velvets of her wingback chair with her soggy arse. "Peculiar," she worded out with utmost resistance. 

Henrik turned to stare at the girl, almond eyes widened as if to say 'it-is-no-time-to-conceal-your-identity-when-confessing-will-let-you-off-with-detention.' In the sophisticated blue and gray palette of Headmistress Lissy's office almost glaring at Henrik's cherry bomber jacket and neon chunky sneakers coordinated over the plaid blues of his school uniform, the small boy pursed his lips with utmost submission, while his mind mused 101 ways to get rid of Kairos Rodrigo without leaving evidence. 

 

Way one: hiding his best friend's body in a trashcan and closing the lid shut.

His murderous reverie was interrupted by the trashcan girl's curious explorations of the stationary placed on Headmistress Lissy's woodcarved tabletop. Her dark eyes greedily took in all curious details, rubbing her fingers over the intricate designs on the table edge and sniffing the fake lilies bottled atop. 

To ask Henrik if he felt more embarrassed than betrayed would be too obvious of a question. 

"What happened to you?" Headmistress Lissy narrowed her jelly-gold eyes at the form of trashgirl's face pressed against her aquarium. The girl had sucked her cheeks in and pursed the ends of her lips to form a fish pout. She hid the fishes from perspective with her big head and aligned her wiggling lips to fake the sight of blowing out bubbles from her mouth.

"Hehe, look, I'm making bubbles!"

Henrik, in that moment, decided to never acknowledge this strange creation even as an acquaintance. They shall remain strangers, forever. 

Headmistress Lissy was taking this ill timed intrusion, rather well, against her reputation of damning a child with detentions at every breathable misconduct.

"How did you reach Crestmoore Elite? I understand that you were found in a trashcan by the East Crest Soccer Stadium, but, how did you get inside the premise without proper identity credentials?" Headmistress Lissy gestured her assistants with her piercing bespectacled gold gaze.

Henrik slithered to a safe side as Headmistress Lissy's assistants gloved their hands with medical gloves. While one of them held the girl's wrists hostage, the other conducted a thorough search of the girl's tattered shirt, brown plaid skirt and ruined socks. She resisted with minor pursuits, but eventually gave up when she spotted a poster of Yasin Hadid pinned next to a door.

He was in his soccer jersey with a headband reading C. E. A. His mouth was pulled in a wide grin as a soccer ball was tucked under his right arm and his left arm was extended in a big thumbs-up gesture. 

"Who is he?" the girl asked with bubbling glee, her knees had gotten jittery and dark eyes pooled genuine prying.

"Why do you want to know?" was Headmistress Lissy's crisp reply.

"He saved my life. I am in love with him," was her straightforward clarification.

Henrik, who was sat on a chair with his legs crossed over his knees, scoffed just as audibly as Headmistress Lissy snorted. Disney certainly was not lost to her. 

"You don't know your name but you know what love is?" Headmistress Lissy sounded amused, the skin around her small eyes crinkled as she placed her elbows on the tabletop and cupped her chin in her palms. Her thin peach lips stretched to a smirk, intrigued by the person standing before her.

'Is she hiding information to avoid punishment? Or...a spy, perhaps? Intresting, nonetheless.

 

"Irrelevant. I just needed occasion to use all these words in my head. Decapitated. Why is that in my head? Hallucinogen? What even? I don't know. But, what I know is, that, he is handsome and I want to know him." The girl's index finger pointed sharply at Yasin's smiling face. Immobile. Unaware. Henrik tsked a little sound of pity for the soccer player. 

Headmistress Lissy frowned at the girl's odd selection of words. Someone who looked eight could possibly not have the word 'Hallucinogen' in their vocabulary. 'What had happened to this girl?' 

Headmistress Lissy's assistants backed away from the girl's body, empty handed. They had found nothing that would not have been visible to a naked eye. Her eyes travelled to Henrik Stratford, son of Jung and Mina Stratford, owners of the biggest Law firms in Crestmoore. Her eyes skipped to the paper in front, reading in bold, the names of Kairos Rodrigo and Yasin Hadid. 

The finest kids Crestmoore had to offer. 

 

'Such a strange gathering of elite folks around a trashcan, finding a missing person… with no memory…did they find her…or was it all a scheme?' Headmistress Lissy's brain ran a mile a minute. 

Henrik's brown hair were stuck up in an odd angle, curtsy the girl's vomit. His face too was smudged with dirt and he too stank of rotting breakfast and misfortune, just not as badly as the girl. He had an air of nonchalance, as always, he sat with confidence and there was no physical giveaway of him having possibly abducted a girl around his age and having shoved her in a trashcan of his school.

'The son of two immensely successful lawyers would know enough to comprehend it a bonkers plan to begin with.'

'Also, there was no motive.'

'Right?'

Headmistress Lissy pondered in her head as the girl had jogged up to Yasin's poster and tried flipping it over, to check out the back side, all the while Henrik's soul abandoned him slowly for he tried crossing his hands at his wrists, whispering, "No! Trashcan! Don't touch it!" and even fell off his wingback chair to gain her attention. 

All of his efforts were vain to her. 

His knees rubbed against the rough carpet underneath and tingled with burns. Instant regret 101 by Henrik Stratford. He sucked in an agitated breath, caressing his poor sacrificed knees over the silky fabric of his uniform, while giving the girl a stink eye.

 

The alleged villain of a girl stood grinning in front of the poster, head empty and all thoughts abandoning self concern. Her eyes only registered the pinned smiling face looking down at her. She in her ragged clothes, he in a uniform that belonged to him. She with no identity of her own, he whose achievements shone as bright as his kind smile. Worlds apart. Yet, for a moment, he had held her whole world in his small hands. 

At her moment of eight, spinning controllably like an abandoned ball, he was there to hold her still.

Unintentionally so.

KNOCK! KNOCK!

The door clicked open and in walked the man of her dreams, pulled by his reddening ear, curtsy the chubby hands of Mr. Plod, along with a wave of nasally, "Ow, Ow, Ouch! Why! Ow! Wow! Why?! No! Wow! Ow!"s in tow. Quite similarly, but much calmly, followed the dragged, lanky, form of Kairos Rodrigo with an upturned smile.

The girl's newfound heart almost lurched out of its cage. She may not know much about the world. She may know nothing about herself. Maybe her mind was plagued with random gibberish like, 'Oral,' 'Amity,' or 'Syndicate.' But the only anchor in her memory is the face of Yasin, who helped her. Whom she must be loyal to. Whom she must protect. 

"Caught 'em sneaking inside the Main Crest Hall," Mr. Plod announced with his smug, thick accent. With a boy to punish on either side, his heart swelled with pride. Henrik, too, cheekily poked his tongue at Kairos' don't-say-anything-i-have-given-up-on-you face. 

The girl, stupefied by the harsh treatment of her newfound idol, rushed to the best, sanest, possible conclusion one could attain instinctually. 

She jumped at Mr. Plod like a spirit from the jungle. Like a true descendent of the monkey ancestors. Like a squirrel at its nut. Like a proper wild animal out of its natural habitat. Like a beast hungry for revenge. 

And bit off Mr. Plod's hand from Yasin's ear. 

ill timed — 2

Ill timing of a picture, ball and perm — CH 2.

[IF YOU ARE EASILY NAUSEATED BY THE MENTIONS OF GRAPHIC TRASH, OR VOMITING OR ARE OFFENDED BY CRUDE BEHAVIOUR THEN THIS BOOK IS NOT FOR YOU. I WOULD ADVICE YOU TO CLICK BACK AND DO SOMETHING BETTER WITH YOUR TIME. G' DAY!] 

A stink.

Something rotting.

Something wet, boldly soggy and awfully sticky.

Numbness in her nether regions.

Her eyes opened to darkness.

Well, not darkness per say, but a strange dirty yellow.

'Am I in a box?'

'Why is it so uncomfortable?'

'Why don't I feel my feet?'

'Ah!'

The upturned stance, feet sticking against a plastic wall and wedged between two closed plastic flaps. She raised her hands only to spot the white fabric of her shirt stained yellow, blotched green and tattered around her elbows. The space was confined and nauseating. She wanted an out.

Miraculously, there was a shriek outside. Two fingers slotted between the flaps, that engulfed her feet, and pushed them up. A pair of blue eyes, astonishingly withholding the same serenity as the hidden skies, greeted her face.

"Uh…everything alright in there?" his question was genuine, his voice was deep, his concern was evident and his awkwardness was conveyed. His eyes kept wandering around, unknowing where to focus. On the smooth, freckled expanse of legs in his direct line of sight, or the tattered shirt smeared with grease and rotting adversities screaming for a desperate wash or the disheveled mess of hair and limbs lying in a trash can that he found on a Monday morning, on the premises of his new school. Crestmoore Elite.   

"Quite upturned of all alright…ts? Is that a word? I can't seem to remember. Could do with a little help." 

Another head pressed itself over the shoulder of the blue-eyed guy. He was a brunette with a boxy smile and much to say about everyone around him. "Let the solar eclipse blind me before I unsee this, lord's holy breakfasts, Kai, you found a girl in a trashcan!?" his voice was husky, his thick eyebrows loved merging with his hairline as he slithered his arms around Kai's shoulders and tip-toed to get a better view inside. Whilst Kai looked taller and leaner with a calmer aura and distinctly dashing features, the other guy seemed to be a tad shorter with broad shoulders and muscular thighs. His face reeked of unchecked enthusiasm. 

"Yeah, surprise! Now, why don't we relish in the marvels of this strange discovery after I am pulled out of this misery? Is it too much to ask?" the girl questions with thinning patience and growing annoyance. The trash underneath felt turning soggier by the second; the wetness seeped through the thin fabric of her shirt and clung onto her skin. It made her squirm with disgust. 

"Why are you in there? How did you get in?" Kai questions curiously, raising his right eyebrow while staying sturdily grounded. No hands moving for help. 

"Is that really a point of concern right now?" her left eye twitched unceremoniously. 

"Wait, let me just—uh, gotcha!" the brunette behind Kai struggled to find his phone in his pant pockets. When he did, he pulled it out and clicked a picture, eternalizing a memory of a scornful reluctant girl he and his best friend found inside a trashcan. "There! All done, hah!" 

"Did you just--!"

"Henrik, that was an asshole move. Will we trend if we post this?" 

"Probably, but we will have to blur out her face, consent and rights and such."

"But will we make money off of it?"

"Depends on how we use—"

A slimy banana peel smacked Kai's face with precision, snogging his nose with its overwhelming rotten-ness and slithering down his lips line leaving a rotten trail over his face. He wheezed internally, soul cringing and body momentarily freezing with unfathomable disgust. 

Henrik let out a low whistle, sliding lower and hiding behind Kai's back now; his eyes peeking over Kai's elbow enough to spot the angry looking girl inside the trashcan. "Man had it coming, I tell you," he points at Kai's head, "How outrageous of him to not help you! He was lost to all Disney, I tell you, and he has no sense of chivalry or concept of damsel in distress. Talking of damsels, you throw quite accurately for someone in distress, are you a sportsperson?"

But before the girl could open her mouth in reply, a soccer ball swooshed in perspective and crashed against the trashcan with an audibly courageous THUD!

Kai shrieked unceremoniously in shock. 

The yellow trashcan wobbled on its circular edges due to unprecedented pressure and eventually toppled over, rolling on the cobbled pathway. The girl inside choked on her words and resorted to screaming, "AAAAHHH!" instead, as her world literally rocked on its axis and was now turning upside down. Over and about. Whatever. 

Distant hoots and whistles from the soccer field filtered their way in Henrik's ears as his lips left a wailing exclamation, "The trashcan has a person inside! Stop it!"

The yellow world of litter-glitter heeded no calls of concerns as Kai with his lanky limbs ran after it and Henrik with his more rested stance (having created a distance from disgusting Kai by leaning over a tree trunk as his friend participated in a guilt ridden wild goose chase) and obnoxiously well trained vocal cords screamed it to stop in the name of Law. 

It didn't.

And the girl felt her gut spiraling back into her throat, but right before she could even concoct a thought to throw-up, her world came to a standstill against the wondrous miracles of Yasin Hadid's arms wedging the trashcan with his body. 

"Crawl out please! Or it would roll off again!" his voice was a tad nasally, cheeky, as if he was talking in a pout. 

The girl nodded to herself as she tried to scrape her heels on the cobbled pathway in an attempt to push herself out. Help came in an embodiment of a visibly panting Kai who huffed and puffed between his words, "Wait—," huff, "—I will-ll," cough, "—I will—," wheeze, "—help!" 

He grabbed onto her legs and pulled her out in a swift motion, along with some accompaniments of trash in service. The girl coughed ravenously, finally getting a breath of fresh air in her trash congested lungs. She spread herself out on the floor and coughed bitterly and so did Kai but for all different and unhealthy reasons. Yasin picked up the trash can and placed it on the side of the pathway, out of possible stumbling reach, and walks back to them to question, "Are you guys okay?" 

The girl opens her eyes to face her knight in shining armor. Morelike, the guy in a soccer jersey with sweat-slick blonde hair, lovely slanted eyes, and plush lips that always seemed to be in a pout. Exactly the savior sort of a person. 

"Yeah, obviously they're okay, I was overseeing them. What is the worst that could happen, huh? With me on the watch, absolutely nothing! Though Kai could have busted a lung or two in process, but that's all internal grievances, not my line of expertise, not my concern, right?" Henrik with his boxy grin casually walked into perspective. 

The girl, if she had energy enough, would have had poked the guy's eyes out. 

Kai, as dying as he was, still had enough life within himself to strike his shoes against Henrik's shin. Vengeance was well served with the pleasure of Henrik's agonized scream. He skipped on one leg, hugging his shin to his stomach and frolicking multiple 'Ouch' and 'ow's before he tripped over Kai's foot and fell.

Face first.

Over that girl's very dirty, very fragile, stomach.

Yasin's hand hung in air due to the missed catch.

The girl doubled over, in uncomfortable shock and puked all over Henrik's suffocated head and fluffy brown hair. "Much better," she rasped out, gargling, as the wetness of her vomit seeped through Henrik's dry scalp and reached the red-hot tip of his ears.

As if diving face first on a girl's belly was not horrible enough, he could almost feel his $250 perm being washed over by the said girl's stomach activities. "Not—my—hair!" he all but shrieked out, jolting up and trying to deny the obvious.

"It's not there, is it?" his husky words were pleading, pretty face contoured into sheer agony as his eyebrows drooped to the side of his cheeks. 

Yasin shook his head in affirmative. 

Henrik enthusiastically slotted his fingers in his hair.

Lest to say, the result was not the most promising hair he had touched in his life. It was lively, though, for sure. 

"You!" Henrik ruthlessly pointed at the girl with his vomit covered hand. 

"Oh shut up you dramatic hooligan and let the cats live."

"YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS!"

"I would love to if I knew the currency of incompetence and tomfoolery. Though I am always up for a lesson, can't say I'll catch up to your level of petty…or stupid."

"I WILL!"

Kai rolled his eyes away from his best friend's dramatic shenanigans only to spot the bald Mr. Plod raging his way towards them. Looking absolutely furious with his chubby cheeks puffed, Kai knew it would be a blotch on his annual report if he got caught. He was Kairos Rodrigo, the son of Crestmoore's Minister, for crying out loud, if the words were to reach his father—he'd have his social and physical life hanging by a thread. Quite literally. So, resorting to the best possible option, Kai slowly but swiftly dragged him out of the chaotic scene and ran until he was unseen.  

Yasin, intrigued by Kai's peculiar disappearance, spared his eye an investigation. Spotting Mr. Plod, the P.E. teacher of Crestmoore Elite, a notorious gossipmonger of a narcissist, infamous for ratting students out and earning money out of a kid's scandals, Yasin spent no second to fathom rhyme or reason. He was Yasin Hadid, the son August Entertainment's chairwoman, even the tiniest misconduct on his behalf would have the future of a billion dollar company on the line. They were always being watched. Stared at until they break on the verge of a scandal. Make the markets crash and bring shame to the Amity Alliance of Crestmoore. He could not let it happen. So, he jumped over the lanky, spread form of the-girl-from-the-trashcan and ran into the distance as fast his soccer legs could carry him.

Mr. Plod, spotting Yasin's blatant escape, pulled his whistle to his lips and blew so loud that Henrik had to give a pause to his dramatics for once, just so he could snap, "Rude much? We are trying to hold a conversation about my ruined perm, please. It is important!" 

Only to realize who he just snapped at. Mr. Plod's chubby silhouette at hand's distance. Henrik's face grew so pale, the girl could almost consider his brown hair go red for a moment. Curious, she asked.

"Who's he?"

"An adult of authority who has power enough to suck our childhood, teenagedom and adulthood into a deflated shell of poverty-stricken misery and incompetence."

"Big words," She huffed out, narrowing her eyes at the bulging stomach threatening to plunge, with every step, out of the blue dress shirt Mr. Plod had on.

"Small word, run!" 

For an encounter as cold as December and as random as February, his vomit stricken hand pulled her dirt ridden one into his, almost like the pleasant warmth of May. And they ran, across seasons, through time, unknowing of the places they held in the world and the crossroads they would eventually stand on. Meeting a stranger, holding their hand, one welcomes not only them—but the past, present and future they carry along. The seasons they saw, the summers they felt, the winters they survived and the springs that are yet to come. Holding a hand is accepting someone's life in yours, even momentarily so, you're both one in the present. 

And it is the time where all good things happen. Though, they're not always obvious. 

Being caught by Mr. Plod's chubby fingers as Henrik blamed her for 'incompetent running' and she blamed him for being a 'conceited hair ranting,' they stood in front of Headmistress Lissy's office. In the strangest of beginnings at the age of eight, in the strangest of September, they stood before the council where he said his name.

But she did not know hers.

"Name?" 

"Henrik Stratford."

"Your name?"

"I—uh, um…don't know…?"

                                 --- fin ---