The class bell rings, but no one moves. The teacher doesn’t stop talking. The bell rings again, louder this time. The teacher finally stops. “Not yet,” they say.
It’s your turn to read aloud. The book in front of you is in English, but the words don’t make sense. The teacher watches, waiting. The class stares. You start to read. Why can't you read?
The tuckshop menu hasn’t changed in decades. They still sell Sunnyboys, even though they stopped making them years ago.
The kid who got sent to the principal’s office never came back. A new student sits in his seat the next day. No one acknowledges the change.
It’s sports carnival day. The sun burns your skin, the grass itches your legs, and the teacher reminds you to drink water. No one drinks the water. No one trusts the water.
Someone always pukes on the school bus. It doesn’t matter where you sit; the smell finds you.
The library smells of old books and something else. Something sweet and rotting. You never find the source, but there's a section the librarians never let you enter.
The oval is off-limits today. You ask why. The teacher just says, “The plovers.” Everybody shivers at the words. Nobody can mess with the plovers.
“The air-con’s broken again,” the teacher says. The classroom feels like an oven. The fan turns lazily, doing nothing. Sweat drips down your back. You wonder if the air-con has ever worked. Does the school even have one?
The school toilets are always broken. No one comes to fix them. There are scriptures and drawings scrawled on the cubical doors. Maybe one day they will be studied.
It's time for the beep test. There have been rumours that its going to be shut down for child cruelty. It's never shut down.
The school bell rings. You pack up your things, but the teacher blocks the door. “Where are you going?” they ask. “The day isn’t over.” You look at the clock. The hands aren’t moving.
The science lab smells of sulfur and something sharp. The Bunsen burners are cold, but the smell never leaves.
The principal walks into the classroom unannounced. Everyone goes silent. They smile at you, teeth too white, too sharp. “Good to see you all,” they say. You don’t believe them.
The art room sink is clogged again. The water is thick and dark. It smells of paint—and something else.
School camp is next week. The teachers remind you to bring everything on the list. You’ve never seen the camp list. You don’t know anyone who has.
The fire drill alarm goes off. Everyone files out to the oval. The teachers count heads twice. “We’re missing one,” they say. No one knows who.
