Cryptic Invitation

At three in the afternoon, Hera was to be seen standing at the window of the small house built in the Narra Tree. Her hands were leaning on it as she watched the seventh-grade students ran around, laughing beside themselves. Seeing their enthusiasm made her wish to be like them, to have their lives.

Always at the end, she was given all the reason to accept the fate bestowed upon her by whoever shit. She sometimes thought that the Gods might’ve just been playing around too much that she ended up with a cursed life.

Yes, the orphanage was just one of the few things she was accursed with, and enumerating the terrible occurrence she had to endure would cost a thousand pages. People might look like they care but, deep down, they’re just trying to save themselves from the retribution of fate once they neglect these children. That, at least, was apparent to Hera.

A small smile curved her lips when a teacher came running to the field, chasing away the students who were daring enough to skip their classes. Somehow, a pang of pain visited her heart. Her teacher would never do that, especially because he himself was the one who told her to go out.

Mr. Castro was their teacher in Discipline and Ideas in Social Sciences. He was the exact opposite of Ms. Reyes. He was so skinny Hera couldn’t help but assume he’s a walking skeleton. She sometimes felt as though one flick of her finger would throw him off his feet. Contrary to his physique, he’s got a big attitude.

The moment he entered their room, slamming his thick books on his desk, he wore this skeptical look. His hook-like eyes surveyed the students intently as though warning them not to breathe in the wrong way; otherwise, they’d be facing an inquiry as to why such an action had been displayed.

Of course, his eyes were to linger at Hera, befuddled as to why her face was covered by her hair. Hera knew exactly what he’s about to say even without him saying it. His glares alone were enough to say that he didn’t like Hera’s hairstyle.

“You with purple hair, stand up!” He pointed at Hera who followed his instructions despite her shaking knees, her heart beating a little fast. “Why is your hair purple?”

Peering at the small gap of her hair, Hera had seen the distaste in Mr. Castro’s eyes. But like usual, she didn’t dare to speak a word, owing for him to clench his fist.

“I would wish nothing in the world but your answer, Miss! Give me a reason why I should let you keep that hair color.”

Hera just kept her head down, biting her lips. ‘Why do you care so much if my hair is purple? It’s my body, not yours! So, keep your opinion to yourself!’

“That’s very disrespectful, Miss—what’s your name?”

Ms. Hail raised her hands yet again. However, Mr. Castro did not pour her any attention.

“I will ask again, Miss. What’s your name and why do you have a purple hair, on top of which, is not even tied even though it’s long?” Mr. Castro massaged his temple, shaking his head. “I can’t believe your subject teachers and advisers let you pass in on this. You’re clearly breaching the code of this school.”

“Excuse me, Sir, but she cannot answer you as she’s mute and her hair—”

“Class, you will only talk once you’re acknowledged.” Mr. Castro gave Ms. Hail a sharp look. “And, why, may I ask, Miss, have I not been forewarned that you have a mute in your class? Assuming, of course, that you’re telling the truth?”

‘Coz no one’s mute here, Idiot! They’re just quick to assume that there is just because I refuse to let them hear my voice. What a dick!’ thought Z, stroking her hair to calm down the rapid pulse of her heart.

“I’m sorry, Sir, but I don’t know that.” Ms. Hail sat dejected, her shoulders slumped.

‘Serves you right, You Jollibee!’

“Alright, Miss—” He directed his gaze back to Hera. “—are you really mute?”

With the eyes now piercing in her direction, Hera found her stomach squirming. She wished nothing more than to pluck each eye that dared to stare at her. Sighing, she nodded, ignoring the guilt trying to weigh her down.

Lies were easy to make, after all. It saved her the trouble of explaining herself.

“Well, that sure is a big problem. How do you communicate with your former teachers?”

’Obviously, I don’t! I’m pretending to be a mute, aren’t I? Honestly, man! You call yourself my teacher?’

Mr. Castro waited for a whole minute for the answer before, finally, realizing that his question was dumb.

“My bad, Miss! Can you do hand signs?”

Hera immediately shook her head, her sweats soaking her uniform.

“Well, that’ll make our communication a bit problematic. You may sit down for now.”

After that, he went on into introducing the subject and was just halfway through his discussion when he noticed Hera sleeping. He didn’t make any noise for a minute, tiptoeing towards her in case she wakes up from the noise. And once they were at close range, he shook her shoulder and started fuming about how disrespectful Hera was.

In the end, he dismissed Hera early, but since the gate wouldn’t open until four, she resorted to staying in the treehouse.

Seeing that there were no longer any students in the field, she resigned on the long wooden chair in the corner of the small house. The walls were solely made of woods and were vandalized with names and drawings that didn’t make any sense for Hera.

She put her right hand inside her pocket, trying to find some pen. She wanted to see how she’d feel after doing what delinquent students did in the poor treehouse. However, she instead found a crumpled old photo. It featured a three-year-old girl who had neck-length black hair whose strands were blacker than liquor. She and Hera have the same upturned eyes, only hers were purple with a hint of snow-pink but the child’s eye color was black-beetle. She looked like the child version of Hera, though the shape of their face was different: Hera’s diamond and hers was round.

Her heart clenched and without her knowing, a tear already escaped her right eye. How could she have forgotten her sister, her poor younger sister?

Because their parents were incapable of providing them their needs, they were forced to walk in a different path, adopted by two different families.

Shaking her head, Hera once again crumpled the photo and put it back inside her pocket. No, she refused to remember that wretched family she’s been born into. They were the reason she had to walk this Earth, wondering how it would be to have possession of someone’s body and experience a life other than an automated device dictated by Mother Tere.

“There you are!” a big, plummy voice said, disrupting Hera’s train of thought.

She remained unmoving, though. She just stared at the purplish strands of her hair, still thinking about how cruel fate was.

“You’re Hera Brown, I presume?” the man continued. “Fancy having a casual conversation with you, but I heard you’re a mute?” Then there was a chuckle, a manly and controlled one. It made Hera turn, allowing her a glimpse of a man who’s no more than thirty-five years old. He was wearing a suit, standing still at the fourth staircase, compensating for his incredible height.

“There you have it. You finally looked at me, Young Lady!” His round, boyish face was jubilant, his long nose wrinkling as he flashed a wide smile.

‘And who’s this, Old Geezer?’

Still smiling, the old man entered, slumping his shoulder to keep his head from bumping on the flat ceiling. He then sat beside Hera who still had to look up as she barely reached his neck, all the while making sure her features were still concealed by her hair.

“Forgive me for introducing myself a little later. I just forgot, out of excitement, of course, that you’re yet to know of me. That said, I am Patrick Hemmingworth, the president of Sagkahan High, and I’d like to offer you a deal.” He extended his hand, but Hera did not accept it.

‘Whatever it is you’re blubbering, Old Man, you’ve got the wrong girl!’

“I know,” he whispered, chuckling yet again. “It’s quite a shock to be accepted to a prestigious high school without even applying for it. But, as the president, our school honors potential.”

One of her brows raised, but thanks to her hair, it passed unnoticed by the old man.

“I already informed your principal, and she was more than happy to know that you are eligible to our program, though it’s quite a shock for her. Maybe because we’re the first one to notice your—wait! What are you doing?”

Hera was already on her feet, her fist clenched. ‘How preposterous! Consulting the principal before me! I hold my life! I’m not a fucking machine!’ She imagined herself shouting it to the old man, but she knew it wouldn’t give her satisfaction.

“Won’t you listen first? This is an offer for a history! No one has ever been luckier than you are!”

‘You can eat that luck, Old Man! I don’t need it!’

Without a word, Hera descended on the stairs, ignoring the calls of the old man who, in his haste to follow her, bumped his head on the roof. It gave Hera something to snigger with as she left; however, it’s been replaced by the desire to crush everything in the radius when the field had been filled by students. All of them were looking at her with confusion, whispering to their friends.

Hera turned, her brows contorting at the judgment now filtering through their orbs, radiating such an immense hatred that made Hera a little unstable. Her eyes were bulging, her thoughts thinking of nothing but plucking the eyes that dared to stare at her.

“See,” said the old man, catching her breath. “Everyone’s here to congratulate you!”

‘Are you blind? They’re ready to kill me, that’s more like it!’

The principal made its way to them, making the other students moved back a little. She was tailed by about five students who were all wearing grim expressions

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hemmingworth, but these students are filing an appeal with regards to your pick with the scholarship. They are as qualified as Ms. Brown, owing to the fact that their performance in the school are more than satisfactory.”

Hera had seen Ms. Hail lurking in the corner with her other classmates, teary-eyed. She found herself smirking. She didn’t wish for other’s misery, but right now, she thought she deserved it for being a dick.

The old man shook his head. “My apologies, Mrs. Lee! While it’s my pleasure to accept these magnificent students, I can only give scholarship to one exceptional youngster. And as you can see, I already have my pick.” He tilted his head toward Hera who looked away.

“But that’s… that’s…” One of the students was braved enough to step forward but not daring enough to phrase her thoughts.

Seeing her struggle, the principal tried to supply her words. “I insist that you reexamine your pick, Mr. Hemmingworth. I am of joy knowing that you acknowledged one of this school’s finest student; however, if we compare these students performance with her—”

“In my school, Mrs. Lee, we don’t compare. You can only see a gem’s worth if you open your eyes to what you can’t see. You see, most of the time, things aren’t always as they seem.”

Though Hera was moved by the old man’s sentiment, her mind still hadn’t changed. She just didn’t feel good associating herself with him.

“I didn’t mean to phrase it that way. Forgive me!”

While they were busy entertaining and faking one another, Hera rolled her eyes and walked away. There’s no way she’d enter a school she never applied for. Her life’s tangled as it was, and more ties might just break her neck.

‘You can all have that scholarship. I don’t want it.’