That Wet November Day

• Justine Ohlrich, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2013

After all these years, I still remember her. Those deep brown innocent looking eyes. Those dark brown flowing locks which looked orange if the light hit them at the right angle. That was Aislind, otherwise known as Aisy. She was the kind of schoolyard troublemaker you couldn’t help but like.

At lunchtime, everyone would far prefer to be outside. But with this weather, that was near impossible. Even I wished it wasn’t pouring pick-handles. I couldn’t get to the library-I’d feel so guilty if I drenched my novel. The librarians would loathe me for abusing a book in such a heinous fashion.

One, cold, miserable rainy day, our teacher, needing a break, left us to our own devices. A perfect opportunity for the mischievous Aislind. She captured our attention, and while we were all mesmerized, walked to the front of the room, smiling evilly and laughing maniacally.

She reached for the roll of duct tape. I stared, transfixed, apprehensive. Mischief was afoot. I half expected her to create a makeshift tight rope spanning the length of the room and prance along it in a ridiculous pink tutu she had concealed under her uniform…

But as I watched, she picked up the teacher’s scissors. I observed as she performed her magic, rolling my eyes as she encased the scissors, winking at us all the while.

Suddenly, we heard the click-clack of high heels. Mrs Grey strutted into the room. Miraculously, the duct tape was back in its correct location, along with the scissors. Everyone was seated, smiling sweetly and chitter-chattering, as though nothing significant had happened. But seeing the murderous expression on her face, we knew it would only be a matter of time before she discovered Aislind’s endeavours.

Almost immediately, she was seated at her desk, scrutinizing the stationery. She shook her head disdainfully. “Who did this?” She asked condescendingly.

To my horror, I found myself pointing the blame: “It was Aislind and her co-conspirators, Mrs Grey.”

The moment I’d uttered it, I realised I had made a big mistake. Everyone, especially Aislind, glared at me, with that this was meant to be our secret sort of expression. I wanted to be swallowed by a whale, just like Geppetto in Pinocchio. Oh, so stupid. Thank goodness it had stopped raining. Time to head to the library, where I could be alone in peace. I immersed myself in my novel once again, although this time I buried myself in a mountain of cushions as I read, my face already wet. And not from the rain either.