Maddy

• Molly Earle, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2018

7pm, light illuminates the small cluttered room through half drawn blinds. A small child sized bed hides under mountains of school work and piles of old clothes. A thin layer of dust lies on every surface. Humid air, clouds the empty space, creating a musky smell which over whelms the senses if someone were to walk in. Unfortunately nobody has in years. It is my job to find out why.
Why did a 15 year old girl go missing? Why did her parents leave? What happened in this room?
9pm, the classroom is buzzing with gossip as students push through the poorly made doorway. I sit alone in the corner of the room pretending to be busy, pretending I don’t notice the glances.
The room is buzzing with noise as students divide themselves into their groups. The sports enthusiasts in the centre of the three rows of desks, excitedly chatting about their favourite highlights from last night’s game. The three smartest students sit quietly at the front, finalising and reading through their speeches due third period. The so-called popular students take up the entire back row, obnoxiously talking about their wild weekends.
The cold crisp air seems impenetrable by the tired heater, rumbling in the corner of the room. The energy in the room quickly died as soon as Mr Ali walked into the room.
“Good morning class,” he calls, dropping his bag on the slightly wonky desk at the front of the room.
He sits on the desk as he begins to call the role.
“Alice.”
“Here.”
I listen for her name.
“Ben?”
“Present.”
“Maddy?”
Nothing.
“No Maddy?”
Mr Ali looks up from his laptop, accessing the class, then continues.
12pm, lunch is as exciting as sitting alone in the corner of the room can be. I watch as eyes dart towards me and quickly look away. A deep hum of voices circles the room. Watching as Lilly glances towards me, surprised of being caught and quickly looks back to the group of bandmates, which accumulate in the far-left corner of the room.
I never understood gossip. The way I see it is as an apple, it’s ripe and juicy one day and slowly it gets less appetising, withering with age and slowly decomposing into the ground, non-existent to the consumer.
4pm, her house is empty when I arrive, using my customised key to open the front door. Dust covers every surface, like a blanket encasing a time capsule of memories. The cupboard is half open with an avalanche of clothes spilling through its uninviting doors. I feed the neglected family pet. Oscar gulps the tiny pellets with the little strength he can muster.
6pm, sitting at my deep burgundy desk, I wait. Staring down at my torn notebook, doubting my abilities as a writer. What’s a writer that can’t write? My nerves jump as my phone spontaneously buzzes, sending vibrations though each particle of my desk. The name ‘Maddy’ flashes on the screen.
“She’s found.” I yell triumphantly into the phone.
She laughs, automatically printing a smile on my face. “Why are you so dramatic? You know I’m in hospital.”