So, I leave her side and walk down the corridor, a rather large piece, or rather, pieces of white paper on the notice board catches my attention. The papers pretty much line the corridor between two classrooms, and even though I can’t see a single word on those pieces of paper, I can guess what they are. It is my nemesis.
Taking a few more steps towards them, the bell rings. Once more I can’t help but think of my sensei, couldn’t he have put up with my expressions of boredom for just a few more minutes rather than kick me out of the class? But no, he doesn’t like me, maybe it’s because my presence threatens him.
A whirlwind of students weave past me, all heading towards the wall of paper that I dread with all my being. I hear groans; I hear shrieks of laughter. Turning to the window, I stand aside and watch the birds fly past. I don’t bother to check out where my name is on the list of grades of the National Exam for the past semester because I already know where it is. Every single time, without fail, it’s there. And every time I know I will become the joker of the pack of cards. A girl with wavy shoulder length chestnut hair screams and wails like both her parents died, other students hustle around her to calm her down; let her be, she’ll climb up to the roof, threaten to kill herself, and then realize that there’s a bit more to life then getting 101 in the nation rather than 100. But then, a lot of students kill themselves over their grades, I wonder why; after all, I’ve grown to accept mine.
Did I mention that I hate the Japanese school system? Why they post up the grades of every student currently in the school on a corkboard is beyond me. Is it to embarrass every student who do well, or do badly? A discreet letter would have been nice, a little letter saying, this is your grade, this is your rank in the year - but no, for some strange reason they do this. It’s like an impetus for everyone, ‘this is the average grade, get there.’
I turn to check on that girl who had screamed and yelled in hysterics, apparently she’s decided that staying alive might be useful if she doesn’t want to bring shame on the family. She’s a smart girl.
I almost groan out aloud when I see them coming down the hallway. I don’t know them, but I recognize them - their aura, the obnoxious personalities radiating from them. It’s the group that’s not quite rich enough to get into a private school, but rich enough to be proud even when they are wearing their shabby school uniforms. The group that gets grades that are not bad enough to be ridiculed and laughed for, but not good enough to stop them from being jealous of others who do better. As they reach the board, I turn; I do not want to become their latest victim.
It would seem that I don’t have a choice. Already I can hear their haughty heels clicking as they come towards me, from the corner of my eyes I can see them surrounding me. I pretend not to see them and keep my eyes resolutely to the front.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Miss Smarty-pants,” they jeer.
I don’t want to answer. Over time, I’ve learnt to protect myself from students who are jealous, from teachers like the sensei who felt threatened by a student questioning him, checking each and every one of his calculations. This is a bad day. It would seem that a public school is just as bad, if not worse, than the private school my mother would have been able to afford.
It seems that I am saved from an answer as a squeaky little voice interrupts, “actually, her name is Mizuno Ami, she is number one in the whole country and transferred here this morning. She was just kicked out from class because she kept on pointing out all the mistakes that sensei made in his chemistry equations. Rumour is that her IQ is at least 300 if not higher and she has been ranked as the number one in the whole country her entire educated life.”
Thank you Umino Gurio - yes, I know who you are, because before I was known as the genius around school, someone had helpfully pointed you out to me. Once again, thanks for passing out my entire life to the mercy of this gang of jealous people.
There’s another scream, and I see the girl who had been mumbling incoherently earlier, that girl with the strangest hairstyle, now yelling very coherently that it wasn’t fair. Yes, life isn’t fair, if it was, then I wouldn’t be laughed at just because I got the first place. I don’t expect respect, I don’t want it, but I don’t exactly want to be a joker either. I turn away from those girls and ignore them like I usually do with any gang who tries to ridicule me - it always works, if I don’t respond, they’ll get bored. This group is no exception.
After a while my ears suddenly perk up, amongst all the confusion and noise, I can hear one voice clearly, Umino Gurio. I usually don’t eavesdrop, but I can hear my name being said in a crowd like I am an owl looking for mice in the dark. They might be whispering, but after so many years of my name being said in whispers, I can hear them clearly. He is repeating my statistics to that girl with the weird hairstyle, and the girl who had just earlier decided to kill herself and thought that maybe life was worth living, all in three minutes. He whispers that maybe I’m from another planet, maybe Mercury, after all, he adds, that is the mythological representation of intelligence. Who would have thought, later on this afternoon I would be wanting to congratulate him for being right when I found out that I did descend from Mercury.
I turn and stare at them, long and hard, as soon as I catch their glances I look away like I don’t care. But I do. I thought that I would get a chance. It’s the education system’s fault, I didn’t even spend the last semester in this school, and just because I am here now, they post up my last semester’s results. Fantastic. Seems like I’ll be eating my lunch alone today.
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Okay, this is a bit of a new style for me - the outspoken rambling Ami saying all the things that we've never heard her say. Don't we all wonder what it was like for her to meet all the senshi, and her life at Juuban? Well, tell me what you guys think! miss_mizuno@hotmail.com