Once upon a time there was… Jacqueline – there has always been Jacqueline. Her eyes are a glistening breath of icy wind glazed over with a sugary whiteness, barely showing those minute pupils. Her hair is a ray of sunshine, warm and golden-red, which twists and turns like a drunken fireman’s pole or downhill rollercoaster. Then there are her lips: neither a fairer pair, nor a set as full and soft, or with coated with that particular deep hue of red have I ever seen! Her skin is a scarf woven out of olive brown silk, stretched tautly, without one crease, over a delicate pointed chin and rounded cheeks. It blankets her small nose and smooth forehead, tickling those midgets which she calls “ears”. This elegant girl has a slinky neck, sharp shoulder blades and slender body, with legs of an average length and shape, and arms of skin and bone alone. Jacqueline always used to wear a pair of silver lacey leggings, a chemise which was way too big with her and a matching ego – also way too big for her. She went to the same school me and sat on the opposite side of my row, at the front, twisting her blazing pony tail ‘round and ‘round her fingers and blinding me with her frosty eyes every so often.
“Miss, Fauls, will you please pay attention?!” Miss Herbert, my technology teacher, scolded one day.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Herbert,” I mumbled timidly. I observed out of the corner of my eye that Jacqueline was up to no good again. I flashed a warning look which she soon returned with a glare which made me tremble more than a cold winter’s day!
“Are you okay, Daphne?” Laura, the girl who sat beside me in technology, questioned. (Come to think of it though, I pretty sure she sat next to me in every class that we had together.)
“Fine. Fine! – Perfectly fine. What made you think otherwise?” I squeaked nervously in reply.
“Oh, nothing. I reckon I was just being stupid is all,” she flushed.
“No, no, no! You’re not stupid. It was just a misunderstanding – a misinterpretation, if you will, of my facial expressions,” I assured her.
“I’m just rather tired.”
“As am I,” she replied with a big grin and an even bigger yawn.
“You know I only got to bed at one this morning, and then my alarm clock went off at six!” she groaned smilingly.
“I know exactly how you feel. I got to bed at much the same time,” I muttered, even though the previous night had been an early one for me – nine o’clock in bed!
“Oh, Daph! At least you understand,” Laura cooed.
I nodded, pokerfaced. Jacqueline was scribbling something down on a piece of pink cardboard at the opposing side of the room. I tried to get a better view without giving myself away, but to no avail. Jacqueline’s friend Tiffany poked her on the shoulder, pointed to me and cupped her hand to whisper something. Laura noticed the change in my expression.
“Concentrate, Daphne!” she whispered, whipping me across the shoulder with her clutch pencil.
“Ow!” I whimpered. Believe it or not, the clutch pencil had hit me hard.
“Focus or Miss Herbert will…” Suddenly an interruption came soaring through the air, gliding on its pink wings until it reached our table. Laura’s jaw dropped silently. She raised her auburn brows in surprise. The paper aeroplane unfolded hastily in my sweaty hands and on it was Jacqueline’s writing.
Dear Daphne,
I do wish you would learn to be a little bit more mature, and not such a horrid tattle-tell. The Misses will not believe your tales, you know. Say, let all be forgiven and forgotten and you, dear friend, joins us for tea on Friday after school. Tiffany, Felicity and Mindy will be there. It’s time to make your stand – rid yourself of that awful reputation. Join my circle, why not?
Yours cordially,
Jacqui.
I felt faint. This can’t be good; I know it can’t! I thought desperately. Nevertheless, I knew that my reply to Jacqueline’s terrible invitation would have to be to her liking, or else I was in for it. Carefully, so that Miss Herbert couldn’t see me, I flipped the pink card over and began to write.
The bell rang just as I finished. Miss Herbert dismissed us dully and sent us on our way, and I hastily shoved my text book, exam pad and space case into my satchel. Laura had one of those handy wheelie-bags which supported the workload easily in a dreamy kind of way. My back was still aching from heaving around all my French books the previous day. I’d only just started learning French and I already felt like the text book, work book and others were those most familiar to me!
Laura waited patiently for me at the door whilst I zipped up my bag, slung it over my shoulders and folded up my note to Jacqueline, somewhat untidily. When I reached the door, Laura took off; tripping downstairs at top speed. She was babbling on about the approaching Maths test, but I was too anxious about a certain ginger-haired evil to listen properly. Finally, we’d caught up with Jacqui and here group of friends: Tiffany, the blonde; Felicity, the bubble gum chewer; and Mindy, the schmoozer. I marched boldly towards them, leaving a startled Laura agape in mid-sentence. As I reached the feared foursome, however, I lost my nerve. I was about to back away when, surprisingly, Felicity backed into me!
“Oh, it’s you,” she choked, spitting her slimy pink gum onto the pathway.
“You’re looking nice, Daphne! Did you style your hair? Looks very pretty...” That was that sorry suck-up, Mindy.
Tiffany grinned, “Yes, too true. What style is it exactly? – Split ends, greasy clumps of frizz and dandruff, perhaps?”
“Salutations,” Jacqueline giggled in a clearly put on aristocratic tone of voice.
“Quite,” I murmured.
Felicity snatched the note from my hand, “For you, Jacqui.”
There was a swish of fiery orange and then the burning intensity of those icicle eyes, like the glaring sun peeping through the white clouds and fog on a chilly day. The wretch of a girl was reading.
Dear Jacqueline,
I shall tea with you. Thank you for the kind offer. Venue perhaps? – Such a fabulous idea of yours!
Daphne
I had written it hastily. She read it again and again, analysing it for clues of reluctance. I hoped that my meek untruths would not reveal themselves.
“Great. It’s at the Dance Auditorium at Oakmead Road,” she said nonchalantly. My heart skipped a beat, or so it seemed.
“Only Grade 12s can go there, though,” I spluttered.
Mindy giggled. “You are such an obedient little girl. So sweet...”
I gulped. The others beamed. Jacqueline’s fine lips curled into a smirk.
“Alright, why not?” I muttered.
“That’s the spirit!” Mindy smiled, patting my back-pack heartily.
I was late for my Maths test, but I didn’t give it a second thought, not then. Jacqueline had inflated herself into a large balloon in my mind, blocking out everything else. At the end of the day, I retreated to the locker room; shoving my key forcefully into its lock and twisting it. I pulled the lock away aggressively and threw my French books inside, on top of my mini tissue box and brand new copy of Artemis Fowl. I pulled out my geography file and shoved my technology file into its place, hastily extracting my drama journal and Artemis Fowl. I packed my sack brutally and zipped it up, locking my locker and storming towards the crowded doorway, pushing lanky fifteen-year-olds and squat fourteen-year-olds alike, out of my way. I squeezed between Big Betty and Tall Tammy all in one go, and then realised I’d forgotten my lunch box! That was one of the only days that I hadn’t gone to the tuck shop, coincidentally.
Laura waved at me as my au pair pulled out of the school driveway. I waved back distractedly. My au pair, Kiara, asked how my day was.
“Awful,” I moaned. She talked to me sympathetically. Typical! I thought. All psychologists sound sympathetic or compassionate all the time, even when they aren’t on your side! Kiara was studying psychology at WITS. It was her second year, so she wasn’t too bad.
At home Kiara fixed me some left over stir-fry in the microwave and brewed a decent cup of peppermint tea. We watched some boring soaps on TV, all of which were completely predictable, and then I left to do my homework. I’d finished most of my homework before seven-thirty, which really isn’t half bad. Kiara served supper at seven-thirty. Even my cousin, Don, came out of computer-mode to dine with us. Aunt Ilsa was out of town for the week, as were my parents. So, Don and I were stranded at the house with Kiara. Supper was more left-over stir-fry much to our surprise. (Note my sarcasm. - All because we only ever have leftovers with Kiara.)
After supper I showered and finished my homework. I clambered into bed with my Artemis Fowl book and tried to calm my nerves by reading. It was all going splendidly until my cell phone rang. I had forgotten to switch it off for the night. Might as well answer, I thought. It was Laura. Apparently she thought I had been very rude to her earlier and demanded that I apologise and explain. I tried to but she didn’t believe me and began to get rather cross. I was stressed out of my mind by the end of that conversation, and broke into tears in my soft pillow’s cuddly face. I couldn’t sleep that night, so I began to walk around the house like a demented insomniac, which I suppose you could say I was. Then, in the middle of the night, I bumped into Don in the kitchen. I nearly had a heart attack!
“Don! What’re you doing?!” my voice slurred with fatigue.
“Couldn’t sleep... And you?” he whispered.
I nodded and explained.
“It’s just a tea party that Jacqueline girl’s holding, and don’t let old Laura get you down. You’ll be friends again in no time,” he said confidently.
“Just a tea?!” I fumed. He didn’t understand about Jacqueline, the beautiful ginger-haired girl who got away with murder. Don laughed. I wanted to slap him, but I controlled myself and managed to make my way back to bed, where I lay down and eventually fell asleep.
Thursday began abruptly. Before I knew it, Kiara was switching on my lights and pulling back the crimson red curtains at my windows, telling me to get up, Lazy-bones. I groaned as her high-heeled footsteps clicked down the passage and out of earshot, tossing about fretfully. At quarter to seven, I slumped down at the kitchen table for breakfast, slowly pouring cornflakes into my bowl. Don had dark purple rings under his eyes and was wearing his shirt backwards. I felt too tired to mention this to him; I felt too tired to do anything! Kiara glugged down a mug of warm coffee bouncily and shovelled spoonfuls of her thick, mushy home-made porridge down her mouth. At seven we left the house in Kiara’s bright yellow buggy. The streets were loaded with hectic traffic! I rested my head lazily against the window pane, letting Kiara do all the talking. Don seemed just as drowsy, if not more so.
I arrived at school at twenty passed seven: just in time to scramble to my locker, fiddle around my blazer pockets for its key, swing the thin metal door open and hunt for the files and books I needed for the lessons before first break. I whipped out my diary and paged to the back, where I found my school timetable. Sighing, I checked that I had everything that I needed, slammed the locker door, locked it and scurried off to registration class.
The rest of the day was a blur. We got our Maths tests back, trotted over to the library to work on our history projects, hauled heavy crates of new equipment into the Science Lab, and dissected sheep’s lungs squeamishly. By the time the bell rang for first break, my head felt as though it would explode and it was all I could do to keep my large eyes open, what with the mighty force of two heavy upper lids. I sat on the cold brick stairs outside the locker room, picking up my pastrami and pickled cucumber sandwich hungrily. Laura sat next to me, twisting her shiny auburn locks into a French plait at the back of her head. Soon, the bell had sent us on our way to geography. Laura bounded along joyfully, whilst I followed with a yawn.
As school ended, at quarter to three, I spotted Kiara’s distinctive buggy snailing its way down the drive. I hurried to the locker room to pack my bag and lock up my locker. As I reached the locker however, I noticed something peculiar. For one, the cloakrooms were deserted. Then, of course, there was a piece of pink card, which had been stuck to my locker door. I snatched it curiously and unfolded it to read.
“Dear Daphne,” I read aloud.
“I merely wish to -” Suddenly and quite out of nowhere, Jacqueline appeared. She was at my side, hissing the words eerily in my ear.
“-remind you of my invitation and your response. We want to fix up that bad reputation you’ve gained yourself, don’t we? Don’t even consider chickening out, all right?”
I shuddered, “N-never.” Straightening my collar, I decided to brave telling Jacqueline that I didn’t agree with her in terms of me having a “bad reputation”; since I didn’t have one, but as suddenly as she had appeared the wicked creature had vanished!
I shuffled off to the car park, out under the hot African sun and bright blue sky, trying to cheer myself. Kiara and I drove to Don’s school to pick him up, and then home for some two-minute noodles and home-made coleslaw. Don, Kiara and I concocted our very own smoothies and then settled down in front of the TV to catch the final episode of Kiara’s favourite soap, The Young and the Restless. I know I should’ve skipped it, since I had tons of homework to do and tests to study for, but I was exhausted and wanted a break. I fell asleep towards the end and only awoke at seven thirty-five, to the sounds of clinking plates, glasses and cutlery. Kiara and Don were finishing off the coleslaw and digging into newly- microwaved noodles. I groaned and scrambled into the kitchen. I was up until half-past ten doing homework and ‘till eleven studying. By a quarter to midnight I felt finished and collapsed onto my bed.
Friday morning started with a bang. Normally I’d have said, “Oh, it’s only Friday, nothing to fear!”, but that Friday was different; I did have something to fear. I struggled into my black school skirt and indigo button-up shirt, stuffing my feet into grey socks and black shoes. Today is the day! I thought, edgily.
I trudged sleepily through the school day; quarrelling with Laura and tripping down the stairs from my English classroom. I scraped my remaining allowance into the palm of my hand and bought myself a squishy apple pie from the tuck shop. Brushing my frizzy mud-brown hair from my eyes as the wind began to howl, I observed Tiffany – blonde hair swirling in the wind, with a big pair of sunglasses obscuring her small green eyes from sight. She smirked haughtily, as though she could see me from where she was, all the way up the opposing end of the driveway. I stuck out my tongue and she reciprocated. I gasped, having not expected her to see, and fled the scene squeezing my tart tightly.
“What took you so long?! I was waiting for you for ages!” Laura snapped, her golden-brown pig-tails whipping the sides of her neck as she spoke. I shrugged and offered her some of my tart. Laura sniffed muttering something along the lines of -“We used to be so close.” I clicked my tongue, irritated at her, and began to eat.
I sent Kiara an SMS to say that I had to stay at school late for a function, and would call her when I was done, feeling instantaneously guilty for the lie. I swung open my locker and retrieved my purple mini skirt, matching leather pumps and baby-blue strappy T-shirt. Then I pulled out my white bolero and headed for a cubicle in which I could change. I headed towards the Grade 12 girls’ cloakrooms, catching a glimpse of Felicity as the Grade 12 students made their way outside. I tagged along with the crowd soundlessly, my heart thumping heavily beneath my ribs. Oakmead road was a brisk ten-minute walk away form the school. It hosted the infamous Dance Auditorium; a club of sorts. I knew I shouldn’t be there, I didn’t want to be there, but there was no turning back now.
The large luminous doors opened and the sound of roaring computer-generated music blasted my ears. I saw Felicity, out of the corner of my eye, sweeping inside in her chequered skirt and flamboyant T-shirt, with a tartan scarf draped around her freckled neck. I tailed her jumpily. Soon enough, I was pushing through thick hordes of malodorous men dancing with women in tremendously high-heeled shoes. I made my way to the back of the hall, only to find a bleak trestle table on which a pot of tea, a milk jug, some cups and saucers, and a sugar bowl had been placed. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, a poof of smoke was emitted and there standing right before me was Jacqueline and her arrogant tribe. Mindy stepped forward, her silky hair concealed beneath a bright blue wig. On her feet were a pair of platform sandals and covering her upper, middle and part of her lower body was a tight and short pink boob-tube dress.
“So good to see an exquisite face like yours... Tea? One sugar, some milk?” Mindy coaxed.
“No, thank you,” I replied stiffly. Mindy ignored this and poured me a full cup, setting it down delicately on a saucer.
“Do sit,” Tiffany said in a tone of superiority.
I sat down awkwardly on a three-legged bar stool at the table, eyeballing the three intimidating personages looming over me like towers.
“Drink it,” Jacqueline ordered me curtly. I hesitantly obliged. The tea was fiery hot and pierced my tongue even more than Jacqueline pierced my valour with her spooky eyes of frigidity. I wheezed painfully, choking on a suspiciously spicy chunk of sugar. Then everything began to go all blurry, as though my surroundings were photographs taken with a camera that could not freeze motion into place quick enough when it flashes. I heard inhuman, malicious peels of laughter and cruel chortles and the shades of colour in the room began to blend. Then everything went frost-white.
I awoke, in hospital, the following afternoon. A portly blotch of pink and white bobbed up in front of my bed, laying her pudgy hand on my forehead. I whined drowsily shutting my eyes. When I reopened them, everything came into focus: the ward’s bleak walls, the white sheets that coated my shaky body, the rounded nurse mopping my sweaty brow with a damp piece of flannel, and Don and Kiara leaning over my bed.
“You okay?” Don asked.
“Your tonsils are out now. It’s over,” Kiara reported enthusiastically.
“Tonsils?” I wheezed. My tonsils were not due to be removed until the following month.
“Where’s Jacqueline? Did she apologise, admit, or pay, huh?” I demanded.
“Who’s Jacqueline?” Don asked.
“Must’ve been some nasty character in your dream, honey,” Kiara said empathetically.
“No!” I virtually exploded.
Don’t you see she can’t have been a dream?! Not Jacqueline. I see her every day, peering in through my bedroom window, stalking me as a walk along the beach, haunting the passageways I pass. – Haunting me. She is real, I tell you. Once upon a time there was Jacqueline. There always has been Jacqueline and there always will. Her lovely figure mirrored in every puddle, dam, lake and river. The magical, mysterious image of ginger hair swirling in the water, and bone-chilling eyes glaring at you like wicked gems enclosed in bitter rime! I hear her voice calling my name, following me around and to this very day, I have never set foot in The Dance Auditorium.
If you do not believe me then listen to this. Yesterday, I made my way to my locker... The cloakroom was deserted and attached to the weedy locker door was a letter written on pink card and signed by none other than Jacqueline herself...
(3731 Words)
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