NEVER LET THE HAIR DOWN 🌸🌸🌸 Chapter Four

Inspired by a lovely girl named Holy.

"The Saharan trade was a movement of traders from the North of Africa to the East. These traders were called Berbers and moved through the desert in a group called caravan. The..."

I didn't hear the lecturer's voice again. I thought it was just a pause. When I looked up, he was staring down at me. He looked older when near.

"Stand up," he ordered. I obeyed and all eyes went to the back of the class where I was seated. The curiosity in their eyes irked me.

"Let me have it," he said and gestured at my phone.

My eyes widened in surprised terror. No. Anything but my baby!

"Sir..."

"Next time, you will pay attention in my class," he said as he turned his back to me and faced the rest of the class.

"Sir, I was paying attention," I said boldly. He looked at me sternly. I continued quickly, "I was typing the note in my phone."

"Let me see it." I gave him my phone reluctantly. What if it was a trap, I wondered as he stared at my screen. After what seemed like hours, he looked at me and said, "Next time, use a book and pen," before dropping my phone on the desk. It fell with a sharp thud that cracked my heart. The rude man had dropped my baby! I ground my teeth. I would have given him a piece of my mind if it wasn't for my ill health. I had woken up with a headache and a runny nose; two signs that today would be a bad day for me. The signs had been right.

"Things can't get any worse, right?" I mused as I left the class after lectures. I bumped into the class rep at the door. He was a tall fair young man sporting a goatee.

"Hi," I said. He already knew me. I had submitted an assignment to him a week ago.

"Ma-ra-ha-dum!" I made a mental note to tell him to stop separating the syllables in my name. "Where are you going?"

"Somewhere," I replied dryly. I had seen how playful he was with the girls in my class. I didn't want to be one of his minions.

He gave me a queer look and left. I hadn't reached the steps when my phone beeped and Obed (that's his name) asked us to come for our GS assignment. I rushed back to the class but it was too late. A long queue was already waiting before Obed. So he couldn't just have told me to wait behind? What a jerk!

"My head," I groaned as I walked to the FASA quadrangle nearly an hour later and sat by myself on one of the tiled seats that faced the old and incomplete PG building. I prayed desperately that no one would dream of keeping me company. Last Tuesday was still fresh in my memory. It was the day I had left my hair uncovered because of the heat. I had sat at the quadrangle and had been surrounded by a clique of girls from my class. We had been getting along until they had started touching my hair and asking me questions. One of them, Ella, literally yanked at my bun and my hair nearly fell loose. I reacted by springing up and yelling at them in Thai before packing my hair and storming off.

It was after I had left that I calmed down to think of what I had said. They were the same words my mother had used on my class teacher back in secondary school.

Years ago, my mother had dragged me to school and confronted my class teacher. She had demanded for the missing chunk of hair my teacher had cut the day before. It was terrible. My mother had nearly clawed my teacher's eyes out crying, "Your new hair policy has nothing to do with my daughter. She will not cut her hair!"

After the intervention of the principal, my mother left but not before yelling Thai at my teacher. Chloe, my worst classmate then rumoured that my mother had cursed the teacher to turn into a pig at the end of twelve days. The countdown were the worst days of my life!

I sighed and looked at my phone sadly. I wished for only one thing; to be home again. To be away from these terrible lecturers, my mean class rep and offensive class mates. Home seemed to have felt my yearning for Wanida called.

I beamed and picked the video call on the second ring. I saw Wanida sneeze and rub her nose before looking at me.

"Oh. I didn't know you picked. Bless me," she said in a hoarse voice and forced a smile that lacked its characteristic Wanida- cheerfulness. Her eyes were also dull.

"What's wrong, sis?"

"Huh?"

"Are you sick?"

"Mm, just a little. It turns out that there's a lot of mosquitoes here. I'll be fine. This is the second day I've been on drugs."

"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked angrily.

"It's nothing serious."

"Of course it's serious. You're sick and alone in that school. I'm not there to take care of you. How can you call that a trifle?" I demanded. I was angry at my father again; angry that he let us go to separate schools. Mum would never do that.

"Chanok, calm down. I'm fine. I promise." I bit my lip when a harsh cough followed. "Forget about me. How are you? How's school?" she asked sweetly and her face brightened.

I struggled for words to say. I didn't want to worry her or complain when she was probably going through worse things. I pushed back my resentment and tears. Then I lied, "School's great. I love it here."

"Really?" She sounded so excited.

"Yeah. There's this tree with purple flowers that reminds me of Thailand. I wish you could have seen it." I sniffled.

"I'd love a picture of it."

I nodded sadly. "Great. I'll send one."

The loud laughter behind me was just what I needed to look away from Wanida's face and blink my tears away. The laughter came from the other side of the seat. The voices were familiar. Oh, no. It was Ella and her clique again. I ducked my head so the tiled wall kept me unnoticed.

"Are those your friends?" Wanida asked.

"Em, yeah. Can I call you later, Wanida? I really gotta go."

"Awwn. Sure." She paused. Then she sighed. "I'm so happy you like it there. I was scared you'd feel all alone but you've already made friends. I'm proud of you, Chanok," Wanida said with a sincerely joyful smile. Then she cut the call.

I was still stunned by her words when Ella's voice broke into my thoughts. "Of course she's pretty. Her tastes are great! Do you remember her long blue gown? Gorgeous!" she said with so much sarcasm in her voice. Her friends laughed.

One of them said, "What about the half-caste?"

"She's pretty and cool, I'll give her that. She's just too shy," said Ella.

"Don't be silly," Nat cut in sharply. "She's just a proud stuck-up snob that thinks she's better than the rest of us. So what if you're rich and have white blood in you?"

They laughed. The other girl said, "No wonder she has no friends. Poor thing," while Ella asked, "White? Don't you think she's Indian? She looks it."

I bit my trembling lips and held my breath until they left, still laughing and gossipping. When their voices had faded to indistinct noises, I let out a choked sob and rested my head on my laps. I blinked and blinked but it was no use. The tears fell.

 "She's just a proud stuck-up snob that thinks she's better than the rest of us."

Chloe had said those same words about me years ago. I had cried and refused to go to school. My mother had begged and fought with my father to let us return to Thailand. My father had refused. Then my mother had left us with a promise to return soon. I had never seen her since.

"You're wrong, Wanida. I am alone," I mumbled as quiet sobs escaped my mouth. My hands wiped my eyes furiously but my heart still ached. One grief led to another and I felt like the most miserable girl on Earth. In my mind, I gave up. I can't, I thought, I wanna go home.

To be continued 🧣