A Welsh Adventure

        My head throbbed from the constant pounding of words from Brother Ignatius. “Patience is a virtue,” “You are only to speak when spoken to,” “Your parents sent you here for a proper education, not a holiday,” “If you do not hand in that paper, Ms. Clarissa, detention awaits you,” and so on. *Sigh* life here at Saints Thomas Aquinas and Joan of Arc is harder than anything I have ever endured. There are no honors classes nor level one classes; we are all expected to follow the teacher, who is usually a Brother or a Sister, is teaching, and if we don’t get it, then we are not trying hard enough.
         
          Originally, this was an all boys’ school that prepared young boys to become priests. However, the numbers in enrollment began dropping dramatically, so they opened it up to anyone in the middle class and made it co-ed. Once that was done, my parents enrolled me immediately, saying they did not want me to become an ignorant lady. On the other hand, I was still expected to learn the arts instead of playing sports with the rest of the school. And so, I was tortured with the piano and voice lessons. Luckily, it didn’t take a long time to enjoy them, but that was only when I was alone and could set my soul free of the gray stone walls and the antagonizing boys; they make fun of me all the time because I’m the only girl in the entire school. But that rarely ever happened.
         
        However, one day, it all began to change. A new boy from the upper class was introduced to my class. He was tall and lean with mid-neck-length-brown hair and ivory colored skin. I couldn’t tell what his eye color was from the back row, but I did know that he had a really weird name: Dara Fitzgerald. Who names their kid that? It’s obviously an Irish name, but honestly. He also gave an overly big smile when the teacher introduced him and it was so false, it was embarrassing. To make his appearance even better, he had charming yet arrogant air about him which made me pray that he would leave me alone.
         
          But those prayers would never be answered for he was given the set to the right of mine. The good thing, though, was that there was a window to my left that overlooked the rose gardens. This gave me a wonderful and clever way to ignore him entirely without insulting him, which would be a very bad idea. The class didn’t seem very long, to me at least, and the next thing I knew was the bell ringing for passing time. As I was packing my books into my book bag, I heard an unfamiliar voice, next to me, ask, “What class are you going to next?”
         
        When I looked up, I realized it was the Dara kid. Up close, I could tell that his eyes were a pale blue and looked totally innocent. I told him that I was going to English with Sr. Rachel and I hoped that he would let me get to class before I got a detention. However, the fates had a different plan for me. “Great!” he said. “I hope you don’t mind if I follow you there, since we’re in the same class.” My stomach sank, but I was still able to say something polite like, “I’d be my pleasure,” and I began to lead the way.
         
          He tried to make some small talk, but wasn’t very successful since I’m in the habit of talking as little as possible. So, instead, he began commenting on every little thing that he found interesting. I hate to admit it, but, it was quite amusing; he reminded me of a young child who is thrilled by everything in the world and has no worries. However, just as we were almost finished crossing the courtyard before we were inside the Literature Hall, he suddenly said, “What was that?”I knitted my brow and looked in the same direction as he. The weird thing was that there was nothing there but woods, and I even squinted my eyes but there was still nothing but the trees and their shadows.

        “What was it that you saw?” I inquired hesitantly.

        He didn’t answer immediately, but when he did, he refused to look at me and his face went deathly pale. “I guess it was my imagination.” He paused a moment and then turned to me with a smile that was only painted on his mouth, “I’m sorry to have startled you.”

          My eyes scanned his face, unsure of whether he was really alright. “It’s fine. We should probably get to English, though, before the bell rings,” which rang just after.

        We made a quick dash through the halls and, as we tumbled into the room, Sister Rachel spun to face us with and accusing look upon her face. And with that, there was a dead silence within the room. I was hoping Sr. Rachel would break the silence, but that was left to me to take care of. “I apologize, Sr. Rachel, for my tardiness to your class. Our new student, Dara Fitzgerald, requested that I show him to your class. Since I was on my way here myself, I found no point in refusing his request.”

        She just nodded and motioned for us to take our seats as she resumed the class lesson. And of course, being my “shadow”, he took the seat right next to mine, again. I tried to ignore him, but I was unsuccessful; my senses were extremely aware of his presence and it became impossible to concentrate on what the teacher was saying. ‘Luckily’, I thought, ‘this period only lasts forty-five minutes. He’ll be gone soon with another to be his guide.’

      Boy was I wrong. When the bell rang again to mark the time of passing, I soon found that he was in every single one of my classes, every one! I could barely believe it. No matter how I rationalized it, I couldn’t figure why God was torturing me like this. ‘What the bloody hell did I do to deserve such a cruel fate?’ my mind screamed. I knew that I was probably judging too soon, but still, I also knew that nothing good could ever come out of this.  And to make it even better, he sat next to me in every single freakin’ class.

      Most of the day was one gigantic fog; my mind was too cluttered with questions to absorb any new information. Instead, my thoughts would return over and over to that one person, that one problem that I desperately needed to solve: Dara Fitzgerald. Every time I reflected upon our walk to English, all I could think was how strange it was how he stopped so suddenly. But what struck me the most was how he looked into the woods; something I could never, can never forget. He had a- oh, I don’t know exactly- a terrified kind of look , like he had just see a ghost or someone murdered. The image of his elegant ocean blue eyes turning to ice as that colour drained from his face kept resurfacing to my eyes as I thought. What could have transfigured him as such with just one glance?