Iris

“Iris, Iris wake up!” A hand shakes my shoulder, recovering me from my slumber. Blinking my eyes, I try to endure the grief as the sunlight hit my eyes from the window. I raise my head from drooping on the desk, leaning my back on the chair, and my ears catch my mother’s voice.

“Dad got you a bed for you to rest on it,” mom complain, “not to be an ornament in your room.”

I say nothing about that. Dozing off on the desk have been my norm. A small smile darts on my face.

“It’s my habit.” Lines form on her forehead. “You’re a smart girl. A smart kid shouldn’t have a bad habit. If everyone knows, it will ruin your perfect student status, so change your habit. ”

It doesn’t make sense.

“Nobody knows about my bad habit except you, dad, and Irene so why-”

“Please, at least change it for me. You want me to be happy, right?”

“But, mom. I-”

“No objection. Now get ready for school.” She ruffles my head, smile then steps out of my room.

“Iris, it’s for your own good, so please.” Click! The door close and I sigh.

She never wants to hear my answer. She never does.

I take a shower and get into a light purple sweater and skinny jeans. I brush my hair, slinging my bag over my shoulder and slump down the stairs.

“Good morning dad.” I peek my father’s cheek and plop myself beside my older sister.

“Morning Irene.” she nods, munching her sandwich.

“Girls, you have a test today, right?” dad asks.

“Yes, history test,” Irene replies.

“Good luck to you, Irene.” he grins at her.

“And Iris, I hope you get a perfect mark again.”

I nod, eating my sandwich. Excellent result? He is expecting me to have a good mark?

“What about Irene?”

“You’re the smart one. You have more possibility to get it.”

Not the answer I want.

“What if I can’t score it?”

“I’m sure you can. You’re a genius,” mom says, taking a seat beside father, across me.

I bit my lower lip.

“What if Irene’s score is more than mine?”

“You’re smarter than her. Did Irene’s score overstep yours?” dad stares at me.

I open my mouth to reply, but mom interrupts me.

“You should study harder then.” I sigh.

I glance at Irene with my eyes. She hung her head down, chewing her sandwich. She looks fine. No expression is displayed on her face.

She never gets enough attention from mom and dad. It is my fault she is not our parents’ priority?



“Stacy. . . .Tiffany. . . .Kevin. . . .” Mr. Bolt shouts as the students receive their paper. Whispers can be heard everywhere in this four-wall class. For those who reach their target, glint of happiness fills their eyes, that their effort for this test was worthy.

The others, who were careless in the test, gaze at their papers as if the red mark will change, from fail to excellent. It’s too late to regret.

“Irene,” the name makes my eyes stare at the girl as she strides to the front, “congratulation. 98.” Her lip tugs upward, hands clapping from our classmates escorting her. Her grin widens as she stares at me. A smile rises on my face and she plops herself on her seat.

“Iris.” I jump from my seat, hear nothing but my step knocking on the floor. Mr. Bolt gives me my paper.

“I’m not really satisfied with your score, hope you do better if you don’t want me to cast you to your actual grade,” he utters, only for me to listen to it.

I turn, walk to my desk, hanging my head down. I sit and stare at the red mark on the paper.

99

The highest score in my class, and he not satisfied with it?
“Okay class. Please read chapter 8. A test is waiting over the next two weeks.” Groans and "no" come out from my classmates' mouth.

“Class dismissed.” He gives me a warning stare before walking out.

Do I have to do that? Study and get a good mark? What about the others? Irene?



I drop myself on a bench. A shady tree is blocking the sun from hitting me . The falling leaves, blown away by the breeze, land on the grass. Toddlers voices greet my ears as they chase each other with glitter in their eyes.

How does it feels to have a friend? Being the smartest in the class gives me nothing but fame. I don’t want fame, I want a friend. A friend to talk with, a friend to play with.

I feel lonely.

Having parents who love me more than my sister never makes me feel better. Sometimes I feel like they spoil me because I’m smarter than her. They expand my room only for me to study while Irene’s doesn’t. They buy me a laptop and give my old computer to Irene.

Is that fair?

They always say, “You are our dearest daughter; we have to take care of you very well.” What about Irene? What is she to them? She’s also their child, their blood. If they think I am better than Irene, they’re wrong.

Irene is good in sports. Why she doesn’t get anything even a "congrats" from them?

“What are you looking at?” a familiar voice says.

I turn my head. A smile flashes on Irene's face, as she take a seat beside me. I smile back.

“Nothing.” I look at the playground again. The kids are still running, chasing their friends.

“Then what are you thinking?”

“Nothing.”

“What? About study? Parents? Or maybe friends?”

I press my mouth into a thin line. She continue, “Something bad about me?” her voice lowers a little.

“No.”

“I know I am stupid. I know that you are better-”

“Athlete.”

“What? I didn’t hear you.” she glances at me.

“You’re an athlete.” she sighs.

“Forget it. They want me to be a lawyer.” she hung her head.

Why I can choose my own ambition then?

“Maybe they will think twice if you have a slow talk with them.”

Silent.

I turn my head, only to find she’s gone.



After some time working my brain, I decide to rest, staring at the dark sky with a full round moon that has been my light resource. Memorizing the facts is totally useless. I can’t focus!

The history test will be tomorrow. I am in no mood to read and study the subject. My eyes are half open and I yawn. I realize that history is boring and makes me sleepy. Now I know why Jason and Micky always sleep in the history class.

How I can read the history book for three hours straight all this time? The clock is ticking, showing 10 sharp. Only thirty minutes, and I am tired already! Something wrong with my mind.

I’ll get a lower mark in the test, and Mr Bolt will scold me, then he will call my parents, and they will be disappointed with me, crying and begging for me to study again and oh my! Something really wrong with my mind.

Wait a minute!

To think it again, it’s actually a good idea. Irene never gets a low mark, so a big chance for her to get our parents’ attention if my mark decreasing.

My lip tugs upward as I close the history book, climb on my bed, and rest my back. I can’t wait to see Irene’s reaction.