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Alona’s Quest for the Golden Tree
Chapter 9: The Rain
WHEN I WENT to school, the school gate was harshly closed. Not surprisingly, of course. It was a quarter after 8am.
I bit my lip. If my Nanay had known how badly I fared during one of my mother-free mornings, I doubt that she would ever again leave me alone.
Standing on tiptoe, I peered inside through the opening at the side of the gate. Manong Alapaap, the kind-faced potbellied man who guarded the school, was nowhere to be found. Instead, Manang Rosas, the stern-faced lady guard, guarded it.
Manang Rosas’ pretty name was a stroke of irony. She was nowhere as pretty because she oozed distinct hatred against the students. There was no luck there. With Manong Alapaap, a pitiful begging could be rewarded with a possibility of being allowed entry. Doing that with Manang Rosas was close to impossible.
Abandoning my attempt to sweet-charm my way in, I circled the school once. At the back, there was a slightly low wall that I could climb to get inside. I chanced upon the secret passageway as I saw two rowdy teenagers cutting their classes and exiting that way.
Conveniently forgetting to tell the teachers what I saw, I had used the wall as my secret entrance ever since.
I heaved myself, grunting with the effort.
I knew that I did well when, after a few attempts, my feet found solid ground. Congratulating myself for my stealthiness, I made my way into the classroom.
I sneaked a look through the window. Ma’am Rabano was out.
Sighing from relief, I whooped.
“Yes!” I shouted. I really couldn’t believe my luck today.
Confidently, I set out to get inside the room. And promptly bumped into something huge. I froze.
“Your lucky day?” chuckled a familiar voice. An authoritative one I knew so well.
“Er -” I blabbered, turning red.
Ma’am Rabano was blocking my way.
“Good of you to drop by.”
It was sarcastic.
She looked at her watch, with an air of mockery. “Should we adjust our time to suit your schedule, little miss?”
I looked down, and addressed my knees, “No, Ma’am.”
“Why are you late?”
“I -” I started. I couldn’t continue. I couldn’t think of any alibi. “I’m really sorry, Ma’am.”
“You know what it means, don’t you?”
I nodded tragically.
“Go clean the faculty room.”
Exactly what I was dreading to hear. I hated cleaning.
“Responsibility, young lady,” Ma’am Rabano said pointedly. “You got to learn that. Failing to perform your responsibility has its consequences.”
I bit my lips.
“No need to ask the janitor’s help. You’d do well by yourself,” Ma’am Rabano said with finality.
I understood myself to be dismissed.
I, together with two other delinquents, spent the first fifteen minutes of our time cleaning the teacher’s room, sweeping it nonstop and applying floor wax in an attempt to force it to shine. The stubborn floor refused to do so.
“Rain is dripping here bad, noh?” I said, chatting with Makisig casually.
The two of us, always late, were frequent cleanermate. Surprisingly, we never got to talk much. Today, I used the ruined and dripping roof as an excuse to strike a conversation. The rain was hours ago, but the floor remained a blazing self-made river. I remembered the Madam Principal made some speeches regarding the plan to repair the ruined roof. The Mayor promised to make it happen, a long time ago. Yet, the roof remained unfixed.
Makisig gave me one lazy look and a noncommittal grunt. Then, he went back to doing whatever it was he was doing. He was supposed to wipe dust off teacher’s desk. He was flicking it so idly he looked like he was merely passing the time. He looked bored.
Now I knew why we never became friends. The boy was a snobbish git.
I continued sweeping the floor, perhaps a little more vigorously than I intended.
BY MID-AFTERNOON that day, the rain that teased the clouds during the morning began to climb into a full-blown storm. Raindrops, thick and fast, pattered on the rooftops and windows. Winds howled like insane canines.
The dismal weather made the impatient kids jumpy. Becoming increasingly less keen to listen to the teacher’s lessons, they looked on with blank and lank expressions. The only interesting thing that happened was when the roof dripped, hitting one particularly sleepy student whose mouth was hanging open. He woke up with a start, thinking there was a fire.
Amidst the ensuing laughter, our Filipino teacher guided us in rearranging our seats.
“Up!” he commanded. “Up, you get! Let’s all move our chairs accordingly so the drips will not hit any part of us that matters.”
There was a general scraping of chairs. When we were done, we formed a kind of a semi-circle with the drip in the middle. We used a bucket, stolen from the TLE room, as container.
At first, we tried to pretend that the steady dripping did not bother us at all. But who were we fooling? The accidental waterfall was drawing stares. Kids stared shamelessly.
It was obvious that the teachers had lost us. Succumbing to the inevitable, the teachers decided to dismiss us earlier than usual after a quick word with the principal.
(c) 2016, Herbel Santiago