School

Part 1.

Question 6: Has this reflection time helped you to understand and resolve the problem?

Sitting in this stuffy room afterschool, I stare at the stupid question on the stupid paper. It stares back at me, pleading with me to just take the easy option, to tick ‘yes’ and relieve the school faculty of having to deal with whatever is wrong with me. My mum says that I’m just not a “people person” and my principal says that I need to “think before I act” and the school councillor says that my “moral compass” is a “little off”, whatever on earth that means. Either way, whatever’s wrong with me didn’t stop me from slapping Sara Smith’s ugly, lying, little squished-up face and ending up here. In detention. Again.

I look up from my paper at the clock on the wall and see that, it too, like everything else in here, is moving in slow motion, the second hand moving at a pace which draws the time spent in here into what feels like hours. Or maybe days? Weeks? The only thing in this whole stupid room that’s moving at a reasonably normal speed is the walls, which have managed to creep in a little from where they were five minutes ago. Which I guess, when you think about it, isn’t really that normal at all. Moving on. I refocus my attention on the dozens of posters pinned up on the prison walls, posters which offer dumb encouragements like “nothing is impossible if you try hard enough”. I have to stop myself from gagging as I read the others, which are, if possible, worse than this. If the teachers really believe this is helpful, then they’re more air-headed then my so-called moral compass is out of whack. The kids in this room need a lot more help than what they can get from sitting in this “reflection time” and reading whatever a stupid piece of paper has to say.

And not only those in the room, this school was full of them, these struggling kids, only some of them didn’t show it as much. There are kids who don’t eat and kids who smoke in the bathrooms between classes. Kids who hurt themselves and kids who eat lunch alone and kids who walk around like zombies, living off two hours of sleep. Kids who hide their bruises and kids who hate other kids and kids who hate themselves. And of course, kids like me. We don’t really have any friends meaning we get to be the people who are close enough to see what these kids are going through but too far away to be able to help. The teachers, those with actual power to do anything, are useless. Sure, they’ll do a quick google search finding some irrelevant quote to stick on posters or pad their speeches with, but they don’t see what’s really happening. Or they just don’t care. When it comes down to it, they’ll lock us who need their help the most in a room and leave us to watch the walls close in.

Looking back down at my desk, I try to quieten my breathing and focus back on the question, wiping sweat from my hands on my pants. I know the answer I should give but I also know the answer they all want me to give. And maybe it’s because I know my rebellion won’t make a difference or maybe it’s because I really really just want these stupid walls to stop moving, which, by now, have gotten so super close to me. At this point I’m too tired to care so I pick up my pencil and tick the box that says ‘yes’.

Part 2.

I’m running to catch the ball in PE class when I trip over my own feet and face-plant on the ground.

I’m gasping for breath and tears are filling my eyes and my palms sting from where I tried to stop my fall. Blood is spilling from a graze on my knee, and I look away because, well you know, gross. The class stares at me like I’m a giraffe that just fell out of the sky and landed in the splits. Some concern, mostly amusement. I’m embarrassed and a bit sore and trying really really hard not to cry but it isn’t easy because I am so not okay right now.

Now my friends are helping me up and brushing me off and calling to the teacher that we’re “just off to the health centre, back in a minute”. And here we are, in the health centre I mean, and I’m a little more okay because they’re already laughing with me about the totally ridiculous thing that just happened to me. We’re laughing hysterically because now it’s the funniest thing in the world and the nurse is asking me to stop moving and sit still so she can get a proper look at my knee. We’re quiet for about 15 seconds and then we make eye contact which is enough to set us off again. They manage to become a bit more serious and ask me things like “are you okay?” and tell me to “look at them” so I don’t see the blood that’s outside my body instead of inside it where it’s supposed to be. Their concern makes me feel warm inside even in this totally cold, totally gross sick bay. They hold my hands while the nurse bandages me up and I love them so much in this moment.

Now I’m lying in my bed and its 1am and I feel totally okay now. I don’t even care that I stacked it in front of my whole class or that my knee still stings underneath the bandages the nurse gave me. I don’t care because the truth is I love days where I completely embarrass myself. I also love days where nothing remotely interesting happens and the days where I wake up with a sore throat and get to stay home from school. I love my family and I love my cat and I love curling my hair and having hot showers and going to the beach and saying “good” every time my mum asks me how my day at school was. I love rewatching the same bad teen movies and rereading the same books and hanging out with my friends, staying up all night to talk about boys or girls and just being 16 years and seven months old. It may sound a bit weird, but I’d take worrying about how stupid I look in front of my class then having to think about anything actually important, like I don’t know, what I’m going to do for the rest of my life? Should I be a doctor? Or a teacher? No thank you, why would I waste my time worrying about this when I’d much rather think about whether I should cut a fringe in my hair or if that eye contact with that girl meant anything like I thought it did or if I’d just imagined it.

I roll over in my bed and hug my teddy bear to my chest. Now I’m drifting off to sleep and the last thing I remember thinking about is which of my friends I’m planning to sit next to at lunch the next day.

By Kayli Bussell (Year 11)

The Moon

As night falls upon us, the moon arrives once again. It’s pale hue begins to wash over me like a heavenly light. As I marvel at it’s features and my mind fills with curiosity: I calmly gaze at its deep, endless sea of possibilities...

The moon’s beauty is beyond compare- it overwhelms me. But as the sun rises at the edge of the horizon, I begin to yearn for the peace and joy night brought me And slowly but surely, the moon floats out of view; Leaving the sun to share its light.

By Chloe Kent (Year 7)

New Beginnings

Oh, my home I used to love, now left behind I can no longer smell gunpowder, only the salt of the sea Relief at last, new beginnings await after this voyage The island on the map is where I want to be.

The breeze on deck had my hair blow blissfully in the wind Aspirations were set, I was to be free and almighty A new woman perhaps, a new way of life

R.M.S. Otranto, you gave me hope, never achieved by old blighty!

Oh, my home I now love, cherish my harmony at last Acceptance is key, your sunlight is the one for me. This warmth had been swept away in the shadows of the warfare Now it is here to stay, I can finally see!

By Danielle Sutton (Year 8)