/social awkwardness 101/

As the bell rung on a Monday morning, chiming in her third week at North Mountain Academy, Elsa's hypothesis was confirmed. Her conclusion: that she didn't like school.

Just getting to class in time was like running a gauntlet. When the bell rung, the corridors burst like an overflowing dam of students, a tidal wave that forced you in the opposite direction you wanted to go. Go against the flow, and you'd be trodden on.

Her lessons were a mixed bag. She liked reading books for English but thought the rest was a waste of time. History was moderately interesting most of the time, and easy, since most of it was memorising dates and names. Science she liked. Maths lessons were easily her favourites.

But she couldn't raise her hand in class. Or even ask the boy sitting next to her to borrow his tip-ex. She'd spent a good twenty minutes trying to work up the courage to ask him last week, and by the time she began to stutter out her request, the bell rung.

"What did you say?" he asked.

"N-nothing," said Elsa, leaping out of her seat and grabbing her backpack.

Sat in the same seat next to the same boy a week later, she stole from him a quick glance. As the memories returned, hot humiliation rushed up her to her cheeks.

Why was it so hard just to talk to someone?

Elsa thought they ought to let her teach a class. They could call it Social Awkwardness 101.

When the bell rung, Elsa packed up her things and made for the door. But a voice stopped her: "Elsa, could I please have a moment with you?"

Elsa froze. Her teacher, Miss Murakami, waited until the classroom was empty and it was just the two of them.

"Did I get a question wrong, Miss?" Elsa enquired.

"On the contrary, Elsa, you got all of them right."

"Then..." Then what was the problem?

"You needn't look so worried, Elsa. You've done nothing wrong. You were the only one in the class to get full marks in the last bit of homework I set. Honestly, the level you're working at exceeds the work the undergraduate students used to turn in when I worked for the university... I just wanted to speak to you about class participation."

The warm glowy feeling in her stomach from Miss Murakami's praise curdled. She had a distinct feeling where this was going.

"Earlier when I asked the question about balancing fractions, nobody managed to get the correct answer. But I happened to catch a glimpse of your notebook when I went past. You'd got it right, Elsa." Miss Murakami's enquring eyes seemed to drill into hers. Elsa looked down. "Why didn't you put your hand up?"

She felt the dampness spreading at the nape of her neck and under her armpits. She didn't say anything.

"Are you afraid of getting the wrong answer?" Miss Murakami asked.

The word left Elsa in a relieved rush: "Y-yeah," she lied.

"It's human to make mistakes. I promise you, no one will think badly for getting a question wrong." Miss Murakami spoke in a softly reassuring voice, but beneath her blouse and blazer which suddenly felt far too hot, Elsa was stewing in fear and humilation. She stared at a tile on the floor without seeing it. "Elsa?" said Miss Murakami. A hand touched her shoulder.

It was a snap reaction. Without meaning to, Elsa jumped away from her as though she'd been burned. Her teacher's eyes reflected her surprise. And, Elsa thought, a little bit of hurt, too. Her insides shrivelled like blackened bits of tinder.

"C-can I g-go now?" she stammered.

"Of course." Miss Murakami was looking dismayed. "But-"

Grabbing her bag, Elsa almost ran from the classroom.

Hurrying back to the Sixth Form, Elsa wasn't watching where she was going. In her head she replayed the horrible exchange over and over, stewing in the shame that roiled in her stomach. Why did I do that? Why did I say that? she asked herself. What on earth is wrong with me? It can't be normal to feel this way.

She peered into the common room. It was one of the places she could get on with her homework peacefully, since it was forbidden to the lower school. But today a big group of Sixth Formers were sat talking and laughing in the comfy chairs, and Elsa didn't feel put-together enough to face their questions: What school did you go to before? What subjects do you take? How come you're always alone?

The computer room, too, was full, and outside the September heatwave had broken into October drizzle. Was there any place she could be alone?

That creepy clock-tower, Elsa remembered. Anna might be there, too.

Elsa couldn't get comfortable around other people. But for some reason, recently, Anna had become the exception. Thinking about their sleepover in the living room, and how she'd woken up to find Anna's hand still in hers, Elsa smiled quietly to herself.

In the bell-tower, it was dark. Gripping the handrail, Elsa looked up into the blackness. She heard something like a thump. Cautiously, she made her way up, to find the trapdoor ajar.

"Anna?" she called.

The ladder creaked underfoot. Pushing back her second thoughts, Elsa climbed up into the belfry.

It was empty. Though I'm sure I heard something...

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, illuminated only by the grey light filtering through the high window, Elsa noticed a bulky shape near the wall.

"Anna!" she exclaimed, rushing to her. Anna was slumped over onto her side, motionless, her red hair splayed over the dusty floorboards. Elsa shook her violently, her heart racing. Had she collapsed? Was she sick? "Anna!"

A groggy groan was her response. "No need t' shout..."

Elsa breathed out relief. "I thought you were..."

"Jus' taking a nap," said Anna, pushing herself from the floor with one hand. "Or, I was." She pushed her hair back out of her eyes. Elsa couldn't help but notice a certain sluggishness to Anna's movements. The way she seemed to be struggling to focus on her.

"Are you sure you're alright?" she asked.

"Fine, fine, fine as a fiddle."

Elsa glanced at the chalk outline of a figure on the wall, notched with marks. At least Anna wasn't playing with knives today. She watched as Anna lit up a cigarette, and took a drag.

"Do you come here to smoke?"

"And to take naps," said Anna. "No lecture, please. I've already had one from Hans today." Her lips sculpted her boyfriend's name in acute annoyance.

"You had another fight?"

"He told me I shouldn't-... let's just say, he was trying to tell me what to do." The bite of anger and resentment in her voice.

And the thought occurred to Elsa: it was like her sister was two separate people. Her playful, goofball of a sister, constructing the Winter Settee Olympics in the living room with Rapunzel. And this cynical stranger, the glowing orange smoulder of her cigarette reflecting distant eyes.

Which one, Elsa wondered, was the real Anna?