Unclutter, page 1
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2023 by Winnie D Pagora
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.
First paperback edition April 2023
Book design by Laura Boyle
ISBN 978-1-7779003-0-4 (paperback)
ISBN 978-1-7779003-1-1 (eBook)
ISBN 978-1-7779003-2-8 (hardcover)
https://winnzwordz.com
This book is dedicated to my mother, Amma.
Dearest Amma,
There was once a mother who had a daughter
Who thought she could never be an author
Amma insisted; Amma encouraged her
Amma persisted; Amma motivated her
And the daughter finally overcame her fear
Thank you for always believing in me.
Chapter 1
“Way to go, T,” Rory Matthews congratulated me. “All your hard work is paying off. You deserve this success.”
I turned to my best friend, who towered over me at six foot four, a whole foot taller than me. His smile reached his warm, coffee brown eyes. He helped me arrange the furniture for the press conference later that afternoon.
I watched in awe as he lifted two heavy chairs effortlessly with his athletic swimmer’s arms and smiled at him. “Thanks, R. It means a lot to me that you could come.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Rory said. “It’s not every day that I get the opportunity to be around a star.”
I blushed at Rory’s compliment. “Stop it. All I did was lead the team that created the Strollfield Cultural Festival app.”
Rory scoffed. “The youngest person ever, a high schooler in Duckville, to develop an app for such a prestigious event.”
“Well, we are almost out of high school, and Duckville is a really small county, where everyone knows each other,” I argued.
“Oh yeah? Then why did Strollfield, a metropolitan city, select you as the leader of the app development team?” Rory questioned, his irritation apparent. “If this wasn’t huge, you wouldn’t be presenting our ‘star student’ speech next week.”
“Star student” was a special award presented to the student who not only had a great academic record but also excelled in sports, extracurricular activities, and community service. The awardee was selected by students and teachers every year. They would present a speech at the high school graduation ceremony, just before the valedictorian.
I laughed. “Thanks. I’ll stop trying to be modest.”
Rory laughed with me. “Good, because it’s unnecessary.”
“Have you heard from Laila or Harriet yet? Are they coming?” I asked.
Before he could respond, one of my teachers interrupted me. “Tina, you need to get ready. We’ll be starting soon.”
“I’m all set, Miss White. We just need to get the chairs together, that’s all.”
“Rory will help with that. Tina, you’re coming with me to the green room,” Miss White said.
Rory nodded obediently and continued the arrangements as I followed Miss White.
“It’s almost June, Tina. Why are you wearing a high-necked shirt under your blazer? And where is your makeup? You have to look your best for the cameras. It’s your big day.”
She didn’t wait for my response but gestured for the professional makeup artist to sit next to me. The woman pulled my arm gently to the side to get better access to my face.
I jumped up. “I’m sorry, but I’m allergic to cosmetics,” I lied and ran out of the room before Miss White could protest.
I sped down the long corridor and stopped when I reached the abandoned stairs of our newly renovated high school building to catch my breath.
Still panting, I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to shake off the icky feeling in the pit of my stomach. I disliked it when people didn’t respect my personal boundaries and despised it if anyone touched me.
She didn’t mean any harm, Tina. She was just doing her job.
I knew the voice inside my mind was right, but I didn’t want to accept that right now. I was also not ready to admit that it was rude of me to leave the place so abruptly. I sighed and shook my head.
After what happened to me back then…
My phone rang, and I startled out of my reverie. It was Miss White, and I let it go to voicemail. I fumbled in my pocket for my lip gloss, the only cosmetic I owned. For everything else, I would need a mirror—another thing I avoided.
Again because of—
I shook my head vigorously to get rid of that thought and almost lost my balance. I clutched the sturdy, classy, handcrafted wooden railing that had saved me from embarrassment. As I examined its carvings, I smiled, remembering the time Rory, Harriet, Laila, and I had petitioned to save our ancient school building from being demolished and rebuilt.
The thought of destroying our one-hundred-fifty-year-old school, which had faded only slightly from its original deep maroon shade over the years, pained my friends and me. We wanted to preserve the luscious green trees, where robins and blackbirds frolicked during summer, and the elegant flower garden for our beloved butterflies. Thanks to our tireless efforts, the school authorities had given in and settled for a less-extensive renovation and modernization of the building.
That seemed like just yesterday. I still couldn’t believe that I would be graduating from this place soon.
As the “star student,” no less.
I smiled with pride at that thought. I applied the lip gloss, feeling better about myself. I knew the color hadn’t smeared, but I ran my fingertips around my mouth to make sure. I closed my eyes and imagined looking at myself in the mirror. Absently, I touched my face.
I smiled, thinking about the dusky brown complexion I got from my mother. I was proud of my half Bhutanese, half English ethnicity. I ran my hand over my shoulder-length, smooth, stick-straight, brown hair, tied up in a neat ponytail. Oh, how I wished my hair was curly or wavy. Absentmindedly, I fiddled with the bee-shaped pendant I had bought as a part of the “save the honeybees” project. It was the only jewelry I wore, other than the matching earrings.
“You’re too covered up for summer, sweetheart,” an unfamiliar male voice said. A handsome face with high cheekbones smirked at me. He scanned me from head to toe with creepy eyes. “Haven’t you heard of short skirts or dresses?”
“And haven’t you heard of manners?” I retorted at the rude stranger, who continued checking me out lewdly. I dug my nails into my palms to stop my body from trembling. It took every ounce of my willpower to put on a brave front. “A-And I did not ask you for your advice.”
He stepped closer to me and winked. “But you need it, sweetheart. What’s your name?”
I didn’t utter a word, knowing well that my stutter would only encourage this stranger’s lascivious behavior. I swore under my breath when I realized that I had climbed up the stairs absentmindedly and had reached the landing. I bent my head and tried to descend the steps calmly, but he blocked my path with outstretched hands.
“I’m Nick. Nice to meet you.”
I tried to duck under his hands and escape, but he held me firmly by my shoulders and removed my scrunchie.
“I’m talking to you, sweetheart.”
I abhorred the feeling of his slimy fingers; however, his grip on my arm was too strong to escape.
He bent forward and whispered in my ear, “I want you.”
His breath against my ear made my skin crawl, but I spoke with clenched teeth. “This is harassment. I will report you.”
Nick snickered as he pushed me against the wall forcefully, covering my mouth with one hand. “Try.”
“Tina, where are you? The press conference is about to start in twenty minutes,” I heard Miss White yelling from the bottom of the staircase.
As Miss White’s footsteps indicated she was advancing closer, the creep released me and vanished within seconds. I trudged toward the steps, still dazed.
“What are you doing here?” Miss White questioned me. “We’re getting late.”
I opened my mouth to answer, but nothing came out.
Miss White sighed. “Never mind, let’s get you ready before the reporters arrive.”
I nodded and followed her back to the venue. Even though I tried to shake it off, the creepy stranger’s lewd behavior cluttered my mind. Blood still pounding in my ears, I tightened the blazer around my body and silently thanked my teacher for saving me.
***
I gritted my teeth and bore the makeup artist’s fingers on my face as my baseball player friends, Harriet and Laila, pinned me to the chair with their strong hands, on Miss White’s request, lest I ran away again. I knew I was in no position to argue with my teacher anymore. Especially now that my friends had told Miss White I was not allergic to makeup, and my teacher gave me a disapproving look.
I hoped and prayed that my face didn’t betray the nausea that was coursing through me persistently. Mutely, I tugged at my shirt, trying to cover myself up further, still feeling icky at the memory of that creep’s touch a few minutes ago.<
“Why don’t you just wear an Arctic parka?” Harriet Shelby asked, rolling her ocean blue eyes at me.
I let go of my shirt and laughed humorlessly. “Ha ha.”
Laila Yousuf, my other friend, put her arm around me and smoothed the foundation near my mouth. “At least your face looks presentable.”
I gently removed Laila’s arm from my neck, being careful not to let it tangle with her luscious, straight black hair or smudge her perfect makeup. Laila flashed me a hurt look with her light sandy brown eyes and pulled her hand away with a sudden jerk.
Harriet saw this from the corner of her eye while checking her own pretty face out in the mirror and muttered under her breath, “Miss Touch-Me-Not.”
My heart sank at my friends’ reactions. I didn’t get why they didn’t understand and accept my dislike of proximity. After all, I had made this clear to them ever since the first day of high school four years ago.
“Where’s your scrunchie?” Laila asked me, running her fingers through my hair as Harriet brushed it.
Feeling guilty from earlier, I clenched my teeth, waiting for them to move away.
Miss White interrupted us. “Her hair looks fine as is. Let’s go.”
Why this fuss about my hair and makeup when I am not even going to present the app? My only job is to answer questions if there are any.
I sighed and was walking toward the audience seats when I felt someone tugging my hand. I scowled at the sudden contact and turned to see who it was.
“Tina, we have a seat reserved for you on the podium,” Miss White said, and my frown turned into a wide smile.
I followed her and silently squealed at the prospect of being on the stage during a press conference. I looked for Rory, to share the exciting news, but he was nowhere to be found.
I strode toward the raised podium, grinning from ear to ear, when someone caught my eye.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” the master of ceremonies announced into the mic. “Welcome and thank you for making time on a Saturday to join us for this press conference to unveil the Strollfield Cultural Festival app prototype. As you all know, SCF, held in April every year, is Strollfield’s biggest annual event, and preparations start months in advance. This is required because thousands of people gather from across the world to enjoy a variety of foods, music, dance, art, and cultures of our country. This year, for the first time, high school students are designing the fest’s mobile app. And this would not have been possible without the help of our main sponsor—Parker Industries. Today, representing Parker Industries, we have with us Nicholas Parker.”
I watched in dumb disbelief as the perverted guy who had tried to molest me earlier got up and coolly stood on stage as the audience applauded and cheered. Instantly, I turned around and walked toward my friends. There was no way I would be in the same vicinity as that creep again.
“Nicholas is here on behalf of his father, who couldn’t make it today,” the announcer continued. “However, we will not miss Mr. Darren Parker’s presence, because Nicholas is well-accomplished himself. Despite being only eighteen years old, he has won three nationwide youth business plan competitions in the past year, in addition to standing first in his school.”
“That’s impressive,” Laila whispered to Harriet and me. “Those contests are tough.”
What’s the use? When he’s such a douchebag. It was the voice inside my mind.
Harriet nodded, playing with her light brown curls that I envied so much. “I heard that he is also the captain of the Strollfield High basketball team. He’s tall, though not as tall as Rory.”
“He’s not even six feet, so he’s much shorter than Rory,” Laila replied. “But he is definitely better looking. Look at those perfect facial features and that chiseled body. And that soft, black hair…”
“Yes, and did you know that he hardly ever repeats his shoes or clothes? They are always custom-made, designed by the best designers in the world.”
I tuned my friends out and focused on the presenter.
“Despite his hectic schedule, Nicholas volunteers at the fest every year and mentors each SCF performer during rehearsals in person—”
If he’s such a good person, who was that demon from just moments ago? And why did he pick me? Did I make him that way? Was it my fault? I heard another contradicting voice in my too-full head.
“Sorry, but in the interest of time, can we talk about the app that’s been developed for Strollfield Cultural Festival?” one of the journalists asked, derailing my train of thought.
I wanted to give the journalist a standing ovation, but I stayed put in my seat.
The announcer complied meekly. “Over to Mrs. Smith, the principal of Duckville High to present us the mobile application.”
“Pardon my interruption, but shouldn’t the leader of the app development team speak about it?” another reporter spoke up. “Where is she?”
Miss White and the Mrs. Smith gestured for me to come over fast. I got up from my seat, walked up to the stage, and took the announcer’s position in front of the microphone. I’d prepared for this, even though it was not on the original agenda. From the podium, my eyes met my parents’, who were beaming with pride. I was tempted to acknowledge their presence publicly and introduce them to the gathering, but I settled for a subtle smile and started my presentation.
For the next few minutes, I demonstrated the app that was being projected on a big screen behind me. Although I kept my eyes on anything but the chief sponsor’s representative seated just steps away from me, I felt his fixed gaze boring into my skin. Not now, I told myself and plastered on a slight smile.
I showed the audience and the press members how users could navigate the app and register for the festival. I also portrayed the ease with which they could follow the event map so they would not get lost. I demonstrated a host of other features which were common to most mobile applications. The more I spoke about our work on the app, the more at ease I felt in my skin.
“Here’s where our app stands out. When users point their phones at artifacts, such as paintings or sculptures, information about them will be displayed. Additionally, a user can access the menu of each food truck, including how many goodies are left for the day. For example, if your favorite ice cream is almost sold out, the app will let you know before you lose your last chance to grab it,” I continued. “After all, isn’t food the main reason we attend SCF in the first place?”
Everyone in the audience laughed in agreement with my rhetorical question and broke out into applause. The enthusiastic response to my app made my heart soar, and I glowed internally with a quiet pride.
“I request permission to video call my teammates, without whom this wonderful app wouldn’t be possible,” I added, wrapping up my presentation. “We burned the midnight oil for weeks together to get the code right and make things work. Please say hello to my team.” I introduced everyone on-screen by their name and role, as they huddled together in Strollfield.
“Thank you, Tina,” the announcer said. “That was very thoughtful of you to introduce the team. Before we go on to the addresses by the Duckville High principal and other guests, I would like to take this opportunity to thank the Strollfield Cultural Society for the opportunity for Duckville to host the festival this year. Our county is proud and honored for this chance, and we promise not to let you down.”
I was about to get down from the stage when Miss White stopped me. “Tina, you need to be on the stage in the limelight.”
And just like that, I came crashing down from my high.
“But, Miss White, I’m not comf—”
“Go on, Tina,” Miss White interrupted. “This is a great opportunity.”
Reluctantly, I went and sat on the chair that was reserved for me—next to Nicholas Parker. I moved my seat closer to Mrs. Smith, who was addressing the audience.
Nicholas smirked at me. “We meet again, sweetheart.”
“What do you want from me? Why don’t you leave me alone?” I whispered to him, annoyed.
“You intrigue me, Tina Lauren,” Nicholas hissed back.
I didn’t say anything but sat uncomfortably in my chair with both my legs angled away from him, lest he try something inappropriate.
