“Oh, come on, ‘Ze, don’t leave us waiting!”
“Yeah. Tell us!”
Ezme frowns as the room fills with insistent voices; it seems she has become more popular and everybody is raring to know her answer. We don’t know, though, if it is true new friends or just the Year 11s and their friends hoping she will dance for them, just one more time. As the tension thickens in the room, we see several of the interested lean forward and others just roll their eyes and look away.
“Ezme?” I step forward, pushing through the throng of straggly-haired teens. The central girl looks scared and has a tinge of disappointment in her stone-coloured eyes. “You don’t have to tell us, you know.”
Ezme falters as she opens her mouth in reply.
“Jess…” is all she manages to utter before making a noise similar to a squeak and scurrying out the room. Just like a mouse… I am reminded of the young Ezme Winters I met a whole full year ago; I thought that she had changed; matured, her confidence soaring like a miniature eagle inside of herself. It seems though, under pressure, Ezme is just as frightened as she has always been, nothing has changed.
I feel disappointed in her, my management and stories falling apart like the uncompleted posters I failed to finish, stacked in the corner of my bedroom.
Around the outcasts, the many eager faces of the audience waiting are starting to fall through.
“Oy! Little-Rich-Girl. Where’s Ezme?”
“She’s…” I stumble, unable to know what to say. “She’s…just…gone…”
Obviously that’s not good news to them.