A Girl’s Story

Often at times people say that families are one of those things that you have no control over. After all, you can’t pick family.

One.

I actually liked my life. I had it easy—get in trouble here, grounded there, sneak out now, and lie later. My mom never had the heart to beat me. My dad was constantly out of the country, and I was as free as a bird. I had a sister, six years younger, and like in most cases, she and I weren’t exactly the best of friends.

Born as Sadiline Campos, my mom nicknamed me Sadie. Her friends would expect an innocent little angel whenever they’d hear my name. When they finally meet me, they find me different.

I am different. Disturbed? Maybe. Undisciplined? Perhaps. Disloyal? One could argue.

Disrespectful? For moments in time.

My mom was a teacher in Crescentia Mendez Catholic School for Girls since before I was born. When I did arrive, I was the poorest kid ever step foot in the school. But I didn’t mind, in fact, I really didn’t see the difference between me and the girl in front of me. We wore the same uniform, gone to the same class; use the same utensils…what’s the difference?

Truth of the matter was, there was a difference. And I learned it the hard way.

In a class, there will always be the diva, the nerd, the bully, the bullied, the goody-two-shoes, the control freak, and the others that try to help, but are too naïve to know what’s going on. I wasn’t any of those. I didn’t have the luxury to even imagine what a diva should be. I couldn’t memorize the Multiplication Table to save my life. Bullying wasn’t something I believed in, but never in my life have I ever been bullied. I could care less on what would happen if I didn’t do work, so little miss goody-two-shoes wasn’t a title you’d pin on me. I hated group work, hated group projects, and anything else that involved me having to listen to everyone’s complaints and disagreements.

So, what was I?

I, Sadiline Campos, was the troublemaker.

No, don’t mix bullies with troublemakers. Bullies make fun of kids who look wimpy and couldn’t punch a Styrofoam for their life. Troublemakers are worse than that, and they do multiple things. Hence, trouble-maker.

Two.

It started when I was in kindergarten. In C. Mendez, the cafeteria would be open from the end of school to around seven in the evening (you wouldn’t believe how many kids stay as long as nine-thirty). One afternoon, after school, I was unusually hungry. I looked for food in my lunch bag, but apparently, I’ve eaten everything I had—not that I had plenty to begin with.

I walked around the school, looking for an upperclassman that would feel a degree of sympathy towards me enough to buy me a treat. Sadly, there weren’t any—I forgot they were still in their classes. Not sure what to do, I went inside the cafeteria.

The place smelled good—fried French Fries, grilled chicken, teriyaki chicken, pizza, baked cookies, and other stuff I never knew what to call. But what caught my eye was the ice-cream stand. I went over, touched its cold cooler, and even though I was too short to see what was in stock, I knew what I wanted: a King Cone.

That was my favorite.

I sighed heavily, thinking of a way to get that ice-cream cone. Out of nowhere, I thought of my mom. She’d be teaching a class right about then, and the faculty room, where she had her main desk, and her wallet, was always unlocked.

Just because it’s always unlocked, however, it never meant to give me permission to just go in and out as I pleased. But then again, I was never the kind to follow such silly rules…plus, I was only six.

Walking up to the High School Department, where my mom worked, was something Kindergarteners would never do. First of all, the staircases were giants compared to our miniature size. Second, because it’s so massive (at least to our eyes), one wrong turn could get us into another dimension. And third, it’s forbidden for us lower-lower classmen to go up to the HSD. Unless I was with an adult, I wasn’t allowed to even peek at the classrooms there. But there I was, walking up the stairs as if they were my house.

Once I got to the first floor, I looked around to make sure that none of the security guards were doing their daily hallway check. They weren’t.

My mom’s desk was in the middle of the room, with the view of every drama, in the hearing range of every gossip, and in reach for any supplies. I thought it was the perfect place. But I wasn’t there to play. I was there to get one of those rectangle papers that my mom stuffs in her bag after getting them out of the bulky machine. The thing that my mom used to get food in the pantry.

I was there to get money.

I didn’t need much. Just a couple bucks, just enough to get myself that King Cone. I searched for my mom’s bag, and when I found it, I took her wallet, and took the first rectangle paper my hand could get on. I never checked what the amount was. I needed to get out of there.

I ran halfway to the cafeteria, and walked the rest. I was pretty proud of myself. I got what I needed to survive, and I wasn’t caught. That was an accomplishment.

When I got to the ice-cream stand, the lady smiled over me.

“And what can I get you, Sadie?” she said.

Because of my mom, almost every staff in school knew me.

“I’d like a King Cone, please.” I answered.

Unfortunately, I didn’t know half of them.

“Sure.” She reached down the cooler, and brought back up a King Cone. “Here you go.”

“Thank you.” I took it from her and gave her the money.

“Um, Sadie?”

“Yes?” I turned around.

“Where’d you get this money?”

“Mama.”

“Are you sure—”

“I have to go, sorry. You can keep the change, if you want.” I smiled innocently, “I really don’t care.”

I skipped happily out the cafeteria, not knowing that I had just given up a huge amount of money for something that cost so little.

Amount I had in hand: 100

Amount of King Cone: 1.75

Amount I never took: never really bothered to answer.

I was pretty happy the rest of the day. It only took me a little over half an hour to finish that cone. Trust me; having a small mouth doesn’t work very well when trying to eat something bigger than it.

When I met my mom after her classes, that’s when trouble hit me. She looked to be a cherry, and stomped in the corridor like a giant.

“Sadiline!” she yelled.

I immediately stopped walking towards her. I gripped my bag and thought over what I might’ve done wrong.

I gasped to myself. The money! Though I didn’t know how she came to know about it. I was sure that no one saw me. Or was there someone?

I walked slowly, taking my time, not rushing. She had her hands on her hips, and as I got closer, I could see in her right hand, there was some kind of paper she was crumpling. It looked like the kind I took from her bag—but of different colors.

So it was the money. Question was, how did she find out?

“Hi, mama.” I smiled sweetly.

“What did you eat today, Sadie?” she said ‘Sadie’. Maybe I wasn’t in a lot of trouble.

“Um, the hotdog, rice, and my chocolate bar!” I squealed.

“Did you eat ice-cream?”

“No….”

“Sadie.”

“I didn’t…”

“Sadiline.” Uh-oh.

“Okay, I did, but you never said anything about not eating ice-cream!”

“No, I didn’t, but what did you do to get it.”

I contemplated for a moment. It wouldn’t make sense if I’d told her that someone bought it for me because obviously, she knew no one did. And the fact that every upperclassmen was still in classes just adds up to it.

I sighed, bending my head down. “I took money from you.”

“Why?”

“Because I was hungry…and, and I didn’t have anything else, and there was the ice-cream, and I was really hungry! And, and…”

“Sadie,” mom said, kneeling down, “Sadiline, sweetie, all you had to do was tell the lady that you wanted ice-cream. She would’ve given you one, and put what you owed into my tab. I could’ve paid for it after my classes.”

“Ohh.” I said, looking at her with teary eyes. That always gets to her.

That was pretty much it, and we went home after that. I played with my neighbors, never did my homework, and got scolded for doing that.

Trouble #1: Thievery

Three.

After that “incident”, I got the overwhelming feeling of power. I was an innocent six year old who knew no better than to steal. She was a soft-hearted mother who only wants for her little girl to understand that stealing is wrong, but can’t have the heart to hit her. Because I had that idea, my infamous reputation escalated.

There was a girl I truly despised since kindergarten, or maybe before that—if that’s possible. She was Spanish-Filipino and her family has been in the jewelry business for as long as they could remember. Her name was Alexandra Castillo. Xandra (pronounced with a ‘Z’—like it matters) for short. She was pretty, if you had a twisted taste for girls. No elaborations for her—just keep in mind she’s the biggest brat ever to set foot on campus.

In first grade, she was in my class. I almost died of irritation when I read her name in the class list. Irritation never really does anything to anyone—if it’s not too much. And to tell the truth, Xandra never really did anything to me directly, it was just that she was too much of a spoiled brat, and not a lot of charity.

First day of classes, I walked into the classroom feeling as if I was at the top of the world. I was finally out of Kindergarten, no more nap times (hated those), and no more baby phrases and comments that made me feel like I was three.

Her name was Ms. Lorenzo. She was new to the CMCS community but she didn’t seem nervous for someone who was teaching for the first time since she finished being an apprentice. Before we entered the classroom, she each gave us a paper with a number on it.

Great, another seating chart. I thought to myself.

I was number 15. I figured everyone was numbered alphabetically, but when I looked at Beatrice Abello’s number, it wasn’t 1. It was 20. I smiled; I guess it wouldn’t be too bad.

The desks were in pairs. Three rows, each row had ten pairs of desks next to each other. I sat on seat number fifteen. I liked it there—in the middle. Not to close to the teacher, not to far, just enough to mess around while she’s teaching, but she’d never know what I’d be doing. But most important of all, I was waiting for my partner. I was excited to know who was going to be sitting next to me.

I hoped for her to be nice.

Ms. Lorenzo started class without my partner—she was late. Ms. Lorenzo gave us sheets of paper explaining class ground rules, expectations, behavior, and how we’re graded. My partner was still no where in sight.

I looked around to see who might’ve been missing. Suddenly, I had a sickening feeling that I knew just who my partner would’ve been. Then, just as I had suspected, she came in the room. Her head held high, showing no sign of embarrassment for being tardy.

Alexandra.

“Sorry I was late.” She mentioned to the teacher as she passed her. “Caught in traffic.”

“Oh, alright.” Ms. Lorenzo said, “You may take a seat with Sadiline.”

She stopped for a moment. “Why?”

I wanted to punch her then.

“You’re number is sixteen, am I right?” Ms. Lorenzo stood.

“What number?”

“Well, actually, it doesn’t matter much. You’re the last to come, so you get the remaining number.” Ms. Lorenzo smiled, “And that number happened to be sixteen, next to Sadiline.”

“Sadie.” I blurted.

“Excuse me?” Ms. Lorenzo looked at me.

“No one calls me Sadiline.” I didn’t make eye contact.

She was about to say something, but Xandra interrupted her. “Can’t Addy switch with me?”

Ms. Lorenzo shook her head, “No. No negotiation. This is your permanent seat, unless I say so.”

Ms. Lorenzo didn’t understand what she got herself into the moment she made that decision. For days, weeks, and months that followed that first day of school, Xandra and I had been in nothing but constant arguments. Peace and friendship was not a word in our little world. Either you win or lose, you’re right or wrong; that’s what mattered.

It never really got as bad as the both of us giving each other the evil look. It never got bad until her birthday.

She came to school with a fancy Sunday dress that day. Everyone assumed it was her birthday, and of course, they were right. Xandra was very pleased on how the kids treated her; kissing up to her to be sure they’d get invited to her birthday party, which wasn’t until three days after that day.

I could’ve cared less. Parties aren’t something I enjoyed; too much people.

“Where are you going to have it?” Adelaide Marcus asked.

“Roscher Plaza.” Xandra answered.

Roscher Plaza was a very expensive hotel. Fifteen floors, each containing twelve rooms each was for tourists who could spend two grand a night. Five floors were massive empty rooms for conferences and other events. Prices depended on how big your event would be.

“Roscher Plaza?” Adelaide gasped, “Wow.”

Xandra smiled, liking Adelaide’s expression, “I know.”

“Who’s coming?” she asked.

“Oh, everyone, of course.” She laughed, then added, “Except for Sadiline.”

One thing that annoys me about Xandra: not once has she called me Sadie.

I was sitting by the Reading Corner, and when Xandra said that, everyone looked over to me—trying to read my expression. They didn’t find any to gossip about and they went on talking about Xandra’s party.

After a few minutes, I stood up, put the book back and walked over to my table. They were still talking about the party—this time they were talking about the gifts.

“My mom said she might give me a horse.” She bragged, “That’ll be two, Neo and I’d name my new one Trace.”

“Wow…” the girls sighed. I shook my head, and smiled.

A horse? Really? Who gives a horse as a birthday present? She won’t be able to ride it by herself until she turns ten or twelve because she’s too short to even reach the saddle. How’s she going to ride the horse?

“My uncle isn’t big with presents…” she mused, “But I know he’ll just give me money.”

I guess that was smart of her uncle. I wouldn’t want to risk buying something that person might not like.

Then she looked over to me.

“When’s your birthday, Sadiline?” she asked faux-friendly.

“April.” I answered, doodling on a paper.

“April what?”

“Fourteen.”

“Oh. So, next year, then?”

I nodded.

“You’ll be what?”

“Eight.”

I could see from the corner of my eye that she nodded. I guess you could say she could be nice once in a while, but don’t be fooled by that. She’s a cobra waiting to attack.

“So, where are you going to have your party?” she asked.

“No where.” I shrugged, “My house, I guess.”

“Ooh!” Beatriz, one of my classmates said, “You should invite us!”

I shook my head slowly. “I don’t think so. My house is pretty small.”

Alexandra’s eyebrow rose. “Small? How small?”

I shrugged, “A lot smaller than your house, that’s for sure.”

She looked at me like she was thinking whether or not I was lying. I’m pretty sure she knew I didn’t have much of a luxury life compared to hers.

“Oh, that’s okay, Sadie,” Miranda, my best friend, said, “You can come over to my house. We can have a slumber party.”

“It’s not for a couple of months, Mir.” I smiled, “But I’ll ask my mom.”

Xandra laughed, “That’s so stupid.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“You have to use other people’s stuff to have a good celebration for your birthday?” she scoffed.

“It’s not like I’m a stranger to her.” I said, “She’s my friend.”

“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes, “This is why I don’t invite your kind to my parties.”

Taken aback, I stared at her, speechless. Did she really just say that?

“Alexandra…” Miranda said.

“No. I can’t believe she’s that poor to have to use your house to celebrate her birthday.” She laughed.

“It’s not like she asked.” Miranda shook her head, “I offered.”

“I don’t really care.” She looked at me, “People like you only hang out with people like me because of the things we have. It’s shameful.”

I’ve had it with her. I’ve had too much to hear, and she crossed the borderline between her and me.

Slamming my hands on the table, I stood up balling my fists.

“What’s your problem?” I almost screamed, “I’ve done nothing to you, but you treat me like I’m such a vermin!”

“You are. If you didn’t come to this school, we’d be the most impressive school in the country. Daughters of prime ministers and presidents would come here, but they don’t.”

“Maybe it’s because they heard the news that Alexandra the Brat goes to school here.” I sneered.

She looked like she was about to cry. “I don’t even know why you bother trying to fit in.” she scoffed, “I bet if we didn’t have uniforms, you’d be wearing rags to school.”

I gasped, “You don’t have any right to judge me, Xandra. And for your information, my clothes are just in good shape as the ones in your closet.”

“Really? I bet you don’t even have a good Sunday dress.”

“Maybe not like yours, but I’m not that of bum to not have a nice dress.” I narrowed my eyes.

“You’ll never fit in my party.” she said, a little softer, as if being nice. Then a little harsh, “Your dress will look like banana peel.”

“You don’t even have a clue what the dress looks like, and you’re jumping to these thoughts as if it’s in front of you!” I yelled.

She stood up, her hands on her hips. She looked at me from head to toe and with a bratty tone she said, “Just by the way your uniform looks like, I can already tell.”

I honestly didn’t remember what had gone over me. My hands just did what it unconsciously, and my brain had no idea why the hands did that. The next thing I knew was that she was crying and she had her hand over her cheek.

I had punched her.

She was bleeding and she wiggled one of her tooth. Realizing the loose tooth, she cried and screamed at me.

I never really felt sorry for her. No sympathy or guilt ever breezed through my mind. The only things I felt towards her were indescribable irritation, and boiling anger.

Remember when I said irritation never really affects anyone, if it’s not too much?

Trouble #2: Light Battery