Image by Nihal Demirci on Unsplash.

Photo by Ирина Сороколетова: https://www.pexels.com/photo/girl-in-hat-sitting-on-pier-18447713/

Writing inspired by the following Sunday Writers’ Club prompt:

What do you keep in your school pencil case?

Her Pencil Case

by Michaela Fricek

Her pencil case was unique to her; she had had it for quite some time. It was magenta pink—just the colour she had wished for—and it consisted of two large compartments. The front was transparent, so she could easily find the things she used most often. There she kept scissors, an erasable pen, a pencil, correction fluid, a pencil sharpener, an eraser shaped like a camel, a paperclip shaped like a heart from her best friend, who did not live in the same city and her locker key—the last one being quite important, as she had already lost it three times. Each time had been a big drama, so she was determined never to lose it again.

In the second compartment, which was not transparent, she kept special things—items she only wanted close people to know about, because she didn’t trust many others. They might betray her, and then her secrets would be exposed.

First of all, there was a tiny notepad with scribbles on it—not letters most people could read, but characters from the secret language she had invented. It ran from bottom to top, and like in Arabic or Hebrew, you began reading from the back of the book. Only members of her club were familiar with these letters, and they used them to pass notes during lessons when they were bored. They were especially delighted when a teacher intercepted one—only to discover it was unreadable. The students would then watch the teacher’s puzzled reaction with great glee, knowing full well that many teachers would have loved to embarrass them by reading their messages aloud.

Secondly, it was the place where she kept her cheat notes—also written in the secret language, on a separate notepad. She had even invented special characters for Mathematics and Chemistry, because she simply had to cheat in those subjects. She was tired of putting in effort only to get poor marks. “What will I ever need Mathematics or Chemistry for in real life anyway?” she often thought. “These subjects destroy my brain. They take too much effort, and my mind is much more interested in other things.”

Last but not least, the pencil case held her lucky charm—a tiny amanita muscaria, which she had received on New Year’s Day some years ago. She remembered that particular year had been unusually lucky. Whenever she felt anxious at school or experienced a blackout during a test, she would rub the charm for comfort.