The Fall

The Curse has lasted 12 years now, my year—I—will make it 13, and I resigned myself to fate long ago. I've prepared for it since even before I was sworn in, and I'm certain during the inauguration, it was on half the auditorium's mind.

I ran alone. I wasn't supposed to, we were 3 that declared, but after last year's distaster, the curse manifesting worse than we, our year, had ever seen, the other two chickened out. It was ridiculous, their revoke; if they really wanted the post then one silly fall wouldn't have just changed their minds. If you aren't willing to fall to serve your school, then maybe you shouldn't be serving your school at all, fall or not. So I guess I was the only one who deserved it. This position was meant for me.

The first time the Curse struck—of course then it wasn't yet considered a curse—the girl was wearing flats, so it wasn't as bad as the others. She was on her way to the podium to receive her testimonial when she tripped over nothing and fell, her hands saving her face from hitting the ground. The girl of the next year wasn't so lucky, she fell flat on her face, earned a busted lip. After the third girl, the students (and staff) deemed it a curse. Of course I wasn't there when all this happened, no student at our school right now was, but we all know this. Only a few staff members present now were present then, but most of us don't know it from them. I don't even know how I knew the stories, I just know that at some point I realized the information was in me. 

Even the next batch of Year 7 students that will arrive, give them, at most, till second term and they'll already be abreast, they'll tell you all the stories, how each girl fell, they'll recite it for you, year after year. Are you even an Acute Secondary School for Girls student if you don't know, by heart, the full history of the falls? If you don't know everything (except for the things we don't know, the things we've taken to calling “the unknown forces”) about the Great Falls of the Head Girls of Acute? About the Curse?

Some take the whole thing too seriously, convinced that there's something, someone, behind it (some silly students even went as far as going to visit the first girl, believing she was the root of the problem, to ask her if there was anything she had done to start it. People sometimes…ugh). Some—like me, we liars— act like they couldn't care less about the school's curse, they mind their own business and don't focus on silly things like that. And some—my favourite category, but I'll never admit it—have turned it all into a big joke. They always find a way to turn everything into a joke about the Curse. There was a printed picture that circulated the school: the school's logo, but there were two high heels at the base lying horizontally, and instead of the Acute Secondary School for Girls: Our Girls are Destined to Thrive, the motto said, Acute Secondary School for Girls: The Head Girls are Destined to Fall. They forgot to add “On their Graduation Day.” It is always Graduation, and most times, during the ceremony. The only exceptions were the 5th year, the girl fell as she was stepping out of the car she arrived in, and the 10th year, the one we'd all finally thought broke the cycle, she fell during the afterparty. The picture got to the management, but they couldn't even be angry because they knew it wasn't false. 12 years of the same thing happening without an explanation. They always fall, one way or the other, whether it's tripping over an invisible stone, or a heavy school bag flying in their face from absolutely nowhere and knocking them down (Girl 9, yeah everyone gasped). It has never been avoided, no matter how much they've tried, not once in the 12 years. And now it's the 13th year, now it's my turn.

Me, I've never been a coward. I face challenges. If this wasn't so, I wouldn't have been able to handle being Head Girl. It's something I'd always been meant to be, I always knew this. I've done my tenure, and this stage of my life has finally come to an end. My Graduation is this Saturday, and I'm ready for my own fall, in whatever way it comes. 

There's gold and emerald everywhere you turn, every place you look. I thought our colour code was alright, but now I'm not so sure. There are tons of balloons, and they're all either gold or emarald, and inscribed on all of them is '22!. The ribbons are also a mix of emerald and gold, the stage too, also the chairs and tables. The ceiling has been covered with a gold sheath, the walls with emerald. No granduand I've seen so far has swayed away, not even a tiny bit, from the dress code. There are emarald and gold clad girls everywhere, with gold glitter on some of their faces. A few I've seen even went as far as using the colours for their make-up and their hair. There's a number of them around already which surprises me; knowing my classmates, I thought most of them would arrive ‘fashionably late’. Vain people like grand entries.

“You're late! Surprising.” I look back. It's my only friend here, Susan. She's in a lovely gold sequined pantsuit with an emerald shirt and emerald heels, it shouldn't work but somehow it does.

“Hi!” I respond, “you're around.”

“Yes, and you're late.”

“I'm not late, y'all are early. That's the actual surprise here.”

“Should I tell you what's up?” She leans towards me to whisper, “they came early because they don't want to miss the fall.”

I roll my eyes. Of course. 

She leans back and says with her normal pitch, “or have you fallen already?”

“You would have heard.”

“True. You look GREAT by the way, your earrings are to die for!”

“Thank you, you look lovely too.” I smooth the jacket of my emerald pantsuit. Every Head Girl since Cursed Girl 4 has worn a pantsuit to graduation, I believe you can figure out why. We go, or rather she forces me, to the other granduands to say hi. Soon, the ceremony begins.

It's 30 minutes into the ceremony, an hour since I arrived, and I haven't fallen. Don't tell anyone but last night, I dreamt of last year's girl. I dreamt of her fall: down the stairs, her trousers ripping, her wig flying off, a cut running from her knee down to her ankle, a broken nose, tears. In my dream, when she has been helped up, the face there is mine, and everyone is suddenly all around me, pointing and laughing, including the people that helped me up, and my foolish classmate's, John's, voice echoes, “yours is the thirteenth, the unlucky number, get ready for the worst,” and I'm crying and crying and I realize I'm crying blood. I woke up with a pounding heart. It was until I woke from that dream that I realized I was scared.

I am called to receive my testimonial, I don't fall. I go for my student medal, for my Head Girl plaque, my Best in Literature award, my Press Club Honorary award, I don't fall. Susan, who is sitting beside me, says, “dude, just go home immediately the ceremony ends. It's not like you're interested in the after party thing anyway, but don't worry, I'll record as much as I can.”

I don't go home after the ceremony, that would seem like chickening out, and I'm not a coward. Even my mum comes to me to ask if I'm sure I won't leave with her, I insist, and she tells me to be careful. “If you fall where no one is, please meet the nurse, don't feel embarrassed, okay?” I say okay. Susan says again that I should go home, I tell her I won't, she sees I've made up my mind. She says, “fine. Just please don't go downstairs unless you're leaving.”

I stand at the party. If this whole thing wasn't going on, I'd have sat, but now if I do, they're going to think it's because I'm scared of falling, and I won't give anyone that. 

5 minutes into the afterparty, 20 minutes, 45, an hour, no falling. It's 2 hours now and half the people should have gone but almost everyone is still here, waiting to see me fall. They're surprised—and frustrated—I haven't fallen yet, I am too. This is the longest any girl has stayed without falling, and just like the students and granduands still here, I'm impatient, I can't wait for it to be done and gone, but unlike them I suppose, I'm extremely anxious.

Susan comes to me when it's almost the fifth hour, “you know it's you they're waiting for, right?”

“And you? You're also waiting for me?”

“Yes, but in a different way; I want to help you when you fall, anyhow I can be of help.”

“Awwn, you're sweet,” I reply, expressionless.

“I swear, I'm not lying.”

“I never said you were. I believe you, thank you.” I meant it.

“You're so weird,” she says. “Anyway, these people are waiting for you, and it's getting late. Just go home, you're delaying everyone.”

“No, I'm not the problem here. They're the ones who want to get entertainment from someone's pain. If they get home by midnight, it's not my business.” 

When it is 7—and I still haven't fallen—I decide it is time to go home. By now, more than half the people have already left, and Susan tells me she too has to leave. “I cannot believe that you haven't fallen. It's so crazy, like, am I dreaming?”

“I can't believe it either, but I don't want to get my hopes up, I haven't left here yet.”

“True, but whether you fall or not, you've broken a record, dude! And it's time to stop being stubborn. Go home!”

“Yeah I've already called the car.”

“Maybe I should just wait then, so I can walk you to the car, and try my best to ensure you don't fall.”

“No, it's fine. You can go, I just called now.”

“Alright then.” She hugs me, “be careful.” And when she releases me, she says, “You won't fall, I can see it,” and I don't know why, but that scares me more.

My car arrives 30 minutes later, more people have left in those minutes, and the ones remaining are mostly looking in my direction, watching me, waiting. I've been approached by half of them, who were saying, without actually saying, “just fall down already, girl!” Many people have approached me today concerning the fall, but none have had scornful looks on their faces and aggressive tones that they tried, and terribly failed, to hide like these last ones. I've even become scared that someone's going to push me.

Almost everyone in the hall follows me out the door and down the stairs, they walk behind me as I walk all the steps out of the building, they are standing close, watching, as I get into the car, and I do not miss their shocked and confused faces when the car drives off and I still haven't fallen, I still didn't fall. I didn't fall.

I feel the exact same way they do, but the scream that comes out of me is borne by excited incredibility. The driver is startled, and gives me a look from the rearview mirror, I ignore her. I call Susan. The first thing she says is, “how bad was it?”

“It wasn't. Susan, it didn't happen.”

“What?”

“I didn't fall! Someone even bumped into me, I'm sure on purpose, and I hardly even stumbled. Susan, I was at my graduation from 9:45 to 7:30 and I didn't fall!”

It's Susan's turn to scream. I'm laughing. My heart is beating fast, it has been all day but in a different way, out of anxiety and nervousness, not deliriousness and incredulity.

“I-I broke the curse,” I whisper to Susan, like there's someone around who shouldn't be hearing me say this.

“No, dude, you BEAT the Curse! It's not like you did anything, you were just being your usual self! The students of ASSG are so scared of you, even the freaking Curse decided to keep away, even the freaking Curse respects you, how iconic is that!” I laugh, she continues to hype me up.

It's the first thing I tell my mum when I get home, it's the talk of the class group chat. Everyone is perplexed, some are happy and congratulating. I feel like the biggest person in the world.

                    *

She awakes a little past noon. It's the longest she's ever slept, and at first she thinks that's why she feels so shitty, but then yesterday comes back to her and she knows it's not, and she wants to vomit. The confusion that she didn't let breathe yesterday has risen to the surface, and with it came a multitude of other emotions, none positive. She grabs her phone and calls Susan.

“The icon herself!”

“It doesn't make sense. Why didn't I fall?”

Susan lets out a small laugh. “Who cares? The point is that you didn't.”

“Susan, since it's started, every Head Girl has fallen. What does it mean that I didn't? What did I do wrong?”

“Wrong?” Susan's voice is packed with disbelief. “What are you even saying? Did someone tell you something? Don't listen to anyone—”

“No, no one said anything. It's just—” her voice starts to shake, “maybe the…forces…controlling the Curse didn't think think I was worthy enough. Maybe I did such a poor job that they didn't even recognize me as Head Girl, that's why I didn't fall.”

“If you were me right now, you'd tell yourself that you're being really silly, what's this? Where did this even come from? You were happy yesterday, that's all you should be feeling.”

She shouts now, “so what's the explanation, then! What else could it be!”

“It doesn't have to be anything! Or, maybe you can even look at it from the other end, maybe you were good, you were too good, you were better than the rest, that's why it didn't happen to you.”

She starts to run her hands roughly through her braids, her voice is thick when she speaks, “that's such a stupid theory. Amina was the best Head Girl the school has ever seen, and she fell. She slipped on spilled drink, fell, injured her elbow. They all fall! The Head Girls are destined to fall!” Next thing she knows she's crying. “Where did I go wrong? What didn't I do? A few people liked me, some respected me, many hated me, if that doesn't say Head Girl, then what does?”

“Nothing! Please stop, you were amazing, don't do this to yourself.”

“No, you don't understand. My entire life had led up to winning the election. I spent my whole life preparing for that position, I have given so much! You don't know how it feels to realize you weren't really good at the one thing you thought you were good for! To know you weren't really something you believed you were made for!”

“But you were Head Girl, a good one, what's happening with you?”

“You're just saying that 'cause I'm your friend.”

“No—”

She hangs up, tired of hearing lies.

Her mum barges into her room, asks what's wrong. They are having pretty much the same conversation she just finished having, she's tired of it, she tells her mum to leave, she wants to be alone. She curls up on her bed, and weeps like never before.

It's Susan who brings her to the place, who miraculously managed to force her off her bed and along with her to the party. A post-graduation party by one of their classmates. Venue: the hall they had their ceremony. Dress Code: what they graduated in. It sounds so much like the girl—ridiculous, silly, vain, just like almost every other classmate—that she had no suspicions. It is only when they enter the hall and a bunch of people get up from their chairs and shout, “Happy Graduation!” that she turns to Susan and says, “this isn't any Precious's party, is it?”

The parody graduation ceremony contains more guests than her mother and Susan anticipated. There are her mother's friends and some other classmates, other students, that were convinced to come, or told what happened, and were kind enough, or felt enough pity, to help. They managed to decorate the hall as similar to how it was during the actual graduation as much as they could, and all the classmates present are in their graduation outfits.

She sees this, but isn't sure of the motive. Susan whispers in her ear, “Happy Graduation, Head Girl. Be careful not to fall,” and saunters away. 

She's filled with self-pity—has it really come to this? How messed up am I?—but her lips widen into a grin, then they part, revealing her teeth. Everyone's clapping for some reason, her mum's eyes are watery for some reason. She's laughing for some reason, and everything is spinning around her, their clapping echoes inside her. There are voices in the air; Susan: You know it's you they're waiting for, right? John: yours is the thirteenth, the unlucky number, get ready for the worst. Susan again: What's happening with you? Her mum, but sour and eight years younger: There's nothing you can do right! Noise everywhere, she's laughing, she's embracing it all. She tilts backwards, in slow motion just like everything around her, backwards and backwards, until her head touches marble.