I am Amazon

Antagonise

I felt the eyes of the class on me. The gazes of the two men were the most intimidating. I clutched my fountain pen hard between my calloused fingers. All I could think about was the knife I normally had hidden in my boot. My mother had locked away all my everyday weapons, so my lucky charm was gone. I felt vulnerable.

“My name’s Sefira Demos, and I have two younger sisters,” my tone was as bland as I could muster; my knuckles were turning white.

Dawes paused expectantly. I glanced up to see him looking round at the other girls, waiting for more information.

“Is that everything?” he asked. Now he seemed to realise I wasn’t somebody he could walk all over. I was different to the others, and should be treated accordingly.

“Was there anything else you wanted me to say?” Confrontation made me defensive.

Dawes stared at me, almost at a loss: “Do you have any hobbies? What did you do over the summer? What are your sisters’ names?”

“Archery; training; Idra and Ennea,” I answered, as dismissively as possible.

“Sorry?”

I sighed, my knee still jumping under the table. “My hobby is archery. I trained over the summer. My sisters’ names are Idra and Ennea.”

Dawes seemed determined to make me talk. “Are you any good at archery?”

Absently wondering what his face would look like painted red, blue and white, I stared at him; “Get me a bow and I can show you.”

He gave up. “Right, okay. Now we know a little more about each other, let’s talk about what we’ll be doing this year.” He picked up Pope’s book, ‘The Rape of the Lock’, and began to outline the background.

“What were you training for?” Turner asked me in undertone as Dawes continued to speak.

“It was just training,” I replied, shrugging. “I wasn’t doing it for anything specific.”

“Alright then;” he tried a different topic. “Idra and Ennea are pretty names – unusual but pretty. Sefira is pretty, too.”

It seemed Turner was just as persistent as Dawes. I narrowly avoided scoffing – about as far from the gushing thanks he probably expected.

“How old are your sisters?” he pressed.

I was tempted not to answer, but my mother’s advice flashed across my mind. Act like one of them, Seffie.

“Idra’s eleven,” I revealed, feeling like a traitor. “Ennea’s almost three.”

He paused, staring at me. My irritation grew quickly: “What?”

“I was just wondering… you really love them, don’t you?”

What was that supposed to mean? I shifted my hold on the pen, not above jamming it into his hand if necessary. “They’re family.”

My mother’s voice reminded me that I had to feel sorry for him if he didn’t understand how families worked. I almost chose not to listen.

“Your voice softened when you talked about them,” Turner pointed out.

Okay, he was reading me too well – I didn’t like it. I shrugged a shoulder, bringing Pope’s book closer to me. “They’re my sisters. I’d do anything for them.”

I hope he took that as a warning.

“Even take a bullet?” Turner teased.

I tensed at the thought, but forced my muscles to relax. I glanced up at him, meeting his deep brown eyes.