Fiction: Group 3
Tales of the Pearl River Delta
Po Leung Kuk Choi Kai Yau School, To, Charlie - 12, Fiction: Group 3
an glanced at her watch.
2.47 pm
, the watch face read.
She scowled. Her friend Ching was late, as usual. Wiping the beads of sweat from her
face, she made a mental note to tell Ching off. Waiting in the busy, crowded streets in Mongkok was
torture.
She sat down on a park bench and whipped out her phone. Three o’clock.
Where is Ching?
She
grumbled.
She’s never this late.
Exasperated and annoyed, she called Ching’s mobile. The call went straight
to voicemail. Silently swearing under her breath, she called Ching’s home. “Hello?” A man’s voice said.
Ching’s father.
Yan was scared of him; he was strict. Taking a deep breath, she asked, “Sir, is Ching at
home? She’s 30 minutes late.”
“I thought she was at your flat! She never came back since she left home yesterday.” She could clearly
hear worry in his voice. It was the first time she had ever heard any form of emotion in his voice.
Her stomach did a flip. “Never came back?” “Yeah. We sort of had a fight… can you help look for
her? I know you’re her best friend. You know her better than we do.”
“I’ll try my best.” She replied, and killed the call.
Where would Ching be?
She wracked her brain for ideas. She had searched for her in their secret
hiding place in the playground, the school canteen, her other friends’ homes, her favorite restaurant “Ming
Kee”, even at the pier, where she liked to stare at the sea; she was lost for ideas. Closing her eyes, she tried
to recall any possibilities.
The studio!
She suddenly realized.
Of course, her secret studio! Why didn’t I think of it earlier?
Ching
had saved up her money to rent an art studio months ago.
Hopping onto a bus, she soon arrived at the dark building. Running up the flights of stairs, she
thought of what to say.
Where were you? What happened? Are you okay? Should I get you some food?
Please, go home. Your father’s worried sick.
The door was slightly open. She pushed it open. At a huge table sat Ching, painting a breathtaking
picture of a girl lost in her dance. The huge pile of used tissues at the side suggested she had been crying.
After watching for a while, Yan finally found her voice. “Ching? You okay?” Making her voice as gentle as
possible, she looked at her concernedly. “What happened?”
Ching jumped. Regaining her composure, her features settled into an indifferent mask. “What? Are
you here to make me return to that hellhole? If you are, I suggest you leave. I am so
not
going back to that
monster of a father.”
“Oh, Ching. What did he do to you?” Yan sat down on an empty chair.
A mirthless laugh bubbled from her. “You know it. The usual.”
Ching pushed up her sleeves, exposing angry red marks. She unraveled her scarf, took off her beanie,
lifted up her pant legs. They were covered with marks as well. Yan could only breathe a horrified “Oh…”
at the disturbing sight.
Y
