In school, I have to wait for a long time before seeing Max. His dad drops him off today, again.
“Hi,” I greet, meeting him at the front of the class.
He nods and goes straight to his seat. I walk behind him. “Hey, we haven’t really talked much recently…”
“And you’d like to know why,” he finishes for me.
“I just thought we drifted apart because of the mock exams and then Rich. But if there’s another reason, I’d like to know.”
“If it will make you stop bugging me, sure.” I know that this isn’t going to be good. “When my parents heard that you failed the mock exams woefully, they advised that I stay away from you and hang around brighter students, so as not to, you know, let you bring me down with your dullness. I agreed with them.”
I’m dumbfounded. Like really, seriously, completely dumbfounded. I so wasn’t expecting this, and much less from someone I considered my friend.
“If you pass your WAEC, then maybe we can hang out again. But let’s face it that is highly unlikely. You really need to get yourself a handiwork.”
“So that’s how you feel, huh? Good to know.”
“I’m sorry, Danny. I need to think about my future.”
“Me too. And mine doesn’t include having friends like you.”
He’s about to say something smug, but I leave him to his future. There’s a strange feeling in my chest, and I know at once it is heartbreak. Not the kind of heartbreak one gets from being rejected by a girl,–I haven’t felt that but I know this isn’t it–no, this one hurts in a different way. It’s the kind of heartbreak you get after realizing that you’ve wasted many years thinking of someone as a friend when in fact they weren’t shit.
During assembly, the principal emphasizes that during the dance students are to ensure there are no unnecessary closeness. They can’t afford to let the parents think they accept such behaviors in their school.
Naomi doesn’t teach that day, so automatically her period is used by most to catch up on the latest gossip, by others to prepare for their exams. And as for me, I use the period to think about how I was letting Rich down. He needs me now and I’m not going to be there for him because I don’t want him to bring me down with him. I’m not better than Maxon.
No! I am better. I have to be.
That evening after school, Naomi doesn’t show up for lectures. And for some reason I don’t want to call my father and ask him to come pick me up.
Forty-five minutes later, Naomi shows up. My phone battery is very close to being dead.
“You sure took your time.”
“I’m so sorry. I just wasn’t feeling well and I totally forgot that today is lesson day.”
“Are you okay? I mean you look okay… physically.”
“I don’t have to look like I threw up a three square meal before I can identify as sick.”
“I know that. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She scrambles to open her office door.
She really isn’t okay. I can’t see it physically, but there’s something about her that’s just wrong today. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s taking her a whole minute to open the door.
“Are you sure that’s the right key?” I ask.
“I’m sure,” she answers in a slightly coarse voice. She then clears her throat.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “There’s no need. You clearly can’t teach today.”
I walk to the edge of the corridor and sit down on the floor, my feet barely touching the ground. A few moments and sighs later, she sits beside me.
I look at her and for a moment she’s all there is in the world. Then I snap out of it.
“We can just talk,” I offer.
“About what?”
“For starters, I should give you my number so that when you can’t make it like this you call.”
“I’m sorry I had you waiting.”
“It’s okay.”
She brings out her phone and gestures for me to call my phone number. I do. I also notice an injury on the back of her hand just behind her wrist. It looks fresh. Her call takes my mind off it. “That’s mine,” she says and then ends the call.
I save the number, and then I ask, “So, why did you decide to come?”
“Something told me you wouldn’t go home.”
I’m surprised. “What did?”
“You don’t like going home. I see it in your face whenever your dad comes to pick you up. Home saddens you. You hide it well, well enough for a typical African parent not to notice, but I’ve noticed.”
I sigh. “I guess it’s safe to say you’ll make an excellent parent then.”
Smiling is her only answer. Then she asks, “What is it about home?” I might’ve looked at her strangely, because she added, “You don’t have to answer.”
“I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
“Begin with what’s currently troubling you.”
I can’t tell her that my father’s a cheat. I can’t tell anybody that. “I have this trouble with a friend. He’s doing something wrong, and he needs my help to do it well. But I don’t want to assist him in doing something that will inevitably destroy him. I feel guilty about this decision, constantly.
She considers what I’ve told her. Then she says, “How bad will you rate what he wants to do?”
“I don’t know what it is, but I’d say seven out of ten.”
“That’s pretty bad, especially since you don’t know what exactly it is.” She sighs. “It’s nice of you to care about your friend, it is. But you also have to think of yourself. The reason you don’t want him to do this is because it’s dangerous for him, which means it’d be dangerous for you too. Joining him would just end up hurting the both of you.”
“So you’re saying I should just let him be?”
She coughs. I glimpse the cut again. “The best thing you can do now is to try and convince him that what’s he’s doing is wrong.”
“He thinks it is right.”
“You have to try.”
She’s right. I have to try.
We’re quiet for a few moments, and then I say, “You’re really pretty when giving out advice, you know.”
I don’t know why I say it. I didn’t think, I just said it. And now I’ll regret it.
She gives me a small smile. “I do know that. I also know that that’s not the only time I’m pretty–”
“No, that’s not what I meant…”
“Let me finish. Look, I’m not going to shout and scream at you because of what you’re feeling. It’s not your fault, I know that. But you can control what it makes you do or say. You know this is wrong, right?” I nod. Her voice is so calm and smooth as she says, “I’m your teacher. I’m here to guide you. God knows you need it. I do too, but that’s not the point. The point is you can’t feel that way about me. It will take time, but you’ll get over it, you just have to want to get over it. There are many lovely girls your age. With one of them you’ll experience that epic teenage love. Not with me.”
“You can’t be that older than me,” I say, without thinking.
“I am older than you. And I’m also your teacher. You need to understand that.”
“I do… I do. I’m sorry. I’m just not thinking.”
“Don’t be.” She takes a deep breath. “Since you’re not learning today, I think I’ll be on my way.
I don’t say anything as she leaves. I beat myself up about what I just did until my father comes to pick me up nearly forty minutes later, my phone long dead.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” he says, slightly out of breath. How’s that possible when he’s been driving? “How was your lesson?”
“Spectacular.”
After charging my phone to a desirable percentage, I make a phone call.
“Simon Peter,” I say, when the person answers.