Best Schools isn’t that big. It’s made up of just secondary schools, that means twelve classrooms in all; two for each class. The class 3 of both senior and junior schools has a block to themselves, while classes 1 and 2 share a block. Every block has a lavatory. It’s pretty clean most times, other times not so much. There is no clear demarcation between junior and senior classes, except the uniform: the seniors wear long sleeves and canvas, but the juniors wear short sleeves and sandals. The students, however, find ways to add more separations between each school group.
The uniform is white shirt and blue trousers for boys and girls; the junior girls wear skirts–another demarcation. I hate the color.
A few parents, my mom included, fought against girls wearing trousers to school, but the owner wanted his school to look… diverse. So it stayed. I’m glad it did.
I walk past the one flower-type garden lining each side of the road between the gate and the staff offices. There is no flower garden between the staff offices and classes. It’s a good thing because I’m pretty sure if I had to see one more hibiscus flower, I’d have nightmares about it.
The school is mostly empty. School starts by seven forty-five and I’m here at six minutes past seven, by my watch. School ends by two, and then there’s an extra one hour forty five minutes of more lectures that my parents insist I partake in. So basically, I get home around five if the bus drive is added.
I drop my bag in my class and wait outside. Minutes later my friends finally come; Richard and Maxon.
“Dude, why didn’t you take the bus?” Rich asks.
“My dad wanted some father-son bonding time.”
“Impromptu meeting?” he asks in a tone that suggests something I don’t know. I nod. “Well, you missed the purest gist in the bus.”
“What was it?”
“You know it won’t be as interesting now.”
“Tell me,” I demand.
The gist wasn’t pure. It was a polluted version of something I found out that morning. Mrs. Odion had given birth. What made the school bus version polluted was that someone claimed the reason she still hadn’t come back was because her husband had a DNA test done and found out his holier-than-thou wife was actually shagging someone else, and now he wants a divorce.
It wasn’t true, but it surely would make an interesting bus conversation between boys my mom would describe as ‘the devil’s adopted’.
I and my friends have some uninteresting conversations, burning about ten minutes of time. That’s when I see my ex, Becca. She’s beautiful in every sense, and that is rare for a sixteen year old. I’ve heard that some people get even more beautiful with age, while others don’t. I hope her case is the latter. I see her walk past me every day as though she was on a runway, but today is different. Her dark skin shines and her eyes are calling. The first two buttons of her shirt are loose, teasing at the wonders the third button could reveal if it was loose. She accentuates her steps with her hips and that gets to me more. And worse, she is walking towards me.
“Hi, Dan, can I talk to you, please?” she asks with that voice that made me crush on her in the first place. I try and fail not to look puzzled. “It won’t take long.”
I follow her and we stop at the edge of the S.S 3 block. I kill the awakening within me. No, she’s your ex, you fool.
“I don’t want to be that bitchy ex,” she begins.
Impossible! You’re a bitchy everything else; A bitchy girl, girlfriend, daughter, student. And you like being bitchy. Why the hell would you not want to be a bitchy ex?
Her bitchy nature was the reason I put an end to our five month old relationship during the holidays. I just couldn’t take it anymore. And in the month since we’ve resumed we’ve done quite well not to speak to each other or hold eye contact for too long. Both of those ended now.
Can I ask why you’re telling me this?”
“I want us to still be friends. We were friends before dating.” That’s untrue. “We should still be friends now that we aren’t together.”
“Okay,” I answer, telling her what she wants to hear.
She smiles and leaves. I go back to my boys. Rich asks, “What was that about? Are you two getting back together? You know I’d be okay with that, right? I mean she’s a bitch, but she’s hot. Hot trumps bitch every time.”
Of course Rich thinks that. I tell them what really happened.
Before Rich can ask any more questions, I tell them about the new student teacher.
Max has already heard. “Yes, to temporarily replace Mrs. Odion.”
“That’s if the school will take her back after they hear about her scandal,” Rich says. Max eyes him. “What? The story might be true. Never trust someone who tries too hard to prove to people they’re holy. There’s always something they don’t want you seeing. Believe me.”
Max ignores him. “He’s here for his T.P.” Rich and I are both oblivious. “Teaching practice? You’ve heard of that… right?”
“I think so,” is my answer. Max groans in frustration. “Don’t be like that. Not everyone’s as smart as you.”
“You’re in S.S 3 and you don’t know what Teaching practice is? And Rich here claims he plans to study education.”
“Dude, I’ve heard about it somewhere. I just can’t remember.”
“Me too.”
Max shakes his head and then he explains. He always likes to explain things to people who didn’t know as much as he did. After he’s done going a little too deep into the subject, the bell rings. We go to the assembly