Chapter 10
Fast forward...
(Monday morning)
Sarah pov
As I slowly emerged from the depths of sleep, the persistent ringing of my alarm clock sliced through the fog of my mind like a relentless knife. I groggily reached out to silence the insistent beeping, but it felt as though the alarm had a will of its own, defiantly ringing on and on. With a snarl of frustration, I finally managed to haul myself out of bed, my limbs surprisingly heavy as I fought against the lingering drowsiness.
A glance at my phone made my heart plummet. It was 8:00 AM on the dot. Panic surged through me as I recalled the principal's words from yesterday echoing in my mind—classes began at 9:00 AM sharp. A sudden rush of adrenaline surged through my veins, propelling me into action. I shot out of my room like a hare fleeing from a hunter, my legs unsteady beneath me as I scrambled to prepare.
Everything became a frantic blur; clothing was hastily donned, my hands moving with feverish speed to fasten buttons and tie shoelaces. Time was slipping away, and I could feel its relentless grasp tightening around my throat.
I burst out of my hostel room, immediately enveloped by the chaotic symphony of students clamoring in the corridors, voices rising and falling like the tide. The sound of hurried footsteps echoing off the walls filled me with a sense of urgency that only heightened my anxiety. I had no time for breakfast—my stomach grumbled in protest—but I pressed on, darting towards one of the vibrant snack stalls that dotted the school grounds. I grabbed a handful of quick bites—a piece of fruit there—shoving them into my backpack as I continued down the thrumming hallways.
With my timetable clutched tightly in my hand, I scanned for the next move. English was my first class, but its location remained a tantalizing mystery. I felt a wave of frustration wash over me as I looked around; everyone seemed preoccupied with their own frantic schedules, elbows brushing against one another as they rushed past. Just as despair began to settle in, I spotted a teacher—a man striding purposefully down the hall, a hefty pile of books precariously balanced in his arms.
"Excuse me, sir!" I called out, weaving through the throng of students to catch up with him. Anxiety knotting my stomach, I tried to keep my voice steady. "I'm searching for English class—I am supposed to be in..."I paused.
"I'm supposed to be in senior year class," I said, hoping I had phrased it correctly.
But as soon as the words left my lips, I couldn't help but wonder if I had said it right. Back in Nigeria, we used different terminology - SS for Senior Secondary and JSS for Junior Secondary. I wasn't entirely sure if "senior year class" was the equivalent here.
A tiny voice in my head whispered, "Did I say that right?" I pushed the doubt aside, hoping the teacher would understand what I meant. After all, I was still getting used to the new educational system in this country.
I waited for the teacher's response, hoping for clarity and guidance.
He halted, a warm smile breaking across his face as he looked down at me through his rectangular glasses. "That's where I'm headed," he said, his voice a reassuring balm against my frayed nerves.
Relief washed over me, and I hesitated for just a moment before offering, "Let me help you with those books." The teacher nodded, gratitude lighting up his features, and I grasped a couple of the heavier tomes, instantly feeling the weight of responsibility settle over me.
As we walked side by side, the noise of the bustling students faded to a low hum, replaced by the rhythmic sound of our footsteps.
As we stepped into the classroom, the cacophony of chatter and laughter enveloped us. The students were rowdy, some sprawled out on tables, others wandering aimlessly, their eyes gleaming with an air of restlessness. The room pulsed with energy, the atmosphere electric with anticipation.
But the moment the teacher's presence registered, the room's dynamics shifted. The students scrambled to their feet, rushing to claim their seats, their movements swift and synchronized. The noise level dropped precipitously, replaced by an expectant hush.
The teacher's gaze swept across the room, he turned to me,his eyes lingering on me for a moment before he nodded towards the empty seats. "Just sit anywhere," he said, his voice warm and welcoming.
I felt the weight of curious glances, the students' eyes flicking towards me with a mixture of interest and wariness. I scanned the room, my gaze homing in on an empty chair at the back. I made my way towards it, my footsteps quiet on the floor.
As I settled into the chair, the teacher dropped the heavy books onto the table, the sound a soft thud. The students greeted him with a chorus of "Good morning Mr Phillip!" their voices rising in unison. The teacher's response was a gentle smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
The lesson began, the teacher's voice weaving a spell of engagement. He wrote on the board, his handwriting bold and confident. "Today, we're going to cover chapter 5," he announced, his voice ringing out across the room.
The students responded with a rustling of pages, their textbooks and notebooks emerging from backpacks and desks. I followed suit, my eyes locked onto the teacher as he launched into a lucid explanation of the concepts. The words flowed effortlessly, a seamless blend of theory and example.
As the lesson progressed, the room's energy shifted once more, this time settling into a groove of focused attention. I felt myself becoming absorbed, my notes scribbling onto the page in a flurry of ink. The teacher's passion was infectious, his enthusiasm sparking a corresponding interest within me.