"Ely," her brother called.
She looked at Nathan, hearing the seriousness in his tone.
"Go on. Thanks a lot for bringing my ID," he said with a smile.
"Yes, brother." She responded, deliberately ignoring the man standing near Nathan.
She turned to head back into the school building. The bell was about to ring, and she didn't want to be late. But just as she was walking away, Nathan called her again.
"El, I'll pick you up this afternoon," he said.
She simply nodded and smiled. "Okay."
She quickly walked away from the two, her thoughts spinning. Nathan had seemed unusually serious during that earlier conversation.
I hope I didn't bother my brother, she thought as she made her way back into the school.
But it still nagged her—how did her brother know the man who entered the office yesterday?
Hey, El. Just go to your classroom. You've got a bunch of mischievous kids waiting for you. She gave herself a mental push.
She soon arrived at the faculty room and grabbed her teaching materials.
"Faith, have you already established any rules?" Veron asked as they walked toward their assigned classrooms.
"Ah, yes. I've put something together—hopefully, it'll be effective," Mariely answered with a nervous smile and scratched her head.
"I know it will be," Veron encouraged.
"Thank you, Veron." That was all she managed to say before entering her classroom.
Mariely wasn't wearing her uniform yet; as a new teacher, the principal had said she could wait two weeks before she was required to.
Just like yesterday, the room was still noisy—but at least no one was punching each other anymore.
She spotted some playing cards. Some students were gambling right there in the classroom.
Mariely sighed but let it go—for now.
No one seemed to notice her enter. Papers were scattered on the floor, the room was messy, and chairs were all over the place.
She took a deep breath. What she hated most was disorder—especially in a classroom. Chaos was the enemy of good teaching.
Reluctantly, she banged on the blackboard to get everyone's attention.
That did it. All eyes were on her.
Her expression was serious. She crossed her arms.
"Good morning," she greeted them, scanning the room.
"What's good about the morning?" someone mockingly asked.
She responded with a sarcastic smile and walked toward the student who spoke.
"What's your name again?" Mariely asked calmly.
"I have no name," the student smirked.
"Okay," she said, walking away. "No Name it is."
Some students chuckled at her response.
"When I ask you something, I expect a proper answer," she told them firmly.
"Rule number two," she added, sticking a paper onto the blackboard.
"Tsk. Just follow your rules. We don't have rules here," the same student scoffed.
"No Name, right?" she said, ignoring the comment as she continued.
She had to be firm. These students wouldn't respond to leniency alone.
"My name isn't No Name—it's Richmond," he finally said.
"Oh? I thought you didn't have a name." She smiled sweetly.
"Rule No. 1: Everyone here must show respect. Not just to me, or to each other—but to everyone," she said, addressing the class.
"Eh, what if we don't want to? What can you do?" another student challenged. He was wearing a hat, black earrings, and a wrinkled uniform.
Mariely walked up to him. "Of course I can do something, son. Fix your uniform, and take off the hat and earrings," she said. "Or do you want me to fix it for you?" She added with a smile.
The student obeyed—reluctantly.
"Rule No. 3: When I'm speaking at the front, no one is to interrupt. If you have something to say, raise your hand."
She caught a student rolling their eyes but decided to let it slide.
"Rule No. 4: Playing cards or any gambling games is prohibited on school grounds and inside the classroom."
She collected the cards from the quiet students who had been playing earlier.
"Rule No. 5: No using gadgets during class."
She looked directly at a student using his phone. "Put away that cellphone, son. You might not get it back."
He quickly hid the phone.
"Rule No. 6: No fighting—whether in school or inside the classroom."
"Rule No. 7: Learn to clean your classroom. It can't stay messy or dusty."
"Rule No. 8: Don't make noise when there's no teacher. You're disturbing the other classes."
"And finally, Rule No. 9: Be happy." She smiled at her students, who were now listening more attentively.
"Any questions?" she asked.
"None, but your rules are weird," one student muttered, earning a few more laughs.
She sighed and returned to the front.
"Oh, by the way—one last thing," she added, glancing around. "If you break any of these rules, there are beneficial punishments. Every Friday, we'll address violations. I'll keep track in my magical notebook."
She held it up with a grin.
"No objections? Then let's begin the class."
The students stayed silent. Maybe they were scared to get punished.
But Mariely knew—rules alone wouldn't change her students. She needed to be strong. If she gave up too easily, she'd never help shape these young minds. She had to know them, understand them—just like Nathan had advised.
*****
Later that afternoon, Nathan brought her home.
"Brother, do you know that guy from earlier?" she asked.
Nathan chuckled. "Seriously, El? You forget people that easily?"
"Huh?" She blinked in confusion.
"Here's a clue: He's the guy you told me about before—the one with the bad attitude," Nathan said, trying not to laugh.
Mariely's memory clicked. "Ah! That classmate of yours from high school! The one who made me cry and called me a crybaby. What's his name again?"
"You don't remember?" Nathan teased. "He's the principal's son—Mrs. Becca Jordan Montero's kid."
She stared at him, surprised. "He's Ma'am Becca's child?"
Nathan nodded.
"You still don't remember his name?" He asked while focusing on the road.
Mariely shook her head. The name just wouldn't come.
"Well, it's better if you don't remember it," Nathan said suddenly, his face turning serious.
She looked at him but didn't ask any more questions. She knew her brother was never close to that high school classmate anyway.
Mariely quietly turned her gaze to the road, watching the traffic as cars lined up in a long queue.