CHAPTER FOUR: THE MID-TERM BREAK PROM
The second week of term had barely begun when the vice principal stepped into the science class, his presence commanding immediate silence. Behind him stood a young woman,
"This is Miss Charlotte," he announced. "She's one of the youths corpers serving here in Lagos State. She'll be assisting Mr. Daniel with English."
The students turned to look at her. She was slim, with a youthful face and closely cropped hair. Her NYSC uniform-green trousers, a white shirt, and those jungle boots—gave her an air of quiet authority.
"Nice to meet you all," she said. "You can call me Miss Charlotte."
There was a murmur of curiosity as she smiled and took her place at the back of the room.
Later that day, the assembly hall buzzed with chatter about the upcoming mid-term break. Students clustered in groups, swapping stories and plans. In the middle of the crowd, James bumped into Isala, sending her notebook tumbling to the floor.
"Excuse me," she said, bending to pick it up.
"Excuse you," James replied coolly, barely glancing at her as he walked off with his friend.
"Don't mind him," said a girl beside her, crouching to help. "He thinks he's too cool
"Never mind. Thanks for helping me," Isala said with a small smile. "I'm Isala."
"I'm Ruby."
"Nice to meet you."
They walked into the hall together.
Across the room, Ethan moved with ease, chatting, laughing, always in the center of attention. Isala watched him for a moment, a strange feeling stirring in her chest—longing, maybe, or restlessness. She wished she were doing something that mattered too.
She wandered toward the art corner, where Liam Turner was painting quietly. She had never spoken to him before, but something about the calm focus in his eyes made her pause.
"Nice painting," she said.
"Thanks," he replied, not looking up.
"Are you going to be at prom?" he asked after a moment.
"What's your business?" she snapped,
"It was just a question," he said,
Before she could respond, a loud commotion erupted from the junior section. A boy had collapsed. Students rushed toward the scene, voices rising in panic.
"Carry him!"
"Move aside! Give him some air!" Miss Charlotte's voice cut through the chaos. She knelt beside the boy, her hands steady.
"I need assistance," she said to the head boy. "Put your arms straight and press his chest ten times. Then I'll breathe into his mouth. Let's carry him to the health center—quickly!"
Isala stood frozen, watching the young teacher take control with calm
That Friday evening, the Mid-Term Break prom the school hall into a music, lights, and laughter. But Isala didn't want to come. Sophia, her closest friend, wasn't enjoying it either.
As they stood near the speakers, George, the smallest boy in their class—approached Isala shyly.
"Would you dance with me?" he asked.
"No," she said without looking up.
George, face fell. He turned and walked away,
"Isala, that wasn't nice," Sophia said.
Isala sighed. The music felt too loud, the lights too bright. She slipped away to the restroom. When she returned, she spotted George, sitting alone in a corner, looking miserable.
She hesitated, then walked over.
"Sorry, George," she said. "I didn't mean to be rude earlier. I wasn't in a good mood. I can still dance with you now, if you want."
She smiled and held out her hand. George was surprised; they stepped onto the dance floor together.
Ethan watched them. He couldn't believe it—Isala was dancing with George, the more he looked, the angrier he became. He stormed over.
"Hi," he said, tapping George, shoulder. "Can you excuse me, please?"
Oliver hesitated.
"Ethan, what are you doing?" Isala asked, frowning.
"Leave her alone!" Ethan snapped at George.
"What do you mean by that?" Isala said.
"I'm leaving. You can dance by yourself!" Ethan shouted.
At that moment, a waiter passed by with a tray of drinks. Ethan accidentally bumped into him, and the entire tray spilled over Isala.
"You idiot!" she yelled, her voice trembling. Her dress was soaked. Ethan looked like he might laugh.
Isala stormed outside, blinking back tears. She didn't know how she'd get home like this. As she stood in the cool night air, Miss Charlotte appeared.
"What's the matter?" she asked.
"My dress is stained with orange juice," Isala muttered.
"Why didn't you get some water to wash it off?" Miss Charlotte said.
They walked together in silence for a moment.
"I wanted to ask about the boy who fainted," Isala said quietly. "How is he?"
"He's fine now," Miss Charlotte replied with a smile