In Lilac Bloom

I walked into the school, feeling giddy and lightheaded. Ah, so this is it—the secondary school I’m going to spend the next six years of my life in. I squealed in excitement. I made my way to the bursar’s office to get my textbooks and receipts for my fees. Soon enough, I found my way to my class. It was empty… not surprising, though, considering it was only 7:15 in the morning. I started writing my name on all my textbooks and notebooks. By 7:30, more and more students began to arrive, most of them giving me weird looks and side glances. That’s okay though—I no send your papa either way. The next fifteen minutes went by in a blur. The bell rang, signaling it was time for assembly. We all shuffled out into the quad and formed straight lines according to our heights. Within the next twenty minutes, assembly was over, and we were asked to return to our classes. Lessons would begin shortly. I went back to the desk I had sat at earlier, settled down, and placed my head on it. The earlier excitement had worn off, leaving me tired and bored. Reality began to set in. I’m in a completely different environment. New school. No friends. Nothing. Just me… and my glasses, which had a huge lump of dried glue on the side from constantly breaking—mostly due to my clumsiness. The classroom door opened. A tall, burly man walked in—our Basic Science teacher, Mr. Olowolaju. We all stood up to greet him. “Good morning, sir,” we chorused. He told us to sit and bring out our notebooks. He was about to speak when another student rushed in—a boy. The teacher ignored him and continued his introduction while the boy quietly took the seat next to me. I tried not to look at him and focused on the teacher instead. Soon, Mr. Olowolaju turned to the board and began writing. I opened my notebook to copy when I felt something poke my side. I ignored it. Then it came again. I turned and saw a boy grinning at me—his head slightly too big for his body, his eyes glinting with mischief. I raised an eyebrow. “What?” I whispered. He kept grinning. “Nothing… what’s your name?” I simply tilted my notebook toward him, showing where Success was boldly written across the front. “My name’s Daniel,” he said. I nodded and tried to focus again. It wasn’t easy. The teacher had written so low on the board that he had to bend forward… placing his backside directly in front of my ten-year-old face. My mind betrayed me. What if he farts? Or worse… what if he wants to fart and then— I shuddered in disgust and forced myself to focus. Another poke. I sighed and turned to Daniel again, raising my eyebrow as if to say, What do you want now? He gestured for me to look, pointing at Mr. Olowolaju. My eyes followed his finger. And there it was. He was holding a pen… with the pointed end facing our teacher’s backside—so close, like he was about to poke him. I imagined it. Then I looked at Daniel. And like we were controlled by the same spirit, we both burst into loud laughter. The entire class went silent. You could hear a pin drop. Mr. Olowolaju turned around slowly. His face was filled with anger. He began to shout, his words spraying out along with droplets of saliva that landed on both Daniel and me. I scrunched up my nose in disgust. Bad move. He noticed. “You two! Get out of my class!” Well… yay. Isn’t this just a royally fantastic first day of school?