- "Being challenged in life is inevitable, being defeated is optional"-
~ Roger Crawford
"Class, I would like you to join me in welcoming the new student of our class, Liam Sanchez!"
Liam gazed at the dozens of beady eyes that were staring right back at him. The classroom emitted an aura of togetherness with the number of friendship lesson quotes that adorned the once lifeless walls and the thin translucent curtains that were drawn aside to expose the sunlight which filtered through the interstices of the Cherry Blossom. Not to mention, up at the back of the class, staring directly at him, were all the tiny faces of the members of the class, including the homeroom teacher, with fixed smiles, captured and frozen in a large frame.
"Introduce yourself to us, Liam," Mr. Karton, his homeroom teacher, beamed.
Liam composed himself and cleared his throat as if trying to flush the nervousness out of his system, although it was nothing he was not accustomed to. He was going to use the usual same old rehearsed line that he used in each and every of the five schools he flew through.
"Hello everyone. My name is Liam Sanchez," his faint accent sold out his place of birth, Mexico, "I don't have anything in particular that's special about me but I do intend to be as useful as possible to this class and to get along with everyone wherever I can and however possible."
A gentle applause filled the air and Liam exhaled, relieved. That was one less burden off his shoulders.
_________________________________________
The room was dim as if the ceiling lights were giving of their last service before becoming a part of the 'non-living' and it reeked of tension. A few chairs were casted to both sides of the room, some lying on their sides and others lying on their backs and a weary dust-covered lamp stood at the side of a teacher's desk at the uppermost corner of the room. There was a plump teacher with board hips sitting on the edge of a desk, pinching her thick lips as she stared vacuously at the figure in front of her. It was a girl of about average height with a face rinsed of expression, quivering under the weight of ambivalent feelings. The blackboard which clung to the wall for dear life, decorated with several overlapping layers of chalk-written math solutions, was witness to the not-quite-silence between them, hinting that they were mentally deciding whether or not they should be the first to break the silence.
"You lost the Math Competition, again. What went wrong? I almost thought it was impossible for you to lose, an all-time winning champion as yourself."
Silence prevailed.
"This is the second time in a row. It's not like you. What happened?"
"It'd be okay the next time around, I promise," an assertive voice emitting confidence replied. "I just… slacked a bit, that's all."
"So you say yet your body language speaks differently," she said unamused and raised an eyebrow. "This world doesn't have room for those who choose to slack. I can guess that that is already quite obvious to you by the fair share of disappointment you were given."
The audible cracking of knuckles echoed throughout the battered classroom and the teacher almost choked on air, feeling a monstrous laugh develop in the pit of her stomach. She shook her head in pity.
"You, poor child," she said through a laugh, "They were right about what they said. You sure are Berty's marionette. Why are you here anyways? Are you also unsure about that?"
"A champion never accepts defeat. I have to keep going and I will keep going," the girl's words were crisp, like a sharp cool wind.
She had had just about enough of the teacher being entertained by her weakness.
"I'd keep going even if it kills me!"
The teacher laughed even harder, until her stomach walls contracted, pleading for her to stop. She cupped her knees and brushed a single tear off her eyelash extensions on the back of her hand. She adjusted the square glasses on her nose bridge.
"Ah Ms. Waltz, your fruitless endeavors amuse me. They entertain me greatly. Glorious words with no action behind them, valued just the same as s***."
"Explain fruitless in your context."
"Is an explanation necessary? The results speak for themselves."
The girl bit down on her bottom lip, slowly succumbing to her inner demon. The teacher then rose from the desk, and stared into the math writings on the board as if she had never seen anything more beautiful.
"Math is abstract, a science where one searches earnestly to determine what is a fact and what is not, a science where one studies the qualities of their surroundings, space, dimensions, quantity, to create conjectures based on their findings. There is no exact definition of math. It's just based on how you embrace it."
"Are your words of any value to me as of now?"
The teacher returned her gaze to the girl's lowered face. She lifted her chin to see her eyes clearly, and with her free arm, cupped her own hip. Her eyes were a heavy shade of grey and were bleached of life as it had always been.
"It's based on how best you are able to read between the lines."
"Hm."
The teacher rolled her eyes.
"You need to get yourself in shape. There's still a very important competition that you need to prepare for. It can determine your future."
"I know," the girl's reply trailed off in a whisper, "I know."
A song of high heels clicking against the cold tiles reminded her of her life's soundtrack, a whip that kept threatening and wagging around, drawing imaginary wavering lines on blackboards as if that made the work any easier. Before she knew it, she stood in the room alone at the center, under the dying ceiling lights, with a chalk drooping limply from her right hand and a floor powdered with chalk dust supporting her feet. The teacher had already left.