Monday morning was back to my usual routine. I navigated the crowded halls, dodging groups of students chatting away about weekend plans, while my mind wandered off to the stars, imagining the next project I could work on. I'd just finished reading about nebula formations, and I was buzzing with ideas for my own models and diagrams.
Throughout the morning, a few classmates came by to ask me for help with their homework, mostly in math and science. I'd gotten used to it, and though I wasn't exactly warm, I did my best to answer their questions and clarify things. It was almost… nice to be the go-to person for something, even if I still felt awkward in my own way.
But when lunch rolled around, I was still caught up in thoughts about a new nebula project, zoning out as I walked down the hall. Without realizing it, I turned down a hallway I hadn't seen before, passing empty classrooms that looked almost untouched. I slowed my steps, peeking into one of the rooms.
The space was quiet, the chairs neatly stacked in the corner, and a layer of dust on the desks. There was something strangely inviting about it. My mind sparked with ideas—the room was large, perfect for laying out charts and setting up a small workspace for model-building. No interruptions, no noise, just a quiet place to focus on my projects.
I looked around, feeling a little thrill at the possibilities. Why didn't I think of this before? If I could use one of these rooms, I wouldn't have to keep cramming my experiments and diagrams onto my tiny desk at home. My family wouldn't have to worry about my "messy space projects" all over the place, and I could focus better without distractions.
Before I knew it, I was heading toward the principal's office, my mind already forming a plan. If I could get permission to use the room, I'd have a real workspace where I could dive deeper into my projects. As I approached the office, I felt a flicker of nervousness. I'd never really spoken to the principal about anything other than grades or schedules. This was different—an actual request.
The principal was sitting at her desk when I knocked lightly on the open door. She looked up, smiling warmly. "Come in, Reina. What can I help you with?"
I stepped inside, fidgeting a bit as I tried to organize my thoughts. "I… I have a request," I said, my voice a bit softer than usual. "I noticed there are some vacant classrooms in the east wing. I was wondering if… maybe… I could use one of them?"
Her eyebrows raised slightly, clearly surprised. "A classroom? And what would you use it for?"
Taking a breath, I explained, "I have a lot of science projects that I've been working on at home, mostly about astronomy. But it's getting hard to keep everything organized, and I don't have much space. I thought… maybe if I could borrow a classroom, I could set up my materials and focus more easily."
The principal leaned back in her chair, considering this. "You're certainly dedicated to your studies, Reina. I've heard wonderful things about your passion for science. But, a whole classroom… Are you sure you'll have enough projects to fill the space?"
I nodded quickly. "Yes, absolutely! I have a whole list of experiments I want to try, and it's hard to find a quiet place to work on them without distractions. I can keep the room clean, and I won't disturb anyone else."
She tapped a pen thoughtfully on her desk. "You know, I'm not sure we've had a student ask for something like this before. But I don't see any harm in it, as long as you're responsible with the space." She smiled, a little glint of amusement in her eyes. "How about we try it out for a month? If it goes well, you can continue using the room."
My heart leaped with excitement. "Thank you! I promise I'll take good care of it," I replied, trying not to sound too eager.
She nodded. "Alright. I'll have the custodians unlock one of the rooms for you. Just make sure you check in every now and then, and let us know if you need anything."
I nodded, barely able to contain my excitement. "Thank you, Principal!" With that, I practically floated out of her office, the thrill of having a real workspace filling me with a sense of freedom I'd never felt before.
The room they assigned me was at the end of the hall, tucked away in a quiet corner of the school. Stepping inside, I felt an overwhelming sense of possibility. There was plenty of light from the windows, and the space was perfect—quiet, secluded, and all mine. For the first time, I felt like I had the perfect spot to explore my ideas without the usual distractions.
I spent the rest of lunch setting up a rough layout, arranging the desks in a way that left room for my notebooks, model pieces, and any equipment I might bring from home. I even found an old chalkboard in the corner, already brainstorming ways I could use it for calculations and diagrams.
That afternoon, as I sat in class, I couldn't help but smile to myself. I had a place to work on my dreams—a space where I could finally bring my ideas to life in ways that weren't possible before.
As the final bell rang, the usual wave of students flooded the hallways, excited chatter bouncing off the walls. I could barely contain my excitement as I walked to my locker, thoughts racing about the classroom and all the possibilities it held for my projects. It felt like a door had opened, and I was standing at the threshold, ready to step into a new world of exploration.
The walk home was calm, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows on the ground as I made my way down the familiar streets. I took a deep breath, trying to absorb the normalcy around me. Kids were playing outside, parents were chatting, and the gentle hum of life carried on. But inside, I was buzzing with anticipation, ready to dive into my projects.
Once I got home, I hurried up to my room, my heart racing with each step. The moment I closed the door behind me, I let out a small, excited squeal. This was it! The start of something amazing. I could hardly believe I was about to transform a classroom into my own personal laboratory.
I quickly grabbed my backpack, tossing aside my school books and digging deep into the back of my closet for the suitcases my parents used for their travels. I found two large ones, dusty from disuse, but they were perfect for what I had in mind. With a determined breath, I opened them up, the zippers rustling with potential.
I started gathering my projects, carefully stacking my notebooks filled with sketches and notes, models I had built from spare parts, and materials I'd collected over the years. There were charts of constellations I had drawn and pages filled with theories about star formations and black holes. Each item was a piece of my dreams, and I felt a rush of excitement every time I added something to the suitcase.
"I can't believe I'm finally doing this," I murmured to myself, organizing everything with an enthusiasm I hadn't felt in ages. It was like packing my dreams into those suitcases, ready to be unleashed in that new classroom.
I spent hours sorting through my things, re-reading my notes, and double-checking my supplies. I wanted to make sure I had everything I needed for my first day in my new space. By the time I finished, the room was a whirlwind of organized chaos, with suitcases piled high next to my desk.
As I sat down on the floor amidst the scattered materials, I felt a wave of contentment wash over me. The thought of having my own space to work on my projects was exhilarating. I could already imagine myself surrounded by models of planets, star maps plastered on the walls, and maybe even a telescope to gaze at the night sky.
"I'm going to make it amazing," I whispered, my voice filled with determination. I could picture the classroom filled with diagrams, equations, and maybe even other students who shared my passion for space. Would they come in? Would I be able to share my knowledge and ideas with them?
The thought of collaboration sent a thrill through me, even though it was tinged with a hint of nervousness. What if they thought my ideas were silly? What if they didn't want to listen to me? But I quickly shook those doubts away. I had to focus on what I loved—exploring the cosmos—and not worry about what others thought.
After I packed everything up, I stood back, surveying the mess of my room with satisfaction. It was late now, and the sky outside was painted with shades of orange and purple, signaling the approach of night. I grabbed my backpack, determined to take at least a few items to my new classroom tomorrow.
Before heading downstairs, I took one last look at the room that had been my sanctuary for so long. "Thanks for all the memories," I said softly, giving it a little wave. I knew I was leaving for something new, but this space would always hold the moments of my early discoveries.
With my heart still racing, I made my way downstairs, ready to prepare for the next day. I felt like I was on the edge of an adventure, and I couldn't wait to see where it would take me. The thrill of exploration was in the air, and tomorrow was just the beginning.