Ayo came to a sudden halt, her breaths coming in short, quick gasps as she scanned her surroundings.
The comforting familiarity of her home had vanished from view, and panic surged through her. Her school was just a stone's throw away, nestled among the cozy, cookie-cutter houses that lined the street, so there was no reason for her to rush.
Yet, she had been running—not out of necessity but from a nagging sense of urgency. Ayo could almost feel her mother's insistent gaze following her, urging her to take the lunch box she had forgotten on the kitchen counter.
Ayo understood that her mother's actions stemmed from love, but she bristled at being treated like a child. At seventeen, she was determined to carve out her own identity, separate from the maternal strings that tugged at her.
Moreover, she had meticulously crafted strategies to navigate the minefield of high school this year, and lugging a lunch box was definitely not part of her plan.
As she reached the school gates, Ayo was greeted by a hushed, almost deserted campus. A few students lingered in clusters, their conversations hushed, as if the weight of their collective ambition filled the air.
Ayo couldn't help but think, "They're probably high achievers like me." This thought fueled her pride, and she reveled in the recognition of her own academic drive.
Her priorities were well-defined: her mother first, her studies second, and her own needs a distant third.
Ayo had consistently excelled in school, and her exceptional grades were a testament to her relentless work ethic. Funmi, her mother, often recounted how even her kindergarten teachers had predicted Ayo's bright future. And Ayo had proven them right at every turn.
With a quick glance, Ayo noticed a boy leaning against the wall near the entrance. His figure was slouched, an air of indifference surrounding him.
She offered a subtle smile and a nod, but he merely stared, awkwardness hanging in the air. "Okay," she muttered, brushing off the encounter with practiced ease. Over the years, Ayo had grown accustomed to being overlooked; it had become a protective armor, shielding her from the hurt of rejection.
The hallway was eerily quiet, save for the soft echo of her footsteps against the polished linoleum floor. Ayo knew the tranquility wouldn't last long. Soon, the hallways would be alive with the lively buzz of chatter and laughter, a chorus of teenage life. As she walked, her gaze flitted to the pristine lockers lining the walls, their bright colors glimmering under the fluorescent lights.
"They must have been renovated," she mused, a flicker of excitement igniting within her. The anticipation of the school coming back to life was palpable, igniting a sense of thrill for the year ahead.
Reaching the end of the hallway, Ayo spotted the long boards displaying students' names. The tiny text seemed even smaller than she remembered from the previous year. "They could literally just send this to our emails," she muttered to herself, irritation lacing her voice. She knew that such a convenient solution wouldn't be implemented until the current principal stepped down—an adamant conservative who believed technology would breed laziness rather than innovation.
Despite her frustration with the outdated methods, Ayo wasn't exactly a tech enthusiast herself. She owned a phone, but it often slipped her mind until her mom called to check in. Unlike her peers, she didn't indulge in the social media craze; the thought of broadcasting her private life to the world felt pointless and, quite frankly, terrifying.
Approaching the first board, Ayo squinted, scanning for her name. Thanks to her keen eyesight—something her mother claimed she inherited from her father—she quickly located "Ayomide Debiri." Her mom would often joke, "I know it for a fact because that's how he spotted someone as beautiful as your mom."
Swiftly retrieving her book and pen from her bag, Ayo transcribed every detail listed under her name with meticulous care. Satisfied, she moved on to a nearby classroom, taking her customary seat at the front. As she settled in, she placed her bag beside her desk, knowing she would have to retrieve her locker keys from the principal's office later. Exhausted from a sleepless night spent worrying about the year ahead, she rested her head on the cool surface of her desk, seeking a fleeting moment of respite.
The sudden ring of the school bell jolted Ayo awake, the cacophony of voices flooding into the room as students poured in. Hastily, she gathered her belongings, retrieving her meticulously organized case filled with an array of pens, pencils, and highlighters. Ayo prided herself on her note-taking skills; her supplies reflected her dedication.
Glancing up at the board, Ayo's heart raced at the sight of her favorite teacher's name: Ms. Sandler. "Ms. Sandler?" The disbelief laced her voice, her excitement bubbling beneath the surface.
Ms. Sandler was the one teacher with whom Ayo felt most at ease. She had yearned for Ms. Sandler to be her homeroom teacher, and now it seemed her wish had come true.
"Ayomide," Ms. Sandler greeted warmly, looking up from her grading, their eyes meeting in a shared moment of recognition.
"Yes, ma'am," Ayo replied, a broad smile illuminating her face. Ms. Sandler was one of the few people who could pronounce her name correctly, and that small detail endeared the teacher to Ayo. "How was your summer, sweetie?"
Ayo paused, considering her response. She settled on a simple "good," knowing it would require no further inquiry. In truth, her summer had been pleasantly uneventful, a perfect backdrop to the whirlwind that lay ahead.
"I'm glad to hear that. If I recall correctly, you're supposed to be in grade 12 now?" Ms. Sandler prompted, eliciting a nod from Ayo. "Then you're not supposed to be in this class. Have you checked the wall board?"
A sudden realization washed over Ayo as unfamiliar faces came into focus. These were 11th graders, and she didn't belong here.
In a flurry of panic, she hastily gathered her belongings and dashed out of the room, leaving behind a classroom full of puzzled faces and a bemused Ms. Sandler.