Chasing Possibilities

The Throwback

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Nervous heart thumping hard beneath the thin layer of my school uniform. First day of the school year. I hate first day of classes just as much as I hate Mondays. Today I am now a fifth grader. Two more years and I'll be in high school. Two more years and I'll be a teenager.

Nerves are hyperactive as I stand at the other side of the section Molave classroom door with wide nervous eyes. I look up at the classroom sign - yes, correct room. I take a deep breath and release it in a slow motion. This is it. New school. New classmates. New Teacher. New faces. No friends. Doom!

My nerve-wracking, negative pep talking is disturbed by a sharp tap on my shoulder and I turn around so abruptly I knocked the other person's lunch box in the process. Clumsy! I dive in a flash to help retrieve the lunch box from the floor and hit my head with the other person's head. Strike two!

With my bruised head I stand up carefully and take a step backwards. I have to blink a couple of times to steady my twinkling vision. When I finally recover, I see a boy of the same age as I am standing in front of me with a lunch box on one hand and his other hand rubbing his head. Oh gosh.

"I'm sorry." I say shyly. I can't pull myself to look at him so I settle for his shoes. Such shiny Doc Martens boots he have. Expensive and really neat. His parents have very good taste.

"You're new here." It's not even a question.

I look up and see him smiling. There is something about him that makes me want to run to him and hug him. I know right then and there, we will be good friends.

"You in the same class?" He asks pointing at the classroom sign and I nod, too shy to say a word. "Come on. Sit beside me." He taps my shoulder with the same hand that he use to rub his bruised forehead and gets inside the room.

The classroom chairs, around 40 brown wooden armchairs, are lined up in four rows, five columns. Each column has a pair of eight chairs.

Most of the front row chairs are already taken by talking and laughing students. They all know each other while I don't know any body from this class, from this school.

The boy with the bruised forehead waves his hand above his head and calls out to me. "Here. Sit here." He says aloud above all the chattering students.

I realize I am still standing by the door, too stunned and too scared to move. He waves his hand again and I force myself to move my feet towards his direction.

I reach him and he offers me the seat beside him. We are sitting at the last two seats in the third column. Perfect spot. Right in the middle of the room. Perfect for a good view of the board in front yet far enough from the teacher if we want to avoid getting called on recitations. Clever choice.

I scan the whole room with my eyes and see how different it looks from my previous school. Mahogany colored shelves on either side and bare off-white walls all around. In my old school, the walls are filled with charts of all kinds of educational stuff. Here the only thing you see in front is a calendar near the door and the big white board that almost covers the whole front wall. Very simple. And I like it. Very much. No distracting materials anywhere.

I glance to my side and I see bruise boy watching me with curiosity. Who is this boy?

"Bryce Philip Tecson." He stretch out his hand for a hand shake and I take it.

"Haeley Sarsona." And we shake hands.

"Friends." He shake our hands a few more times and let go. I am liking him already.