The Principal's Son

1. Shame

Olivia

"Miss Olivia Quijote, may I speak with you after class?" Mrs. Beth said in front of the whole class.

She interrupted the class to tell me that I had to stay after class. Why the hell? I already have had trouble making friends, so why does she think doing this will help? My week is already going wrong, but she has just made it ten times worse. Mrs. Beth alone had "forgotten" my name and "forgotten" to write my name down on the roster 14 times this week. When she said we had a test, I knew I was screwed. When I tell you that was one of the most complicated tests I have ever taken in math, I wouldn't be exaggerating.

I am two years ahead in math and math only. The rest of subjects like history or English I haven't decided to or had the option to excel in. my mom and I had moved to Ghana in Africa when I was seven years old to get away from my dad. Once we went there, I could not attend a school or even do anything. We lived in hiding for most of our lives in fear that my dad would track us down one day. 

So I had to teach myself everything. While my mom would weave baskets and sell them, I went around our village at night and snuck into foreign student residents and took their different textbooks. I took books of all grade levels and all other subjects, and I would study them. I looked for years, and when I turned 11, I signed up to teach the kids in my village.

I taught them for years. Since they were anywhere from 4-17, English and math basics, everyone in that village had never been to an actual classroom and were all barely able to form sentences in English. It took time and dedication, but finally, they could all learn and understand the slightest bit of English. I felt like this would be my future, and honestly, I was happy. 

I never realized how much teaching affects a person. I wasn't even the one learning, but I was able to bond so much with everyone there, and they made my English and communication skills way better than they would have been if I had just kept this knowledge I had just to myself.

One day a group of foreign exchange students from America came into our village and started to sit in on my lessons. While I was teaching everyone how to spell their names and introduce themselves in more ways than one, they began to take pictures. I never really thought of it until three weeks later, my birthday, and the day they just so happened to be leaving, they offered to take me with them back to America. I had little time to decide, and I didn't want to go. I wanted to stay here a teach and spread my communication skills with all of my students. 

But my mom insisted I go; she convinced me that this was in my best interest and that I should come back when I was rich and famous.

When I arrived in America, everything looked different. It wasn't at all what I remembered. I hadn't been there since I was seven. They brought me back to their high school, and everyone asked if they could get my autograph like I was some famous person. I was just a girl who lived in Africa and taught my village English.

The principal of the high school insisted that I go to her school. I wasn't apprehensive that the school year started in under a month, and I had no clothes and place to live. I hadn't been in America for seven years.

The principal let me live in an apartment complex her husband owns directly across the street from the school. I didn't have to pay for anything. They paid for everything, including my food, clothes, and a new phone, as long as I needed. They said that once I have a stable income, they will stop paying for everything, making me happy. I love how supportive everyone was, especially the principal and her husband, of me coming to this brand new school.

Now that I'm thinking about it, it makes total sense why I have trouble making friends. I mean, I was only famous in SBE because I was smart. I knew what I was doing. So when I moved to Africa, public speaking wasn't an issue for me. I thought Saint BE would be precisely the same since it is the only real memory I have of ever going to school or having friends that I didn't end up teaching.

I am two years ahead because, as I had mentioned earlier, I would steal books while I was in Africa. And the two books I had focused on were the Geometry and Algebra 2 books. Geometry, at first, was complex since my only prior knowledge was from second-grade math. But after a few months, like most things, I was finally able to get the hang of it and move on to Algebra 2. 

I never planned on going to high school; I just planned on helping the kids in my village get at least an elementary level education because they had big plans. They wanted to be doctors, engineers, or travel the world. So I was willing to teach everything I knew to them. I mean, they were my life.

Going to this school made me realize how my confidence wasn't absolute. It was a facade I put up for my students. I didn't want them to be stuck in that small village in Ghana. I wanted them to be what they wanted and not what society has bound them to. They looked after I followed in my footsteps. So I knew I had to be confident and show them everything.

~

I think Mrs. Beth has every right to make me study after class, or well, I have come to two conclusions. One with many logical fallacies and one with minor logical fallacies. The conclusion with many logical fallacies is that she hates me because I am WAY too bright for her class, and maybe I am the reason her daughter or son didn't get in. This wouldn't be true because I'm not sure she has kids or is even married—the one with less logical fallacies, I just wasn't on the roster. I know three other kids in my class, also first-year students, who she forgot to call. So I assume this is the correct, more logical answer.

A rumor I heard about Mrs. Beth was that she is on Meth.

Funny right? It rhymes.

I don't do Meth. I wouldn't recognize someone who is an avid user of Meth. Let us search it up. How does Meth make you act?; Meth: They appear agitated, overtalkative, suspicious, even paranoid. Why does she check all those boxes? That's disturbing, not even going to lie. From being in her class for almost two weeks, I noticed that she talks too much, mostly about things that have nothing to do with style. And she seems agitated and pissed off at the world as it had wronged her.

"Give me the damn phone, Olivia." Mrs. Beth said, grabbing my phone out of my hand.

"That was a bit rude," I said under my breath.

"Detention."

"What did I do?" I said, staring blankly at her.

"You interrupted my class." Mrs. Beth said as the whole class went silent.

If I could punch her and get away with it, I would.

~

"Wadden Tramassa, I want you to stay with Olivia and me to talk after class." Mrs. Beth randomly blurted out.

"Okay, Mrs. Beth," Wadden said, looking around for me.

I had never seen anyone who looked for me when Mrs. Beth called my name or when I got called out during class.

We locked eyes, and he smiled at me. He freaking smiled. I was in awh; I forgot that I was in class and not some romance novel. I couldn't see how tall he was, but it didn't matter to me. He is the most handsome boy I have ever seen, with perfect pale skin and bright blue eyes piercing through my skull. I can't forget to mention his golden hair, almost too blinding to the human eye.

His eyes were a sign of lust or a gesture of sympathy; whatever it was, I didn't care. I loved it.

"Eyes forward."

"Sorry, Mrs. Beth," I said as my face flushed red.

I heard him laugh.

"Wadden, ill see you after class for detention." Mrs. Beth said, turning back to the board.