Chapter 5: The Shift
There are moments in life you remember forever—moments that stay in the back of your mind, forgotten memories, memories that shape your perspective on the future and who you are. This was one of those moments.
Friday, February 21st 2020. The day started as usual, a typical repetition of a basic week. With the air as dry as a desert and the sun as scorching as ever, Varnara was the hottest place on Earth, after all. The only thing keeping me going was my Kirby's [fast food] gift voucher I was to get in a week and the thought of perhaps getting a Prefect badge. We were outside with Mr. Hariss for P.E. [It seems nothing good ever happens to me in P.E.]
"Go play cricket," he said, as if hitting a ball with a bat would make the heat more bearable.
Amearo Perez was the batter on the opposing team—the sweetest human on Earth, though his size and eating habits made him an easy target for constant teasing. [It's a shame, as he was such a darling once you got to know him.]
As he held the makeshift bat, gripping it with both hands—one on top of the other—his legs sprawled as he took his stance, shorts clinging to his body, barely holding together. His face was calm, unreadable, like he'd done this a thousand times. His dark skin glimmered in the sun as sweat dripped from his face. It was like watching a professional athlete. His batting was marvelous, as if the sport was made solely for him. "And the rest of us? Just extras in His game."
With batting like that, who wouldn't cheer? So I did. I mean, what's wrong with clapping for your fellow classmate, especially in a friendly game of cricket, even if you're on opposing teams? Matter of fact, I wasn't even playing—because everyone who knows me knows I hate sports, especially in the heat. But, of course, SHE took offense as if everything I did offended her in every way—my very existence, as irritating as every breath I took. Jasmine Dennis, head girl, top student, and Mr. Coward's prized personnel.
I'd like to think we were the bane of each other's existence in middle school.
"What's wrong with you? He's not even on your team, you idiot!"
"Dumb bitch!" she yelled as if we weren't standing right in front of each other.
What do you even say to that? I don't know. But I wasn't the same person I am today, and words just fell out. I didn't curse her though—surely you'd think I might have a lot to say after years of her snobby attitude, but I didn't. She was a bully, and bullies really don't deserve any of my time, so I walked away. This once.
I walked away, and what did the brat do? She went running.
I remember asking her about this a few years ago, why she did it, and crazy enough, she didn't know. She told Coward I was being rude to her, and after I had reiterated the story to him and almost all the major school faculty a million times—what she said and what happened—I started to sound like a broken record playing the blame game with a pair of AirPods. It was no use; my story never changed, yet none believed me—or rather, they didn't care.
Weren't there people around to back up your story? Yes, there were. Yet, none wanted to speak up. That was the end for me. I could feel myself break from the inside. And after what felt like forever, Coward spoke to me. His bald spot shining in the spotlight by the door, his white shirt buttoned all the way to the top, cane in one hand as he leaned onto the door frame.
Do you remember what I said about moments you remember forever? Yeah, well, this was that.
"You think you're special, don't you? You're a lying and jealous little girl with a very bad attitude, Miss Young, and you'll see where you go in life," he yelled at my face, as if I were nothing but a piece of trash at his feet. Jasmine smirked at his side while the entire class went silent.
I felt my entire soul shift as if the emotions I'd bottled up over the past few months had spilled out—my fingers itching from the idea of confrontation, my body hot and stressed from the whole situation. Yet, for the first time in my life, I talked back to a teacher.
"Well, sir, I am gonna go real far, and we'll see what happens to you. I'm not jealous of anybody, and I know my mother didn't raise a liar, so you don't have to believe me," I yelled back.
"Get out of my classroom," he said, asserting whatever dominance he had left in his old age.
And I left. I sat outside the office for an hour and then went home when the bell rang. Honestly, I never went back to one of Mr. Coward's classes after that. I finished school three months later, taking private lessons instead.
A week after I left his classroom, I was supposed to receive my Chefette gift voucher for reading to the younger kids in the library—something I was looking forward to. I didn't need to ask about it, as the answer came to me. The principal, in their unbiased way, basically told me I wouldn't be receiving it as she didn't believe me. She thought I was lying, and with no proof, that was my punishment. With the voucher gone, so was the prospect of a badge. The whole thing felt like another slap in the face—something else I had worked for, only to be dismissed. It was as if my effort didn't count, and it hurt. But I was learning not to let small things break me, though it still stung.
I saw Mr. Coward at graduation, forever in his fully buttoned shirt and dress pants. He looked at me with a grin in his eyes, as if he thought I would never accomplish anything.
"Hello, Miss Young. What school are you going to now? I hope it's not somewhere bad like St. Patrick's, though it doesn't matter where you go—it's what you do when you get there. Jasmine is going to Fractions, did you know?" he said, almost gloating.
"Yes, sure. Well, good luck to her. I'm going to Aldania, so I'm sure I'll be fine. I hear they say it's one of the top 5 high schools in the country, right?"
I knew I got him. I could see the glimmer leave his eyes as he scurried away, muttering "congratulations" under his breath.
I forgave Coward that day, because I didn't want to hold on to all that anger knowing I'd never see him again. But that moment in that class was the building block of my personality today. Mr. Coward unknowingly gave me the greatest lesson of all time: how to stand up for myself. He didn't hit me nor curse me. But some scars don't come from hands—they come from words. And the truth is, he wasn't just attacking me. He was attacking every part of me I hadn't learned to love yet. That day, I decided to love louder and to love longer. Because if I don't do it, who will?