***
Somewhere close, a bell jingled. The richness of this sound filled my ears and wrapped me in a tingling cloak. To everyone else, the bell only served to usher in eight hours of sitting down, watching men and woman flaunt their expertise. But to me, the ringing bell meant much more. It officially announced eight hours of undisturbed freedom.
For the next few hours, I would enjoy relative bliss, breathing in unadulterated air. But, in a while, my time would be up. I would hear the closing bell. The same sound that brought me comfort would snatch it from my grasp without any qualms, and against my will I would stuff my books into my backpack and drag myself back home, into the rusty old arms of slavery.
Slipping through the school gate, I started toward the two-story building standing tall and prestigious in my line of sight. The building's red bricks gave off a western setting I admired. Since its founding, Western High had won several awards for its unique ambience and physical environment, organization, staff quality, and exceptional student performance. To top it all, they delivered this package at a price affordable for the exclusively rich who could spend millions on one child's educational concern and yet, their pockets would not groan.
A disquieting silence embraced me as I made for the stairs. I squinted at the pitch-black leather wristwatch Amarachi had bought me last session. 9:37am and ticking without mercy.
I shook my head at the person I'd been forced to become. Who would believe I woke up by 4:30am every day?
I would do anything to stop being late for school. But each day, I ran in long after the corridors had emptied its occupants into classes. Victoria Brown, the award winning latecomer in all of Western High. Not cool.
People would always talk. The facts never mattered to anyone. They only wanted someone to be the object of their derision. And at Western High, I fit the bill in ways more than one.
Gripping the ornate wrought iron handrail, I mounted the stairs leading to my class. My lower back felt like a rock had been placed on it. After the arduous chores I had been forced to battle with for four hours, and the glaring distance I walked to school, maintaining a proper posture posed a challenge I didn't know how to tackle.
The damp fabric of my white long-sleeve clung to my torso. I couldn't be happier our uniform had a navy blue waist coat to hide my hopeless perspiration. How would I survive the day when I had already died from the start?
A throbbing pain in my head caused me to halt. My headache had awakened. For the past few days it had become an unwanted best friend, coming and going as it saw fit. It would persist, hammering as hard as it dared. Sometimes, I feared I would never escape its clutches.
"Heeey, easy!" a deep and unfamiliar voice said from behind me.
I didn't need to turn to know my abrupt halt had almost caused 'him' to crash into me. Apologizing for the inconvenience would be in order, but his next words stopped me cold.
"What are you? Sleepwalker or zombie?"
Anger welled through me, swelled like a bubble and threatened to burst. Everyone knew me as the greatest latecomer ever, but the terms 'sleepwalker' and 'zombie' had never been heard. Had those become my new tags?
Amidst my wounded pride, his voice swirled around in my head. From his accent, I could tell he was no Nigerian. With its syrupy r's and e's, it was probably American.
A familiar throbbing in my head jolted me out of my thoughts. Gripping the straps of my backpack, I whirled around to descend the stairs, but found myself staring at an emerald-eyed boy I had never seen before.
His skin, a flawless olive shade, held a glow to die for. Silky, raven hair, styled in a spiked faux hawk pulled me in, bringing to mind those celebrities on TV. For a moment, I gaped. He probably believed I gawked at him because I'd never come face-to-face with a foreigner, but then he would be a fool to think that, because we had over a dozen of them in our school.
A sudden wave of self-consciousness swept me over as my gaze fell on his finely sculpted nose as opposed to my average Nigerian nose. How did he breathe with nostrils barely as wide as buttons?
My gaze traveled along the length of his slender build. Although he stood one step below, I noted he lingered on the tall side, probably three inches taller than my hopeless 5'4. My gaze lingering on his face, I mentally shook my head at the generous spray of stubbles framing his high cheek bones. I looked forward to the look on his face when our principal asked him to get rid of his facial hair.
A familiar pinching sensation in my nose overwhelmed me, severing my thoughts. A sneeze forced its way out, jerking my head forward and almost knocking it into 'Mr. White'. I hadn't seen that coming, at least not until the final moment. Gross.
If I hadn't been fast enough to pinch my nose while I sneezed, all hell would have broken loose. And in his face. It would have been a really snotty moment. Double gross.
An apology would be in order, but I didn't give myself a chance. Tugging at my collar, I descended the stairs, taking two at a time. I could feel Mr. White's gaze bore a hole through me. Other than being a zombie and a sleepwalker, I had also ended up becoming a clown for his entertainment. How awkward could our encounter get? Sneezing didn't make a crime, but doing it in someone's face did.
Musing over the mess I had just made of myself caused me to fall sick all over again. I needed the sickbay. Class could wait. I needed something to quell the throbbing pain inside my head. And apart from that, I needed to stay away from Mr. White. Amarachi would laugh so hard when she heard of my recent blunders. Two in a row. Just perfect.
I walked as fast as my back ache permitted. As luck had it, no teachers were in sight so I didn't have to answer to anyone for loitering during school hours. We had Literature-a subject I could easily understand-for first period, so missing this class would not affect my performance. Or so I hoped.