Josephine tied her long hair into a neat bun at her nape, carefully tucking any stray strand behind her ear. She put on her old, trusted watch, a birthday gift from her grandfather on her 16th birthday. She smoothed her hands over her pale green blouse and gray slacks, today's designated uniform, then slipped on her low-heeled black pumps. With her slim figure and her face devoid of makeup except for a thin layer of colorless lip balm, she could still pass for a high-school senior. On her earlobes were her favorite diamond stud earrings that were so tiny, they were hardly noticeable. Friends would ask her why she even bothered to wear them. "Just to keep the holes open.", she would explain. She then grabbed her bags and books and left her room, locking the door behind her.
She strode past the staircase to another room on the opposite end of the hallway and tapped lightly on the door. "Uncle Laom?" There was no answer. "He must be downstairs.", she thought as she hurried down to the second floor where there were two rooms, one named 'Keiko' and the other one 'Kenji'. Named after her uncle's estranged Japanese wife and their only son, they were used for meetings and art lessons. Josephine found him in the Kenji room, busy at work. He was a painter with several awards to his name.
She paused at the doorway, watching him move his brush over the canvas, his eyebrows creased in concentration. Paglaom Sacay, as he was known in the world of art, was her dad's half brother and her mentor. Everything she knew about painting, she learned from Uncle Laom. It was he who caught her, at ten years old, hiding her drawings underneath her mattress for fear of her dad's scolding. It was he who secretly nurtured her gift.
"Uncle, I'll go ahead." She lightly pecked his cheek.
"Okay, take care.", he mumbled, hardly giving her a glance. She was almost at the door when he stopped her. "Your dad called."
She frowned. "What does he want?"
Uncle Laom lightly shrugged his shoulders. "You should talk to him."
"I have to go, Uncle.", she muttered, ending the discussion. That would be the worst idea, she thought. To tell her engineer-dad that his only daughter the Math whiz, was making herself busy in the art world, would be tantamount to suicide. Because he would make sure that she wouldn't come within a mile's reach of another paintbrush. That would surely be her death. If she loved numbers, then she lived and breathed art. She sighed and hurried down the steps.
Alighting on the first floor, she stepped past her uncle's 'showroom' where his paintings were on display and available for sale, into the kitchen and through a side door. A short distance away was the street corner where a number of tricycles were lined up.
"St. Lawrence, ma'am?" The first driver glanced at her uniform.
"Yes, please." And she settled into the sidecar.
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Within five minutes, she was at the gate of St. Lawrence High School, a co-educational private school run by Catholic sisters. A number of high school students were scattered on the school grounds, enjoying recess time.
"Good morning, Teacher!" A group of sophomore boys and girls greeted Josephine as she entered the main building.
She smiled at them. "Good morning! Did you study for your quiz?"
"Yes, Teacher.", they chirped in unison. Several other students greeted her as she made her way to the Faculty Room on the second floor. It was a little more than a year ago when she entered the school's portals and the guard didn't believe her when she told him she was applying for a job as an Algebra teacher. He thought she was a college student coming to fetch her younger sister.
