Disaster Class

13. the rest of the idiotic pack

But when I place my bag on my preferred chair, I hear a familiar voice saying, "You can't sit there."

Florence Lin. Third row, right next to the wall. And sitting right beside her is baseball bubblegum princess herself, Kitty Coleridge, hosting a Tiktok live on her phone.

"Why not?" I ask, walking closer to them.

"First row's reserved for students who are lagging behind," she says. "Ms. Okoro's rules."

That's... considerate. I guess other seats will do. Maybe I can sit next to these girls, since I'm already acquainted with them. Not in the best of terms, but at least I've spoken to them before.

I prop my bag on the chair in front of Lin's.

"Seat's taken," she says.

"There's literally nobody here."

"Taken," she only repeats.

"Fine." I snatch my bag and transfer it to the chair in front of Kitty's. "Am I good here?"

Lin sits back and drapes an arm over Kitty's shoulders. I'll take that as a yes.

Second row, second column from the wall. This is totally out of the teacher's eyesight. What if she won't see me raising my hand for recitation? Oh, well. It's better than backbenching.

I fish my phone out as I settle in my seat. 

          Hey, are you in school yet?
          Sent 7:58 a.m.

As soon as the text delivers to Mack, a teacher enters the room. The click of her heels cut through the noise, along with her voice saying, "Alright, alright. Settle down. I'm excited to start the midterms, too."

Ms. Okoro, a new teacher at St. Madeleine. I did a quick check of her academy profile when I learned she'd be my new class adviser, and she seems legit. Harvard graduate, teaches literature. Looking at her now as she strides towards her table, she looks like no other English teacher I've had before. This woman actually has style. No gaudy beads on her neck. No Ms. Frizzle rip-off dresses. Just a three-piece pantsuit tailored to perfection, hoop earrings that dangle under her afro, and D'orsay pumps that sound like power every time she takes a step.

"Good morning," she says, sitting on the edge of her table.

I stand up as an instinct. Dr. Goldman preferred it when we stood up and greeted him with a bow. "Good morning, Ms. Okoro," I say, bending forwards.

The class erupts in laughter, and I sink down to my seat, my face flashing hot with shame.

"We don't do that here," Kitty informs, leaning over from her seat.

"Yes, Kitty, I gathered. Thank you."

"Okay, settle down," the teacher chastises the class, and the snickering stops. "He's new, don't persecute him. But yes, Mr. —" She looks at her clipboard. "—Gray-Gomez, we do not bow in this classroom. Especially not to me. I am not a monarch. Well, not technically." She winks.

"Welcome to the D-Class," she addresses me. "I'll give you time to introduce yourself later. But first, a few announcements." Ms. Okoro lists off a couple of notices; club openings, prom committee recruitments, etcetera. Afterwards, she clicks her pen. "Attendance check!"

I ready myself to raise my hand and say "Present" but they don't check the attendance the same way Dr. Goldman does.

"Anyone missing from the pact?" Ms. Okoro asks.

"Rafael's running late, Ms. Okoro," Eraser Boy informs. He didn't even raise his hand. Is that not a thing in the class, too? Why is everything so different here?