The X-Men meets Stranger Things in this coming-of-age tale.
I, Nadine Jackson, believe in science and opportunities, not stories out of a comic book.
So as part of a school project, my friends Imogen 'Aria' Zhang, Marco Martinez, James Ryder and I...
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Time went by as I begin my day with a clear mind; golden pencils were sharpened, textbooks were opened, and the cool filtered breeze tickled the hairs from my skin. Unlike most talented kids, I was passionate about physics, chemistry, and everything scientific.
I probably inherited my nerdiness from my mother, who used to be obsessed in hypothetical and inferences when she was my age.
Paying attention to the intricate formulas on the chalkboard, I jot down notes on how to blend a perfect ratio of chemicals, write a complicated essay discussing Ralph Ellison's Invisible Man, and even highlighted the history terms in a deep shade of purple in case if they would be on the quiz.
But the more that I write, the more graphite powder stained my left hand.
I wanted to use the restroom, but because I fear that I might miss something important, I made a mental note to wash my hands after school.
While the history teacher was teaching the class about the American Revolution, I continued re-reading every passage in my History book when Marco, Aria, and James quietly approached me.
They studied the determination on my face, as I flipped a page from my AP History book. The cool breeze caused my large afro to shake as though it was an active beehive.
Ignoring the eye covering bangs, I continued memorizing George Washington's backstory when I hear Ari clearing her throat:
"Hey Nadine," she says quietly. "Are you doing alright?"
Looking up from my work, I bobbed my head very slowly.
"Uh, yeah," I responded. "Why are you asking me?"
Marco scoffed, "Oh, I don't know, maybe because you were in La La Land ?"
James gives him a wary look. "Marco, knock it off."
"What?" Marco cried. "The teacher has been calling her name for at least five times--"
"Five times?" I repeated, completely horrified.
Glancing around the classroom, I notice everyone had already left the classroom except Marco, Ari, and James.
As the school bells rang their final chime, I find myself sitting behind a large gray desk in a white room filled with emptiness.
In fact, the AP History classroom is spacious to fill at least eight large, dark gray tables, to which they gazed at the cluttered, maghony brown teacher's desk.
Above it is a massive black chalkboard, filled with reminders and homework assignments; but behind the desks, are dozens of ancient textbooks, flashcards, and supplies shoved inside black bookshelves.
Hovering above the shelves are clear windows, which captured a glimpse of the bright azure sky.
Massaging my worn forehead, I ask my friends: "How much did I miss?"
