"Class, we have a new student joining us today! David, please can you introduce yourself to the class?" Every head turned to look at the back of the class where I sat alone.
The first period in maths class and the teacher already asked me the dumbfounding question: to introduce myself. How I dreaded that question; I hated to be put in the spotlight.
Hesitantly, I rose to my feet and gulped. Eyes followed my movement like arrows aimed at its target; me.
"Um, my name is David and I am 16 years old." A few people snickered at my Nigerian tongue. I ignored them and focused on calming my racing heart. "I am a Nigerian and I love playing soccer." It was only recently I discovered that the Americans call football 'soccer'.
"Everyone, the nigger plays soccer!" someone commented loudly from the front row seat. The class roared with laughter and I hung my head, for the first time ashamed of my skin colour. I was from the village; it did not mean I was dumb.
"Harry! Detention after school!" the teacher, Mr William, said. The black-haired boy known as Harry shrugged and gave his seatmate a high-five.
I slowly sank to my seat and tried my best to blink back the tears threaten to fall.
A brown-haired girl in a blue dress caught my attention and she gave me an apologetic smile with a hint of pity. I turned away and focused on the lesson, trying in vain to understand what the teacher taught.
When the bell went for the next period, I grabbed my bag and books and rushed out of the class like my hair was on fire.
I am an outsider. What was I thinking to come here in the first place? That I will make friends and be happy?
Pushing ugly thoughts out of my mind, I made my way to my new locker and entered the combination code. I grabbed my books for the next period and turned to leave for the next class
"Hey, new kid!" I turned to see who called me. The girl from the first period came running after me. "You forgot your notebook."
"Thank you," I muttered.
"Hey, look. About Harry, don't take it personally, okay? That's just how he is."
My lips twisted into a mirthless grin. "'Don't take it personally?' You saw how he insulted me in front of everyone, and you tell me not to take it personally. If you were in my shoes how would you feel?"
"I'm just trying to help—"
"Well, I do not need help from you, Harry or any American. I will be fine on my own." The bell rang for the next period. "Excuse me, I need to get to class, and you do too."
Without a second glance, I left her standing by my locker with a startled look on her face.
☙•❧
I did not see the girl again until the last period.
So far so good. With the constant whispers of the n-word behind my back and silly pranks played on me, like sticking a leg out so that I trip, I would say my day was going great.
The brown-haired girl had withdrawn from me like I had a plague. I felt sad and alone after our disagreement. I sat behind the class brooding on how to apologize to the girl for my rude behaviour when three dark-skinned boys wearing red jackets walked into the biology class.
"Tyler, Daniel, Damien, you cannot just waltz in here and pretend like you own the place. You're late," the biology teacher, Mr Miller, said.
"You're old too," smirked one of the boys wearing a red beanie. The class sniggered at his comment. I widened my eyes at the public display of disrespect. American schools are different from Nigerian schools, I thought.
"Join the class," the teacher sighed and went back to teaching about 'The Nitrogen Cycle. As the boys walked down the aisle, I noticed that the class was almost silent and nobody dared to call them the n-word.
The boy with the beanie scanned the classroom, probably looking for a spot to sit, when his gaze landed on me. He gave me a small smile and sauntered to where I sat while the other two boys sat with some girls.
"Yo, is this seat taken?" he asked, pointing to the seat beside me. I shook my head and he sat beside me. "So, you're the new kid everyone's been talking 'bout?"
Everyone had been talking about me? Warily, I replied positive.
"Where are from?"
"Nigeria."
He hummed and focused on the lesson. After a while, he turned back to me. "So, how old are you?"
"I am 16."
"How do you like it here?"
"Why do you ask so much questions?"
"Do you reply a question with a question?"
"If I do, what is wrong with that?" I asked, jutting out my chin in defiance. He stared at me for a while, and I did same with equal intensity.
Then his face broke out into a smile which widened into a grin. "You know what, kid? I like you. How would you like to hang out with us?"