|Imran Adebayo Ibrahim|
"And that concludes today's magical adventure into Chemistry." Mr. Berkeley announced and everybody sighed, signifying they hated his humor.
No them alone, I despise the old man's dad-jokes. We're all victims of such — something that always amuses me is the fact that all old people lose their sense of humor and wits, always inserting humor at the wrong time. He once joked about how Gay Lussac who founded the law of diffusion in Chemistry was a LGBTQ activist all because of the Gay first name he had. It wasn't funny, but sad, sad in a way I couldn't comprehend.
"One day you'll know my worth." He imitated a character in Lord Of The Rings. Another challenge he had was that he was bad at imitation and no one cared to tell him, I think the character he was trying to imitate was that short guy (smiggule) — I have never seen the movie or read the book.
The students sighed again and he scoffed, arranging his textbooks accordingly. He was about to leave our class but was stopped by someone I've never seen before. Probably a senior.
He barged inside our classroom, sweating like a Ram on Eid's. He was wearing a Clippers sport uniform. I was surprised to see someone for the first time in my life not supporting the Lakers. Not that I know anything about basketball but what I was absolutely sure about was that the Lakers are better than the Clippers.
His afro was halved. He surely was a senior, he was bigger than me three times multiplied.
"Mr. Berkeley, wait!" He yelled, still trying to catch his breath.
Obviously intimidated by how perfect he looked, I scanned the whole students faces and the girls were all going goo-goo for him. But the boys? Frown they all did. I love the meninist vibes in the class at that moment.
We weren't going to allow a senior to hook up with girls we had a chance with — not a chance in hell.
"Alvarez, you're going to fail my class for the second time if you keep missing my class."
The senior blocked Mr. Berkeley's way with his arm. He definitely is a senior. "Sir, you've gotta believe me. My classes are messed up as shit." He explained.
"Seventy-five percent attendance is all I ask of you, without that you're not going to write my exam Omar." Mr. Berkeley ignored his legit plight and showed his mind was already decided.
Omar Alvarez.
I did a little background check on every Omar that was in Midtown high and all photos pointed to the junior who was harrowed badly and had to drop out from school — and that's Omar Alvarez. But he looked a lot different from the kid in weird glasses and braces in the school's 2016 yearbook.
"I seriously can't help you with the attendance, you've missed twenty percent of your CA. But you can work hard on your exam and class project. I can reconsider and give you a C." That stingy geezer, in all the two weeks I had done in Midtown high, I have never scored anything above a ninety-five — even though I was the highest.
Omar gasped loudly, "buh, I told you 'bout it. My old man's gonna kill me if I get a C in chemistry. And what project are you capping about?"
His nerves amazes me also. But if he keep up with that attitude he might get an F because no one would want to partner up with a bully, besides we've already being grouped, I made sure I fell into Sahar and Francis' group — I started school in the middle of the semester so I ought to coupled up with gifted minds like those two.
"That's been sorted out already. Isn't that right?" Mr. Berkeley questioned, facing us.
"Totally!" The little meninist group chorused in vexation.
"But, I can do you a favor and fix you with this class' best students."
Happiness could be seen in Omar's desperate eyes, "thank you sir." He nearly hugged Mr. Berkeley.
Wait a minute? We were the three brightest stars in our class. Simultaneously, the three of us frowned at Mr. Berkeley for him to stop what he was about to do.
"I guess you can join Sahar's group."
The fuck is wrong with that old man? I've had enough on my plate than to work on a project with my adversary.
"Thank you so much Mr. Berkeley." Omar thanked, nearly jumping in the air and kissing the old man's chalky feet.
My insecurity grew thicker and it enveloped me. He was intimidating and yet I was intimidated by every American student I came across at Atlanta. As he took the empty seat that was supposed to be Francis' my nervousness kicked in instantly. I couldn't help but look at everything that he had that was my flaws: his perfectly trimmed brows, his smooth pimple-free face, his skin tone and everything I dare not ask for and not be seen as ungrateful.
"Hi. Your the new kid, right?"
I could feel his breath on my face. Even his breath smells nice.
"Nice hair." All I could think of was to compliment my adversary.
"This is the way we're doin' it pandejó." Sahar drew her seat closer to mine, flashing frowns at Omar and suddenly I felt happy, "you are following my orders, you're not the boss of us — right?" Sahar inquired, facing me and Francis for our opinion.
"Yeah." My vocal cords decided to increase their volume. I was overjoyed that Sahar and Omar are on bad terms. It was time for me to brainstorm good ideas quickly. "What are we doing? I think we all should make a neutron detector." I suggested, knowing well that a neutron projector was a project that can never be done by highschool kids.
"You sure?" Omar inquired, "I mean no harm bruh, but y'all know that it's impossible."
In that moment, I felt a surge of bitter disappointment and frustration as my carefully thought-out idea for a neutron detector was summarily rejected by good-for-nothing Omar Alvarez. My face contorted with a mix of anger and envy, and my eyes narrowed with a seething resentment as I watched him willing to take credit for a concept I had worked so hard to create.
"Nothing is impossible." Francis took my side, "I think we can make it."
Sahar sucked on her teeth, "I think I'll agree with Omar," saying that my heart thumped, "a neutron detector is a wild project we'll spend a lot on getting it done, just because of an A? Besides, my pa doesn't have that kind of cash." She explained, and for the first time of my stay in Atlanta I felt irritated by Sahar's accent. I was slightly angry at her for inadvertently calling my idea stupid.
"Okay, come up with something, ọmọ ode." I uttered with a venomous hiss, slipping from my lips in a hushed — angry whisper.
Fool.
"What did you just call me?" Omar furrowed an eyebrow.
Anxiety crawled inside my skin as he threw a death glare at me. He looked like he was going to murder me. "I said you should come up with something." I corrected my angry and rude sentences.
"A'ight. I think we should work on stain removal gas. I mean we know all the basic chemicals that could wipe off stains, why can't we just evaporate them into one another? I mean we're gonna get an A easily. Who's with me?" Omar said with a smug look on his face.
"I love your idea Imran, but Omar's is just as easy as naming the first-fifty elements. I think we should go with him." Sahar said and I could perceive her dishonesty, she never liked my idea not to talk of love — she was just trying to be nice and that was just pissing me off. "Or Fran, do you have any ideas of your own?" She questioned, looking at Francis.
Francis was surprised and beads of sweat started forming on his forehead as the three of us stared at him, waiting for his opinion. He sure was nervous, he was mute for some minutes before the word he had perfectly recited inside his head came flying out of his mouth. "I think we should work on the stain removal gas." He answered, smiling at Omar like a little prick he was.
Such a betrayer! I thought I was his friend.
"Dawg, what do you say? Do we go with my gas-idea?" He turned at me, giving a mischievous glance.
I despised the expression on his face, as if he had attained something I longed for deeply. While my feelings for Sahar were unmistakable, I had always managed to avoid any humiliation in his presence. But the question was: How did he discover my affection for Sahar? All I could contemplate was punching his pretty face and yanking off his tightly coiled locks. However, I hesitated, mindful of not wanting to be labeled as a 'violent Nigerian.' I promptly rose from my seat, determined to exit the toxic atmosphere our small group had unwittingly created.
"Where are you going?" Francis inquired, grabbing my hands from the back.
I slowly yanked my hand off his, I was angry at Omar and not him so I hesitated in losing the one first friend I had managed to make.
"Probably going back to Nigeria." Omar snickered.
"Excuse me." I breathed, not wanting to fight with the guy that could easily break me in two. I had no choice than to retreat.
On my way out of the classroom, I could hear Sahar and Omar arguing, a smile crept out of my mouth as I heard Sahar defending me.
"That's not cool Omar, you always do that. I never should have allowed you in my group." She intoned, every word laced with anger.
Anger is fine for me though.
Author's Note
Well hello there y'all. I'm so sorry this chapter was short, I apologize for that. How've you been? I've never two-timed on Wattpad before so I haven't been great. Enough about me tho, we all have that teacher that always wants to be funny or liked by students — comment down your own my Berkeley — and what idea would you choose if you were in Sahar's group? I know y'all are lazy, so I know the obvious answer.
Either ways; comment, fan and vote. See you in the next chapter!
Glossary
1. Eid: Eids are occasions of joy, prayer, feasting for Muslims and giving to those in need.
2. Meninist: is the masculine of feminist.
3. Ọmọ ode: Yoruba language for fool