What Are The Odds?

Amy stands in front of her locker, cussing and muttering as she wipes the remnants of the tomato off her book. She has cleaned the juice that was splattered on her face as she walked into the school, but her book had been the one that had taken the brunt of the assault.

It was lucky that her reflexes were fast else she’d have been well on her way to being named Tomato Pie before the day ran out.

She pulls another tissue from her locker, groans, and begins to wipe the book. It is no good, she knows, because the book is already soaked through. Nonetheless, she hopes to at least eradicate the red stain on the book.

When the cover page of the book sloughs off because of her vigorous scrubbing, she lets out another groan in anger and bundles up the tissue into a soft, soggy ball and throws it down along with the other tissue papers she has wadded up.

She groans again and stands staring from book to pile of soggy tissue to book and back. Her face is red and her glasses are balanced precariously on her face, but she does not care to correct the glasses this time.

A girl walks timidly behind Amy, caught in-between decisions.

            “Um… Amy?”

Amy hangs her head low, staring daggers at the floor. The girl is leaning over the side of Amy’s head to see if she can draw her attention. She turns left and right as if checking the perimeter, “psst!” She whispers.

            “Amy? Amy—”

            “What! Haven’t you done enough already? For the last time, Scott, leave me alone!”

Amy clenches her fist as anger radiates through her.

            “And for God’s sake, don’t stand behind me like that! Don’t you have anything better to d—” Amy turns and faces the girl who is standing a distance away, positively shocked and wide-eyed. She is a head taller than Amy and has beautiful brown skin. Amy sees the hurt in her eyes and her gaze softens.

            “Omigod, Kosy, I’m so sorry.” Amy places a hand on the girl’s shoulder and drags her into an embrace. “I didn’t know it was you. I was…”

Amy sighs and suddenly, she is tired.

            “I thought it was Scott trying to pick on me again.”

The girl smirks and shakes her head. Then she laughs—a broken laughter that sounds like clear, tinkling bells and running spring water.

“When will you ever learn, Amy? My name’s not pronounced Kosai. It’s Kosi. Koh-see.” She chides. “And I’ve also told you that it’s short for Ka’osisŏ Chukwu.”

Amy stares, then blinks. Kosi laughs and slaps her arm affectionately, “come off it, Amy.”

Then they break into laughter. Amy has never been able to pronounce the name of her best friend and she probably never will.

            Kosi’s long eyelashes flutter and she turns to Amy. “Guess what?”

            “What?”

            “Just guess.”

Amy looks exasperated. “You know I’m horrible at this guessing thing, Kosi.”

            “Be that as it may, still guess.” Kosi opens her mouth in a giggle and quickly covers it with her hands, but not before Amy has seen the braces that have lined her teeth since they were both pre-teenagers.

Amy scrunches up her face, trying to look as if she is in deep thought, and looks Kosi in the face. Kosi smiles back encouragingly, nodding and covering her mouth with her hands.

            “Uh… let’s see. You didn’t get that new textbook, did you?”

            “Nope!”

            “Uh… A new chemistry set?”

            “Close, but no.”

            “Hm. You’re not pregnant, are you?”

            “I assure you, if that were the case, you would be the first to know. No. It’s still wrong.”

Kosi is bobbing up and down on her feet now, enjoying the suspense. Amy looks defeated and sighs, raising her hands up.

            “Okay, Kosi. I give up. What is it?”

Kosi is near fit to burst. As she opens her mouth, the bells ring and Amy’s mood dampens. Kosi still grins like a child that has just found a hidden candy stash and is hopped-up on sugar.

            “After school.” Kosi says and touches her nose with a finger, then touches Amy’s too, and she speeds off making a sound like a siren which disappears with her around the corner. Amy touches a finger to her nose and points in Kosi’s direction with a sparkle in her eyes. She laughs at the entire thing and then looks down at her book and scoffs. The locker door slams with a bang as Amy runs down the halls, trying to make it to the class on time.

            A large analogue clock in the corridor strikes 8:00AM and Amy cusses. By the time she gets to the class, the teacher is already in and speaking. Bowing her head, she eases the door as gently as possible, hoping against hope that the door does not creak, or that somehow, the teacher and the fifteen-odd students in the class will totally miss her entering the class. Of course, no such thing happens. The door swings open—

            “—And… we thank you for deciding to join us, Miss Amy. Your approval of our worthiness is… most appreciated.”

Amy stands flushed against the door, head hung low and biting her lips.

            “Sorry, Mr. Matthews.”

            “Why, heavens no, Amy, don’t be silly. What would we ever do without you?” Mr. Matthews says.

The scorn on his face turns into an exasperated sigh. “This is the second time this week already, and the week just started yesterday. You’re late.”

He holds a book in his hand and a pointer. The stare he fixes her with is cold and forbidding; she finds herself apologizing again.

            “Be that as it may, Miss John. If you get to a third, I would have to send you to detention and write a letter to your father, informing him that our star student is suddenly deciding to play truant.”

She gazes into his eyes and he holds her gaze for a moment, then drops his book onto the table in front of the class. “You may have your seat.”

            “Thank you, sir.”

Mr. Matthews walks to the board at the front of the class and wipes some writings away. He scribbles the title, Evolution, onto the board. He turns back to face the class and snaps at a boy who is inserting his finger into his nose. Amy walks to a seat in the middle row of the class and drops her bag next to the chair.

Kosi smiles encouragingly from Amy’s left. Amy throws something at her and mouths at her to shut up. Kosi flashes her teeth. She gives Amy a thumbs-up sign and Amy shakes her head.

Mr. Matthews has picked up his book again and he paces in front of the class, pale face buried in the textbook. He nods and raises his head.

            “So, we’ll be talking about evolution today,” Mr. Matthews says. “Anyone got any idea what evolution means?”

He looks around but apart from the enthusiastic hand of Kosi that is shot up, and a cowering Amy who is still bowing her head, the class stares back at him like fish at a piece of bread.

            “Anyone? Hmm?”

            “Sir,” Kosi’s hand is stretched full to the heavens and she is fidgety in her seat.

            “Anyone… come on. Just try. Seriously, anyone.” His laughter is awkward.

            “Sir…”Kosi calls, an edge of desperation to her voice. Amy buries her head lower.

            “Come on, people. Just try.”

Kosi jumps to her feet, “please, Sir!” 

            “Anyone but you, Kosi!” he snaps. Kosi lowers herself to her seat.

He smiles desperately, searching round the class with his eyes. He groans and palms his face. With a sigh, he turns.

            “Yes, Kosi.” The words are a drawl, as if he intends to mar the name by his pronunciation alone. His pronunciation is wrong.

Kosi all but jumps out of her seat. Instead, she beams her most radiant smile and rises, the embroidered flowers on her jeans ruffling.

            “Thank you, sir. You see, evolution has many different definitions and is used in different fields and as such, the terminology might differ per field use, but generally, sir, evolution is a process of change, usually often gradual.”

Mr. Matthews does his best to hide the disappointment in his eyes and gazes instead, out of the class. “Thank you, Kosi. That is indeed correct, evolution is a process of change. I would expect the rest of you knuckleheads to remember that the next time I ask. And if you’re foolish enough to let the only black girl in the state to emerge valedictorian again, I will have to write to your parents to consider alternative schooling solutions for you.”

Kosi shrinks back a little in her seat, her face going slack, a mask in place of her emotions. She stares at Mr. Matthews but he seems unbothered by the fact that her attention is pin-pointed on him, unwavering. Some students in the class glance once or twice at Kosi, but otherwise, they pay her no attention, pretending not to notice her.

Amy buries her head.

            Mr. Matthews continues to drone on, no longer asking questions, because he knows not to expect answers this time around. Before thirty minutes have gone, more than half of the class is either dozing or has dozed off. Mr. Matthews continues, unobservant. Amy watches Kosi from her side.

Kosi is unmoving, unflinching. Her gaze is still trained on the teacher at the front, but there is no spark in her eyes. She remains in the same position she is. A bell sounds, and like magic, everyone is revived; awake and running out the door.

Amy picks up her bag and tries to move but falls heavily to the floor. She cusses and looks down; her shoe laces have been tied to the desk. She swears again and bends to untie the shoes while a group of boys laughs sinisterly, and walks away.

She tries to pour as much hatred in a stare as she possibly can, but it is not nearly sufficient to trip anyone. She signs resignedly and continues to untie her laces. Kosi stands behind her, silent as night. Her piercing brown eyes stare at the kneeling figure on the floor, and without a word, she bends down to help Amy.

            Amy mutters her thanks and looks into Kosi’s face.

For some reason, Mr. Matthews, the science teacher was hell bent on picking Kosi out in every class as the odd one out. If he had his way, he would march up to the school authorities and demand that Kosi be painted blacked and tagged black sheep. Against all odds, the man was racist, but in the way that made babies seem cruel and kittens the stuff of nightmares.

Kosi didn’t care much for it, and as oftentimes as much, ignored Mr. Matthews’s snide comments with an unwavering glare on her face, but Amy felt it was high time she reported it to the school authorities.

No decent person or institution should allow for racism or any such derogatory mannerisms. At least the man seemed genuinely scared of Kosi. Nearly everyone was.

            Amy holds Kosi’s face in her hand and lifts it up to hers. There are glistening smudges on Kosi’s face. She takes her face out of Amy’s hands and looks down. Amy places a hand on her shoulder.

            “I’m sorry.”

Kosi continues unhooking the laces, her face betraying no emotion. “Don’t be.”

“But I should be. One would expect that of everyone, a teacher should be the one with more sense.”

Kosi remains unsmiling.

“It’s not his fault he’s racist. I just wish he wouldn’t just make it sound like I’m trying to cause an upstaging or something.” She sighs. “I mean… I literally have no hand in it. It’s just repetitive and tiresome and boring. I just wish he’d…”

            “Grow up?” Amy breaks a smile, and Kosi finds herself smiling too.

            “Yeah.”

They both snort. The laces have finally been untied, and Kosi pulls Amy to her feet.

            “So, what did you want to tell me, Kosi?”

Kosi’s face suddenly brightens. “Ooh! Guess what?”

“Come on, Kosi. We’ve talked about this before, you know I can’t guess if my life was on the line.”

“Be that as it may.” Kosi rolls her eyes and rubs her hands, a mad glint in her eyes, “Guess who just came into town?”

Amy fixes her with a look and Kosi scoffs. “Derek. He’s back.”

Amy gives her another look and scrunches her face up in thoughts… “Derek… Derek… who’s De—”

Kosi groans. “Derek Waters? My cousin? The super hot, super dumb, tool of a jock I have for a cousin? Don’t you remember him?”

Amy’s face remains blank and Kosi swears, mumbling something about teenagers and their occupied brains. “The one you tripped over at summer camp when we were kids? Ugh! Derek ‘The Daring’ Waters? The one you’ve always wanted to kiss?”

Amy is slow to process the information, but when she does, her face lights up with colour, and she goes such a deep red that she looks near fit to burst. She muffles a yelp with her hand and shushes Kosi with her other hand. Kosi’s eyes widen and then sparkle, while Amy goes a deeper red. She turns away from Kosi and Kosi begins to laugh.

            “Just look at your face. You should’ve seen you go.” Kosi is laughing loudly and Amy, still red as a beetroot, draws her hoodie up over her head and turns away from Kosi.

“We shall never speak of this.” Then she storms off, leaving Kosi laughing so much that tears well in her eyes, and her laughter turns to snorts.

Amy wanders down the hallways for a time, trying to gather her thoughts. It has been quite some time since she felt this way. She lifts a hand to her lips as a giggle escapes her lips. She goes red and swings her legs side to side, her large hoodie drooping over her tiny frame.

            “Ah, yes. Let us all now giggle like the schoolchildren we are, eh, Miss John?”

Amy snaps to attention, wiping the silly grin off her face, her giggle dying off with a choked sound. Her face is still red and heated, but Mrs. Brampton still stares at her as if she has sprouted another head. Her gaze is reproving.

            “One would expect that students were in their classes immediately after the bell goes, but good Lord, heavens, no. You’re above the law. Aren’t you, Miss John?” The last words are drawn out in a drawl.

Amy swallows, wondering how best to downplay the situation and still escape punishment. Words spring to her mouth unbidden and she nearly swears when she apologizes to the imposing woman before her.

Mrs. Brampton wields a pointer in one hand, while the other is folded against her waist. Some students in the class edge closer to the door, doing their possible best to appear to stand askance, and making faces at Amy, and pretending to swoon with excitement.

Amy goes redder and she apologizes again to the stern-looking woman in front of her.

The creases on Mrs. Brampton’s face ease and she reluctantly ushers Amy into the class, muttering about punctuality. Amy walks in gratuitously, eyeing some boys who are now imitating her by covering their faces with their hands, and she sneers. The laughter chokes them.

            “Alright, that’s enough, everyone. To your seats. Now!” Mrs. Brampton’s voice is fluid, but it cuts across the class like a whip. Within minutes, the whole class is settled. Amy digs in her bag and plops a heavy-looking book onto her desk.

            Mrs. Brampton clears her throat once, “Today, we are going to discuss the book, On Times and Seasons. I expect that every one of you has already read the book before now, seeing as it was given to you before the beginning of the term.”

She looks around at the blank faces of the students. “Has everyone a copy?”

The students mutter.

            “Has everyone a copy?”Her voice reverberates round the room and the students are prompt this time in echoing their reply, “Yes, ma’am.”

            “Well, don’t just sit there and look beautiful… bring out your books!” she says and slaps her pointer onto a student’s desk who flinches at the sudden impact.

The students waste no time in complying with her order and the class is filled with the sound of the rustling of paper. Books drop onto desks in different states: some worse for wear, others in pristine, gleaming states—they have never been opened.

Mrs. Brampton lifts her book up to her large nose and bellows, “Turn to page 92.”

            Amy exhales and turns her book with the other students, to page 92. The topic is Time-Consciousness and Punctuality. Amy mutters under her breath. Of course it’d have to be this topic.

Mrs. Brampton walks slowly from the front of the class, making her way towards Amy. She stands in front of Amy’s desk and taps her head with her pointer. “Don’t cower, girl.” She half-turns and then barks at a girl who is licking her thumb and wiping furiously at her book, trying to get a stain out, “Miss Baker!” she intones, “what did I tell you about smudging your book with saliva?”

The girl stops immediately, her flowing blonde hair obstructing her face from view. Mrs. Brampton eventually makes her way back to the front of the class, after ensuring that everyone has opened to the page.

            “We all read at a go. All together now,” she says, swinging her pointer. “One, two, read…”

The students all bury their head and chorus in unison… Punctuality is an asset that must be trained. One can only be punctual when one is time-conscious. A student must always be punctual…

The class drones, and not for the first time that week, Amy groans. What are the odds that today of all days, everything would happen?

She groans again, and buries her face in the book, her voice lost in the cacophony of the reciting students’.