Chapter 2: A Fight For My Way
1120 Words
Celeste
It's almost closing time, and I’m just sitting here in the freezing staff room, tapping my fingers impatiently on my thigh. The air feels thick, and heavy, like it’s about to break open any second, and I can’t stand the silence. I take another sip from the water bottle I’ve been carrying around, but honestly, I wish it was something stronger. Where is Mr. Dominic? He said to meet him after school, and yet here I am—waiting. Typical.
I scowl, frustrated. Is this one of his weird games? Just as I’m about to leave, I feel his presence behind me. Mr. Dominic slides into his chair like I haven't been waiting forever. His vanilla cologne slams into me, and I almost choke on the scent. Seriously, does he bathe in this stuff?
"You wanted to talk about extra lessons?" I keep my voice calm, or at least I try to.
"I did, and why wouldn’t you take them?" He leans back with that annoying smirk.
I roll my eyes. "I’m sorry, but I can’t make it."
He raises an eyebrow. "You sure your dad won’t scold you if you don’t attend?" His voice is smooth, but his eyes are sharp. "If you come, I won’t just take one hour. Extra lessons could stretch a bit after school."
I narrow my eyes. "Maybe you should talk to the principal first."
"Don’t worry about the principal," he says. "Just talk to your dad."
"Don’t!" I blurt out, more forcefully than I meant to. My fists clench. "Leave my dad out of this. I don’t need extra lessons."
He presses on, of course. "Why not? Wouldn’t it be awkward to fail English again?"
I can feel my patience slipping. "Then propose this to the principal. I have chores. Lots of them. This won’t work for me."
"Opportunity... it comes in disguise, Celeste. You've got to grab it before it disappears. It’s crazy how a good student like you could be so bad at English."
I hate the way he says that like I’m some kind of failure. I’m not bad at English; I just don’t care. "What's the fee?" I ask, rolling my eyes again.
"For you? Free." He leans in, his voice dropping. "Only for you. But be warned, people might hate you for getting my attention."
I can’t help but feel a chill run down my spine. What’s his deal?
"I’ll think about it," I say, standing up and grabbing my bag. The door feels like my escape. "See you tomorrow."
"Don’t forget, you’re wanted." His voice follows me, lingering like that horrible cologne. As I leave, Uncle Kunle steps in, polite as ever.
"Excuse me, sir," I hear him say. "Thanks for being considerate with Celeste. Could we do the lessons only on Fridays? I already tutor her at home."
I don’t stick around to hear the rest. My head’s buzzing. Fridays? No way. I’m not doing these lessons at all!
The next day, I met Kyomi during lunch. She plops down across from me, tray clattering onto the table. "That new teacher, Mr. Dominic," she groans, adjusting her glasses. "He doesn’t even leave feedback on our papers. Greedy with marks too."
"I think he marked our last term exams," I mutter, realizing I’m halfway through a cupcake. When did I even start eating?
Kyomi gives me a look. "You and your cupcakes. You always eat them when you’re mad."
I glance up and notice a boy is sitting next to us. When did he get here?
"Isn't it weird to eat cake when you're angry?" he asks, clearly amused.
"Who's this?" I whisper to Kyomi, leaning closer.
"Oh, this is Blake Renson. He’s in my class. Sits with Charles in the back." She blushes when I pass her a note asking if they’re together. I decide not to push it further.
Then Kyomi drops the bombshell. "You’re going to take those lessons with Mr. Dominic every day?"
I sigh. "Yeah, starting tomorrow. It’s messing with my plans."
Kyomi’s eyes widen. "But closing time is our only free time together!"
"I know, I hate it too," I mumble, sipping some juice. "But it's not like I have a choice. He’s pushing it on me."
"Well, at least I’ll have Blake to keep me company," she says with a grin, nudging him.
I force a smile. Lucky her. My mind drifts as I stare at my cupcake. I wish my life could be as simple as biting into something soft and sweet.
After school, I drag myself back to the classroom, dreading what’s coming. Mr. Dominic is already there, nose-deep in some English textbook. He barely glances up when I enter. "Leave the door open and take a seat," he says like I’m some kind of robot following commands.
I sit, staring blankly at the open book in front of me. He starts going on about nouns and verbs like I haven't heard this a thousand times. Then, out of nowhere: "What’s the past tense and past perfect tense of ‘put’?"
"Put... putted... putted?" I guess, immediately regretting it.
His glare is intense. "Are you mad?"
"I don’t know," I reply with a shrug. "I learn new things every day."
He sighs, rubbing his temples. "It’s put, put, put. Some things are straightforward, no matter how confusing English is."
I roll my eyes. "That’s the problem with English. It’s inconsistent and makes no sense. How am I supposed to learn when it doesn’t even follow its own rules?"
His expression shifts into a strange smile, one I don’t trust. "You’re good at math, aren’t you?"
I stay silent.
"Emotions," he says suddenly, catching me off guard. "They shape everything, even our ability to learn."
"What does that have to do with verbs?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.
"Everything," he says, leaning closer. "People need to express emotions to connect, to communicate properly. You... you’re always so guarded. That’s why you struggle."
His words hit a nerve. He has no idea what I’m going through. I grab my books, standing up. "I’ve given up on English. Don’t bother with me."
Just as I’m about to leave, he blocks the door with his leg. Seriously?
"Back off," I snap, turning away in frustration. "Or your cologne is going to make me puke."
His jaw tightens. "What’s wrong with you?"
I push past him, not caring if I’m being rude. I’m done with this.
As I walk away, one question keeps circling in my mind: Why is he pushing me so hard? Is it really just about the extra lessons? Or is there something else he’s not telling me?
And why do I feel like this is far from over?
- Writer
