Mrs Maybe

762 Words
I pull my phone from my pouch and check the time—10:15. Aw man, I’m late for school. I look around, realizing I’m not even sure where I am right now. How am I going to get to school as fast as possible? Before I can finish the thought, everything around me blurs, and suddenly, I’m standing in front of my locker. A new symbol etches itself onto my arm, glowing faintly before fading into the others. Did I… did I just teleport? I quickly glance at the time again—still 10:15. Not a second has passed. My heart races with excitement. How amazing is teleporting going to be? The hallway is eerily empty, rows of lockers stretching out in both directions. Everyone’s still in second period, which gives me a moment to myself. I open my locker and begin stuffing everything into my bag. I won’t be coming back to this place again, and surprisingly, I don’t feel sad about it. I never fit in here anyway. This school is all cliques. If you don’t belong to one, you’re an outcast. And that was me—the loner. Me, myself, and I. As I walk down the familiar hallway, a small pang of nostalgia hits me. I glance through the windows into the cafeteria, my eyes landing on my usual seat by the window. That lonely seat. A few steps further, I come across the library. My favorite place. I spent countless hours here—lunch breaks, free periods, and even after school until the caretaker would finally kick me out. That’s the only part of this school I’ll miss. A soft smile plays on my lips as memories flicker through my mind. But it’s time to move on. Eventually, I find myself standing outside the principal’s office. The plaque on the door reads: Mrs. Maybe. I knock gently. “Come in,” she calls, her voice soft and welcoming as always. I step inside, closing the door behind me. Mrs. Maybe looks up from her desk, her brows rising slightly as she studies me. “Hello, Lenora. You look different today… have you changed your hair?” She’s been like a mother figure to me for as long as I can remember, and hearing the concern in her voice makes my throat tighten. I straighten up, putting on a brave face. “Hey, Mrs. Maybe. Yes, I’ve made a few changes,” I say, offering a small smile. “Actually, I’m here to let you know that I’ll be withdrawing from school. I have to move away due to an unforeseen family situation.” Her face grows serious, her usual calm demeanor faltering. “I see,” she says, her voice gentle. “Are you alright, Lenora?” I nod. “Yes, I’m fine. But I need to leave as soon as possible, and I wanted to tell you in person.” Mrs. Maybe shifts in her seat, the lines of worry deepening around her eyes. “Lenora, you’ve always been one of our brightest students. We’re going to miss you.” She pulls open a drawer and begins rifling through some papers before pulling out my credit reports. “I see you already have more than double the required credits to graduate. Let me print your graduation certificate for you.” I feel a swell of gratitude at her words. “Thank you, Mrs. Maybe. I’ve enjoyed my time here, and I’ll carry everything I’ve learned with me for the rest of my life.” She nods, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. I’ve always admired Mrs. Maybe—her kindness, her dedication. She reminds me so much of my nana. “You know,” she begins softly, “I grew up with your nana. She was a remarkable woman, and you remind me so much of her. You share her strength and determination. I knew, from the moment I saw that look in your eyes, that you’re embracing your destiny.” Her words catch me off guard, a lump forming in my throat. She continues, her eyes softening. “I also knew your mother. You look so much like her—it’s uncanny.” Her words settle over me like a warm blanket, and I blink back the tears welling in my eyes. I barely manage a soft, “Thank you,” as she hands me the graduation certificate. Mrs. Maybe extends her hand for a shake, and when I take it, a soft jolt of energy pulses through my palm. It’s gentle, but unmistakable.
Free reading for new users
Scan code to download app
Facebookexpand_more
  • author-avatar
    Writer
  • chap_listContents
  • likeADD