Last Math class

• Short story

								
A teacher stands at the door of the math classroom, keys jangling in hand. With a quick twist, the lock clicks open, and the door creaks ajar. Just as it does, I stepped forward.
As usual, I was the first student to enter Math’s class. And It's not that I was keen on learning but at the time I had nothing else to look forward to, that is – besides hometime. 
I tossed my bag beside the leg of the chair before unpacking my textbook and pencil case and placing them upright on my desk.  My head was glued to the page doodling away, avoiding eye contact, as the rest of the class slowly entered the classroom.
Whenever I held a pen too stiff for too long, accustomed to the muscle memory of sketching, my hand would plead for movement.  It was as a way to ease the frantic tension and an escape from the mind of an overthinker.  The now-seated students chatted amongst themselves. Once the room was consumed by different deodorants and colognes, the teaching started and the class was mute.
The teacher lifted a long brown ruler before marking the different not-to-scale triangular forms. The marker squeaked against the whiteboard.  Not long after the door creaked open to welcome the latecomers.
They discreetly conversed with each other, before one of them spun their bag around and whipped out a can of deodorant. The air was now thick with the mixture of body odor and Rexona. Two of them scooted over to fill the seats by my right. The third popped the can of deodorant into his backpack, confusedly eyeing the seats. 
The girl on my right turned her head to face me, her brown curly hair recoiling.
“Oh! Could you move over, Sara?”  

I replied with my customary silent nod.

I was familiar with this latecomer, since the beginning of year 7.
During the first STEM class, I scanned the room. The long table in the back was filled with half of the class, the other students were seated on the small round tables. This left me to sit alone on a large table. As the class prepared for the lesson, this particular student stood up and asked “Where's the rubbish bin” with a ball of scrunched-up paper in her hand. 
One of the girls in that group replied “There.” with a smirk on her face as she pointed towards me. I looked down at the table in shame.  The STEM teacher placed her hand on my shoulder in an attempt to comfort me. 
…
 The students were lined up against the wall in STEM class. It was locked, and the teacher was running late. I walked slowly beside my friend towards the door, stopping beside it. The group of girls in front of us chatting amongst themselves. 
I don’t know why. Maybe I thought it would be funny. Or I wanted to see how they’d react if they cared about me enough to hate me. I stared at them with exaggerated wide eyes. 
They were brutal.

They laughed amongst themselves 
“Hey —---- check this out “
Just as she turned to face me, I dropped the act.

“What?” She cluelessly glanced around before I widened my eyes again, surprising her.

Since that day she wouldn't leave me alone. Whenever she saw me she'd try to have any type of interaction with me. 
Whether it would be a
“Hi Sara”
Or any attempt to be near me and acknowledge my presence
I thought she would eventually grow tired of me and my lack of reciprocation, like most people would, but she never did.  She never gave up on me.
 I clutched the strap of my bag moving a seat over till I was beside an unknown classmate. To my left was a peer, she had purple streaks of hair and sharp black eyeliner.  In most classes, she sat alone, like me.  I’ve seen her during the lunch breaks in that exact spot. leaning against the wall in the open hallway, her bag tossed up on the aircon beside her, tapping away at her phone, careful to appear busy. 
They both followed after me, shuffling over to make room for the third.  Just as I reached over for my textbook, placing it on my desk. She picked up my gray silicone pencil case, a long cylinder with a cat face at the front. The blue zipper extended from the ‘head’ and acted as the ‘tail’.  
“It's cute”
She admired it before momentarily placing it over to my newfound desk. 

Time elapsed slowly. I diligently worked on calculating the different angle formulas (Pythagoras theorem). Trying to avoid doodling too much.  The girl beside me ran her hands through her curly locks, momentarily fidgeting as she attempted to focus on her work.  Just as the bell rang, she followed the rest of the students, rushing out of the classroom. I packed up the rest of my things, sliding it into my backpack before tossing it over my shoulder.  
When I got home, I confided in my mother what had happened that day, Particularly of a strange ‘incident’. That was the last time I entered that classroom. Two weeks later, I moved schools.
Sometimes I wonder if I was taken back to this day, knowing it's the last time I'd be here, would I have acted any differently? 
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