Chapter 7: Hope in Room 213

7.

My new desk mate was a girl who introduced herself:

She popped open a bag of Cheetos and grinned. “Name’s Tanya, but everyone calls me Tanny. Want some?”

I nodded.

She seemed friendly—like someone who’d have your back in a food fight. I relaxed a little, grateful for the lifeline.

When the teacher came in, I quickly took out my books.

Old habits die hard. I set up my notebooks and pens, ready to pay attention, even if nobody else did.

Maple Heights High’s pace was nothing like Central High.

There were open comic books on every desk, a girl braiding another’s hair, and a boy asleep with his head on a pile of unfinished math homework. It felt more like a youth center than a school.

In class, everyone did their own thing. Some slept, some read comics, some did their nails. Paper airplanes with cheat sheets flew overhead.

I dodged a folded note that landed on my desk, glancing up to see who’d thrown it. The whole room was alive, buzzing with energy and a little bit of chaos.

The teacher seemed used to it. She took a few sips of coffee, then picked up her book again:

She wore chunky glasses and a cardigan with cat pins. Without looking up, she mumbled, "Where was I?"

"Where was I?"

I quietly reminded her: "The third big question."

She nodded: "Right."

She paused, looking up at me like I was an alien. "Someone actually listens to my lectures?"

It wasn’t until Tanya told me that I realized: if Maple Heights High was already considered a rough school, then Room 213—my class—was the worst of the worst. It had gathered all the underachievers in the senior year.

Tanya grinned, whispering, "Welcome to the jungle."

When I transferred, the homeroom teacher had practically begged the principal to let me into his class.

Apparently, Room 213 was where they sent the hopeless cases. I wondered if I could make a difference here, or if I’d just disappear.

Watching Tanya eat ice cream in class, for the first time, I felt the world was so strange, yet so full of life.

She winked at me, offering a spoonful. I laughed, the sound feeling strange and new in my chest. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

After that, the teacher clearly became more enthusiastic about teaching. A few students gradually got drawn in and started listening, too.

I caught her smiling at me from behind her mug. It felt good, like I was making a small difference just by showing up.

When class ended, everyone rushed out.

The hallway filled with the roar of a hundred conversations. I watched them go, feeling both left out and oddly at peace.

I saw that the boy in the corner was still asleep.

His head rested on folded arms, oblivious to the chaos around him. Even the slam of the door didn’t wake him.

The school was about to close.

The last janitor was sweeping up, and the light outside was starting to fade. I hesitated, then walked over.

I walked over to wake him: "Hey, school’s over."

I tapped his shoulder gently. He blinked awake, confusion clouding his features for a moment before recognition dawned.

He lifted his head, eyes half-open.

His hair was messy, falling into his eyes. He regarded me with a lazy smile, as if waking up from the world’s best nap.

His long, narrow eyes looked straight at me. Below his high nose bridge, his thin lips curled into a faint smile.

There was a spark of mischief in his gaze. The corners of his mouth quirked up as he stretched, joints popping audibly.

"Thanks, wifey."

My face flamed, but I couldn’t help laughing—really laughing—for the first time in months. My laughter echoed in the empty classroom, and for the first time in forever, hope felt possible.