Highschool: Where are your notes?

Highschool was all fun till your History teacher walks into class, strides to your desk and thunders, “fungua pahali uliandika notes.”

You clear your throat in surprise, scratch your follicle-less smooth chin then pretend to be rummaging for your book. The teacher will then stride to your deskmate and ask, “where did we reach last time.”

But you and your friend are in the same WhatsApp group.

In confusion, he lies that he lended his book to a member of the other class. Laughter creates a lump on your throat and inflates your cheeks then bursts with a sound that could be mistaken for a fart. You cup your mouth to regulate that weird sound. “Go get it,” he says then comes back to you.

You had thought you were safe the moment he moved to your deskmate. No mahn. He had just given you a few minutes to contemplate for an excuse. But you lost the chance. He is back to you.

“I want to see your notes.” His voice is sharp. You don’t even dare look at him. The entire class is silent. From a far, you can here some pages flipping. Of course, none of you write notes in this class apart from the three students seated in front and the spectacled one that is hated by the entire class.

You fish out a random ‘rough’ book (where you write random notes while revising for exams.) “Here sir, we rea..reached here” you stutter.

“And what is maths calculations doing in your History notebook?”

“I… I was calculating Jomo Kenyatta’s years sir.” You say, camouflaging in that innocent face. You almost look like Angel Gabriel in that look.

But this guy knows you are lying. He just chuckles and strides to the next one.

Mr. Ogonji is a highly professional and talented journalist with a solid experience in covering compelling stories, reporting facts, and engaging audiences. He is driven to uncover the truth behind today's most pressing issues and share stories that make a genuine impact.

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