01
Mila Sanchez
"Everyone, to your seat por favor. Clase is about to begin." Mr. Rodriguez comes through the door at the second bell along with several other students. He takes his spot behind the bland wooden altar in the front and watches as the students fill in the classroom. They come in little by little-one by one-as the third bell signals any tardies.
Mila was already at her seat with her head inside her arms on the desk. She was even there before the morning bell had rung. Not because she was a good student but because she wanted to catch up on the sleep that she lost last night. The anime of a green-haired boy caught her attention at 12:00 am last night and stripped her of any thoughts on going to bed early.
If you know Camila Isabella Sanchez, then you'll know that not even sleep can stop her from binge-watching anime at the late nights. Though it should when the consequences of sleeping in Spanish class strikes.
Mr. Rodriguez begins to call the roll.
"Señor Peiler?"
"Here."
"Señor Richards?"
"Here."
"Señorita Sanchez?"
Silence
"Señorita Sanchez?" Mr. Rodriguez repeats but he doesn't look up from his binder. Mila doesn't even stir at the sound of her surname as she soundly sleeps at her desk. Before the teacher calls out to her again, Enzo kicks the side of the desk. Mila jerks her head to the side, mumbling.
"What?" She slurs, half awake.
"Mr. el tonto (the fool) is calling for you. You better wake up before you get in trouble again." he nudges his pointy elbow into Mila's ribs. Trouble. She hates getting into trouble especially at school but somehow it's inevitable. "Just say anything." so anything, she said.
"Sí, Señor el tonto." slips out her mouths, loud and clear. The room grows quiet for 2 seconds before it erupts into roaring laughter. The loud giggles wake Mila up completely. Her pale brown eyes widen and she jerks her head from the desk.
Mr. Rodriguez finally looks up when the nickname the students snicker about him is said out loud. Heat tickles the tips of Mila's ears when he looks at her. His aged finger points to the door. Trouble. Told you it was inevitable...
+++
"Camila Isabella Sanchez." the lady at the front desk calls out her name. Mila rises from the red cushioned chair and makes her way toward the frosted glass door.
Asst. Principal Office
The oh-so-familiar words across the glass irritate Mila for the third time this year. No, this wasn't Mila's first time getting into trouble, especially with Mr. Rodriguez. Trouble just seems to follow her around this year.
"You may go in. She's waiting for you." the grey-haired secretary ushers. Mila slowly wraps her yellow glazed nails around the cold bronze knob and twist it-opening the door. She walks into the tiny office, quietly shutting the door behind her.
"Welcome back, ms. Sanchez." Asst. Principal Asan smiles as she sits behind her creme desk. The familiar welcoming rings through Mila's ears. With tense shoulders, she sighs and turns toward Ms. Asan with a mocking smile.
"Nice to see you too, Ms. Asan" Sarcasm drips off her words. The knowledgable elder understands Camila's snarky attitude but disregards it.
"Sit, please." Ms. Asan waves over to the sunken brown leather chair in front of her desk. Who knows how many butts has sat in that chair but it seems a lot has from the worn-out leather. Ms. Asan always had problematic kids in her office. No matter how big the incident was, the pesky teens were always sent to her and never to Mr. Richards, the principal. He claims they are the least of his worries when it came to the towering paperwork on his desk. Though it doesn't truly bother Ms. Asan as it gives her an opportunity to reach out to the kids like she always wanted.
Mila sits with her checkered backpack on her lap. The hallow chair seems to swallow her slim figure when she leaned back so she looks particularly small in front of Ms. Asan. Her legs shake as she waits for the asst. Principal to speak.
The patient elder pulls out a freshly printed manuscript and places it neatly in the middle of her desk. Next, she grabs her glasses and set them on her nose bridge. The slower she moves, the more Camila gets anxious. Her leg shakes out of controls and her pale eyes shift around the room. Mila wasn't exactly a patient individual. The silent tension whips at her impatient soul as she waits for Ms. Asan to get to the point.
Ms. Asan clears her throat.
"September 1st, C. Sanchez throws a paper airplane across the class and hits Mr. Rodriguez's head." she reads out. Mila rolls her eyes slightly. That was the first time he wrote her up. Though it was merely an accident, Mr. Rodriguez had a bad temper and was strict.
"September 9th, C. Sanchez shouts illicit profanities interrupting the class." Ms. Asan peer over her glasses at Mila, who squirms underneath her glaze.
"Okay, that was an accident. I definitely meant to say fudge."
"Mhm," Ms. Asan continues. "September 12th, C. Sanchez reports to the teacher inappropriately."
"Another accident. It just slipped off my tongue." Ms. Asan removes her glasses and rubs her nose bridge with her thumb and index finger. "C'mon Ms. Asan. Can you please approve my request to be dismissed from that class? I really don't need it when I speak and understand Spanish fluently." Mila sits at the edge of the chair as she tries to plea with Ms. Asan for the fourth time.
"¿Es realmente una buena razón?" is that really a good enough reason?
"Sí, así es." yes, it is.
"Okay-"
"I know-wait-okay?" Mila finally brightens.
"Yea, but if you do this one thing." Ms. Asan pulls out another piece of paper but this one was smaller and had the picture of the southwestern beach printed on it.
"Givens High 'Save the beach' Committee" The white lettering caught Mila's eye. Confused, she looks back at Ms. Asan.
"Join this club and you won't have to worry about Spanish class." Ms. Asan smiles once again as she slides the flyer toward Camila. "If I dismiss you from Spanish class, you will have a free period for your first hour and I can't just let that happen. So if you join this club and agree to join home economics, I can at least be reassured that you'll be in good hands."
Camila dreaded this. Home ec. didn't bother her but clubs weren't exactly her thing or anything that pried into her personal time and she wasn't exactly interested in the club itself. She looks up into the elder soft brown eyes. This was her only chance of getting out of Mr. Rodriguez's boring class and she can't let it slip by.
"...deal." it won't hurt to try, right?
