TAMARA'S POV
The class is so noisy. Everyone is talking, getting to know each other. Laughter fills every corner of the room. Me, on the other hand, I'm chatting with Shekina, minding my own business—
Knock! Knock! Knock!
A knock comes at the classroom door, sharp and sudden. It slices through the noise, stopping conversations mid-sentence. Everyone goes quiet, heads turning toward the door.
The door creaks open, and a tall male figure steps in. Oh—it's the same man I met earlier at the admission desk. My class teacher.
He walks steadily to the middle of the class, which happens to be right in front of me. Our classroom has three rows: one by the door on the right, one in the middle (mine), and one by the windows on the left—where Lewinsky sits with her two desk mates. Each with their lockers squeezed in but comfortable enough.
"Good evening, Form One Eagles," he greets, smiling but still carrying that teacher seriousness.
"Good evening, Mr… teacher… sir…"
Everyone responds differently, stumbling over words. The whole class bursts into laughter, including him. I think I also didn't quite catch his name earlier.
"Okay, order," he says, trying not to laugh as he waves his hand. "I guess you don't remember my name, even though we met at the admission office!"
He picks a marker from his jacket and writes neatly on the board:
Mr. Duke Stauer
"You can just call me Mr. Duke, okay?"
"Yes," we all reply softly in unison.
"I'll be your official class teacher," he says, "and I'll also be taking you through Biology."
What! I think loudly—too loudly. Everyone bursts into laughter, and my stomach twists.
"Kid, why are you surprised?" he teases, pointing at me. "What did you expect?"
"Ah… ah…" I stammer, my face heating up.
He chuckles. "I'll be taking you through Biology, miss—whether you like it or not!"
The class laughs again, and I just want to sink into my chair. I never liked sciences ever since I was born. My past class teachers were always math or language teachers, which made it easy to befriend them. They'd call me during break time to share their cakes in the staffroom. Sometimes even during lunch—they'd offer leftovers.
Not that I didn't have money for snacks or lunch. I did. But tell me, if you already have somewhere to get free food, would you still spend your money? Exactly—you'd save it.
But now? My class teacher being a Biology teacher? I'm doomed. No chance of becoming friends through failed tests.
Mr. Duke continues, "Our evening preps start at 6:30 p.m. and end at 9:30 p.m. It's now 7:47 p.m., so we've got some time to talk, right?"
The class murmurs softly.
"In this time," he says, "we'll introduce ourselves so we can get familiar with one another. Tomorrow is orientation day—you'll be walked around the school, learn your way, meet the teachers, and get your subject lists."
"So how do we introduce ourselves?" he asks.
No one raises their hand. The silence stretches.
"Any ideas?" he says, scanning the room. Then, of course—
"Hey, miss," he points at me. "You look smart. How do you think we should do it?"
Caught off guard, I freeze. "Uh… maybe we can say our names and the schools we came from?"
"Okay, that's a good idea," he says, smiling.
"We'll start with the row at the door—the right one. Then move to the middle, then the left," he instructs.
"My name is…" a girl begins.
"You can stand up," Mr. Duke interrupts politely.
She stands. "My name is Lewinsky Smith. I'm from Twiga Elementary School."
"Oh, you're from around here," Mr. Duke says.
"Yes," she replies with a small smile before sitting down.
"Next," he gestures.
"My name is Faith… from Aga Khan School."
After that, the introductions continue one by one, voices blending, laughter echoing after funny mistakes. I zone out for a moment, lost in my thoughts.
We're all so different—different schools, different faces. Nobody from my old school seems to be here at Twiga Girls. Maybe they're in another class. I'll find out with time.
Then I hear my desk mate stand up. "My name is Regina Daniels, from Butere School," she says.
Ah, so she's from Western. I see.
Now it's my turn. My heart skips. I drag my chair quietly, straighten my skirt to look composed, and stand.
"My name—"
"Face the class," Mr. Duke cuts in. "Your back's facing them. They need to see your face."
Right. I turn around awkwardly.
"My name is Tamara Dallas, from Arya Elementary School," I say nervously, my eyes accidentally meeting a girl at the far end of the class. She's laughing silently, making weird faces at me. I bite my lip, trying not to laugh, and just smile back before sitting down.
Savina stands next. "I'm Savina Brims, from Nyatta School," she says softly and sits. Our eyes meet for a split second, and a strange spark runs through me. I don't understand it—but I feel it.
Then comes the girl from earlier—the one who made faces. "My name is Roxan Shey, from Utawal School," she says confidently. She waves at me as she sits down. I don't wave back.
After everyone finishes, Mr. Duke claps his hands lightly. "Good job, class. Tomorrow, come by 7 a.m. instead of 6. Normally, morning preps start at six, but since you're new, we'll give you time to settle in."
We all nod, relieved and tired. The room feels calmer now, but my heart's still alive from all the laughter, the introductions, and the quiet bond forming with people I barely know.
Mr. Duke leaves the room, and a few minutes later, the bell rings. From outside, I hear running footsteps—students rushing through the corridors. Inside, chairs scrape the floor as everyone starts packing and leaving.
"Tamara!" someone calls my name.
I look toward the door. No, it's not Lewinsky—she's still busy packing her things.
"Tamara!" I hear again.
Turning around, I see Roxan coming toward me, waving slightly.
"What's up?" I ask, giving her that what's-up look.
"Chill," she laughs. "I just want company to the dorm. Let's go."
Before I can reply, I notice Lewinsky already standing at my desk, her bag on her back.
"Shekina, Tamara, let's go!" she says.
I turn to Roxan. "They're my dorm mates. You can come with us."
She nods with a smile. "Cool."
I grab my bag, and we start walking. Lewinsky and Shekina walk ahead of us, chatting and laughing softly. Roxan and I follow behind.
"Which dorm are you in?" I ask.
"Dorm X," she replies casually.
"Dorm what?" I stop, surprised.
She laughs. "I said Dorm X."
"That's how it's called? Just X?"
"Yeah. It's unique, right?" she says proudly.
"I see," I reply, half amused.
"What about you? Which dorm are you in?" she asks.
"The Queen's Dorm," I answer.
"Wow! So unique," she says
We keep talking and joking as we walk. By the time we reach the dorm section gate, we realize Lewinsky and Shekina are already ahead of us—probably inside the dorm.
At my dorm door, I turn to Roxan. "See you tomorrow."
"Sure," she says with a smile before walking away.
I step inside the dorm—and chaos hits me immediately.
The place is loud. Everyone is talking, laughing, moving around. Some girls are jumping on their beds, some unpacking, others arguing about who took whose pillow. The sound of giggles and squeaky beds fills the air. Bags are open, clothes scattered. It smells like new soap, lotion, and a bit of sweat.
I spot Lewinsky and Shekina at the far end, talking to Natasha, I join them, and we chat for a while as I change into my pajamas.
Time passes, and the noise slowly fades. One by one, the voices die down. The dorm lights go off at 10:30 p.m.
Silence.
Everyone's asleep. Or maybe pretending to be.
I lie on my back, eyes closed—but my mind refuses to rest.
And then—suddenly—I feel something warm sliding down my cheek.
Water.
Wait… am I crying?
Yes. Tears. Real ones.
I miss home already. I miss my mom. I didn't even cry when they dropped me off, but now, here in the dark, it all hits me. The silence feels too heavy. My chest tightens.
I can't believe I'm far from home for the first time in my life. Suddenly, I'm supposed to take care of myself—make sure I eat, plan my days, and manage my life. Nobody to wake me up. Nobody to remind me to pack my lunch or ask how my day was.
I never really prepared for this. I thought I'd be excited, but right now… I just feel small.
Still, I remind myself—I'm not alone. There are over five hundred of us here, all far from home, all figuring it out. The senior girls survived their first nights too.
I wipe my tears with the back of my hand and whisper softly, "I'll cope. I'll be fine."
The room is quiet.
Somewhere across the dorm, I hear gentle breathing, the sound of dreams I'm not part of yet. I take a deep breath, turn to my side, and let my tears dry on the pillow.
Tomorrow is a new day.
And maybe—just maybe—it won't feel this heavy anymore.