In her new class, with new pupils and a new teacher, Angel thought she would be miserable again. But to her surprise, the teacher had warned the pupils not to do anything that would offend her.
That was when she became seatmates with Dera.
Like her, Dera also suffered from short-sightedness and was made to sit in the front, just like Angel.
They became fast friends, as if their bond had already been written in a book signed by the heavens. They chatted endlessly, about things both important and trivial, as if time itself was theirs to waste.
Until one day—just like usual—Angel initiated a discussion, expecting Dera to indulge her. But she didn't.
Angel tried again, and again. Until Dera snapped.
"Don't talk to me. I don't want to talk to you."
Angel froze. "But why?" she asked, confused and hurt.
Dera's voice trembled. "My parents said I should stop interacting with you."
Angel blinked, unable to comprehend. "Why… why would they say that?"
"They said you're a bad influence…"
"Bad… influence? H-How? What do you mean?" Angel's voice cracked. She wasn't confrontational. Every little thing chipped away at her confidence. But this? This hurt.
Dera looked down. "They said you're not intelligent. That you're a repeater. They told me to stay away from bad friends."
That hit Angel like a slap.
She had been insulted many times before because of that—even her mother often used it to tease her. At a young age, Angel had already tasted the shame of repeating a class. That moment solidified a vow in her heart: never again, no matter what—even if her parents suggested it.
She said nothing more. Just nodded.
But it ate her.
Slowly, like termites devouring wood. Slowly, like a snail running a marathon.
Days passed miserably.
Angel became a shadow of herself, trying everything not to reflect on that conversation. But it lingered—her thoughts always drifting back.
One afternoon, during lunch break, Angel's sister hadn't brought her meal yet. While the others ate, the teacher, Miss Nkoli, called Angel to her table.
"What happened between you and Dera?"
Though young, Angel understood things. During her first week in the class, Miss Nkoli had even called her parents to tell them their daughter deserved to be promoted.
"Nothing," Angel replied. "She said she doesn't want to talk to me."
"And why's that?" Miss Nkoli asked gently.
"She said her dad told her that I'm a bad influence. Because I repeated this class."
The teacher clenched her jaw. Barely managing to stay composed—there were still kids around. She knew Dera's parents were absurd, and it pissed her off.
It wasn't Angel's fault that she repeated. It was the fault of the damn teacher before her. Miss Nkoli still struggled to teach the pupils the alphabet and handwriting. Yet Angel had already passed that stage—not because she was repeating—but because her elder sisters had drilled it into her.
They were strict. Sometimes even harsh. But they made sure she learned.
Angel often finished in thirty minutes what others needed the whole day to complete. She even helped Dera understand the alphabet. Most of what Dera knew was taught by Angel.
"And are you sad?" Miss Nkoli asked.
Angel nodded.
"Oh, poor baby." She pulled her into a hug. After a while, she gently pulled back.
"You shouldn't be sad."
Angel looked up. "It's not the end of the friendship that hurts… it's what her father said." Her voice wavered. "Auntie… am I a bad influence?"
She could cry if she wanted to, but her sisters had warned her not to cry over "stupid things."
When Angel told them what happened, they were so furious, they came to her class themselves to confront Dera.
Though they didn't hit her or hurt her, their words stung.
*******
"If I ever see you near my sister again, I'll show you what a real bad influence is," said the second sister, full of fire.
"Look at you! Daring to say that to my sister as if it's her fault. Even now, her results are better than yours," the third sister snapped.
"Okay, stop," the eldest interrupted, more composed. "This isn't fair. She's just a small girl."
She turned to Dera and added firmly, "We'll tell our sister not to be friends with you anymore so she can obey your father. But don't you ever talk to her again. If you do, we'll tell your father you're being disobedient."
And with that, they left.
Outside, they saw Angel helping the teacher carry her bag. After a quick chat, they returned to their various classes.
********
"No," Miss Nkoli said, her voice kind and steady. "You are not a bad influence. You're a good influence. Don't let anyone's words hurt you. You hear me?"
Angel beamed.
She took those words to heart.
Her mother had once told her: Teachers are always right. Even more than parents.
That day, Angel decided—Dera's parents were wrong.
Miss Nkoli was right.