-Not Too Young For Love

Must Read: Not Too Young For Love… Part 4

If You Missed The Part 3, Read It Here

I got upstairs and landed on my bed like a wounded elephant with the nylon of Sweet Sensation held tightly in my hands. My school mother called me to her bunk and asked why I looked sobber.

“My mom made Mr. Steve my lesson teacher”. I whispered.

“What- When, But why?!” She asked puzzled. With her reaction she caught the attention of most people in the room. They all came around her bunk bed and started asking questions. I soon became the center for attraction.

“Ah! But why now” one lamented.

“Awww eeyah!” another said.

“Vanessa sorry ehen.”

Their sympathy made me feel worst than I already felt and couldn’t hold the tears in for too long.

“It is ok. Oya all of you go to your beds and leave my corner. Nobody died in her family”. My school mother responded. She tried consoling me but the tears won’t just stop rolling even as I ate my fried rice and chicken the pain had almost vanished.

During dinner, I replayed the whole scene in my head and I still felt bad and wondered why my mom would treat me as such. I walked back upstairs in silence and tried to force myself to bed, just then I heard my name.

“Senior Vanessa Master is calling you.”

Not again I thought. I felt my stomach tightened. When would this nightmare end I wondered and why was I the one been called? According to the roster I wasn’t to do any chores: not to wash the pots nor sweep the hall. I took a deep breath and got out of bed and walked downstairs. I could feel my heart beat as if I was about to have an heart attack, my hands became clammy, my legs felt weak as I approached the main door, I felt my eyes swollen with tears.

I pushed the door and couldn’t see him anywhere, my heart still raced fast as I took a step forward and recognized a tall huge shadow in the dark I walked towards him and said.

“Sir, I was told you were calling me.” I said with a shaky voice and hoped he wouldn’t see how terrified I was.

“Yes I am, give me your hands and walk with me to the dinning hall.” He said.

His voice sounded relaxed and that confused me. I stared at his stretched big fat palms for about three seconds and put mine in it and was surprised how it fitted perfectly. But that wasn’t my main problem, I was still shaky and tried to wonder what went on in his mind as we walked towards the dinning hall.

“Your mom told me I would be your lesson teacher, how do you feel about that?” He asked.

Really? Did he just asked me how I felt about it? I felt like screaming out my mind of how terrified I was of him.

“Am okay with it.” I lied.

“Why are your hands sweaty?” (Ok that was not a question I expected under the circumstances).

“My hands get sweaty when am feeling hot and when am nervous.” I replied trying to rub them against my hostel ware.

“Well you can’t be feeling hot this evening, anyways write down your time table for me and come and see me during break tomorrow.” He said with a smile.

By this time we were standing in front of the hostel and for some reason I felt a little bit calm but I was still frightened anyways. I told him good night and ran upstairs. As I opened the door I met eyes and ears awaiting the gist.

The odd friendship between myself and Mr Steve soon grew to a profound friendship. I later saw he wasn’t as bad as he looked: he was nice, funny with a very distinctive character. He was soon known as my ‘school daddy’ and this made it hard for guys who had a crush on me to approach me. Mr Steve was a typical example of ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover’. Although we didn’t start on a good foot, I learnt what he liked and disliked and made sure I did the best I could to be on his good side. Even my grades in chemistry improved and he made me love chemistry more.

Mr Steve was a different teacher, so different that the whole school feared him more than any other teacher, even more than the Vice-Principal. If Mr Steve punished a student on the assembly ground and the Vice-Principal told the student to get up and go to his classroom, the student would refuse such freedom and would prefer to stay on the punishment, that was how frightened we were of him.

One particular Friday evening I had lessons with him during our prep. I had my Mathematics book and calculator with me and when the prep was over I forgot them on the table. When I got upstairs I realized I had forgotten them but I was too lazy to go back downstairs and I thought to myself I would still have the same Math lesson tomorrow afternoon, why bother.

On Saturday Mr Steve called me for lesson and told me to bring my textbook. I walked happily to the hall to get them where I had left them and to my surprise they were gone. I started to panic, my heart raced fast simultaneously as my hands went all sweaty. What would I tell Mr Steve? Who could have taken my textbook and calculator. This could not be happening I told myself. I felt like a goat who was about to be used for ileya festival- helpless!


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