S H O RT S TO R I E S F R O M T H E G LO B A L C LA S S R O O M |
2014
T R U T H O R DA R E
NATA R S H A YA N, Y E A R 6
T H E B R I T I S H I N T E R NAT I O NA L S C H O O L S H A N G H A I , P U X I
I clenched my fists, my face pale. Dread and terror flooded over me. This was it. I had to face it. Now was the
moment of doom.
‘Emma Dawson, recite to me the first 9 numbers of pi,’ Mr. Jones barked.
I sat up straight, my face flushed. ‘Um, 3.141, uh …’
‘Miss Dawson, surely a 12-year-old can speak proper English by now, instead of that ridiculous baby talk?’ Mr. Jones
demanded. The class burst into laughter.
I blushed. ‘I’m sorry, sir, I – I don’t know.’ My voice was barely audible.
‘Well, you had better learn it, then, hadn’t you? Well, Miss Connor, will you tell Miss Dawson here the answer?’ Mr.
Jones pointed a piece of chalk at Charisa Connor. Slimy, arrogant Charisa Connor.
‘Yes, sir, of course; the first nine numbers are 3.14159265,’ Charisa said, in a ridiculously posh voice, shooting a proud
look at me.
Rich, snobby and posh. That is Charisa Connor. Queen of the World – or so she thinks. See, we were in an algebra
lesson with Mr. Jones, my least favourite teacher, and as usual he was picking on me to answer all his stupid
questions about pi and whatever. I know what pi is, and I know all the answers to his stupid questions, but, the
thing is, I have this thing where I’m petrified about speaking in public and so end up saying ‘I don’t know’ in classes
instead. I know you’re going to laugh; my older sister Anna did when she first knew. I’m not sure if there is even a
phobia of speaking in public. My mum has been forever encouraging me to take part in social stuff, like Charisa,
who is this incredibly popular person with tons of friends and no problem with speaking in front of people. I hate
her. She makes my life miserable. I want to stand up for myself, but I can’t.
‘Very good, Charisa. And now, I’ve an important announcement to make. We will be choosing our School President
soon and anyone who wishes to participate, get a letter from my desk. Class, you are dismissed.’ Those words had
changed my life upside down – yes, those very words. I stood still and staring as chairs scraped the floor and laughter
filled the room. Soon only Charisa, a boy called Jonathon, and me were left.
‘I am so going to enter, Mr. Jones. It’ll be awesome!’ I heard Charisa squeal, as she took a letter and put it in her bag.
Jonathon took a letter as well and left the room with Charisa, the two of them chattering loudly about it.
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