That Lonely Black Boi

[7] Oh. That's Omar?

|Imran Adebayo Ibrahim|

"And that concludes today's magical adventure into Chemistry." Mr. Berkeley announced and everybody sighed, signifying they hated his humor.

No them alone, I despise the old man's dad-jokes. We're all victims of such — something that always amuses me is the fact that all old people lose their sense of humor and wits, always inserting humor at the wrong time. He once joked about how Gay Lussac who founded the law of diffusion in Chemistry was a LGBTQ activist all because of the Gay first name he had. It wasn't funny, but sad, sad in a way I couldn't comprehend.

"One day you'll know my worth." He imitated a character in Lord Of The Rings. Another challenge he had was that he was bad at imitation and no one cared to tell him, I think the character he was trying to imitate was that short guy (smiggule) — I have never seen the movie or read the book.

The students sighed again and he scoffed, arranging his textbooks accordingly. He was about to leave our class but was stopped by someone I've never seen before. Probably a senior.

He barged inside our classroom, sweating like a Ram on Eid's. He was wearing a Clippers sport uniform. I was surprised to see someone for the first time in my life not supporting the Lakers. Not that I know anything about basketball but what I was absolutely sure about was that the Lakers are better than the Clippers.

His afro was halved. He surely was a senior, he was bigger than me three times multiplied.

"Mr. Berkeley, wait!" He yelled, still trying to catch his breath.

Obviously intimidated by how perfect he looked, I scanned the whole students faces and the girls were all going goo-goo for him. But the boys? Frown they all did. I love the meninist vibes in the class at that moment.

We weren't going to allow a senior to hook up with girls we had a chance with — not a chance in hell.

"Alvarez, you're going to fail my class for the second time if you keep missing my class."

The senior blocked Mr. Berkeley's way with his arm. He definitely is a senior. "Sir, you've gotta believe me. My classes are messed up as shit." He explained.

"Seventy-five percent attendance is all I ask of you, without that you're not going to write my exam Omar." Mr. Berkeley ignored his legit plight and showed his mind was already decided.

Omar Alvarez.

I did a little background check on every Omar that was in Midtown high and all photos pointed to the junior who was harrowed badly and had to drop out from school — and that's Omar Alvarez. But he looked a lot different from the kid in weird glasses and braces in the school's 2016 yearbook.

"I seriously can't help you with the attendance, you've missed twenty percent of your CA. But you can work hard on your exam and class project. I can reconsider and give you a C." That stingy geezer, in all the two weeks I had done in Midtown high, I have never scored anything above a ninety-five — even though I was the highest.

Omar gasped loudly, "buh, I told you 'bout it. My old man's gonna kill me if I get a C in chemistry. And what project are you capping about?"

His nerves amazes me also. But if he keep up with that attitude he might get an F because no one would want to partner up with a bully, besides we've already being grouped, I made sure I fell into Sahar and Francis' group — I started school in the middle of the semester so I ought to coupled up with gifted minds like those two.

"That's been sorted out already. Isn't that right?" Mr. Berkeley questioned, facing us.

"Totally!" The little meninist group chorused in vexation.