Classroom Warfare - Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It was the start of a new year, but to Cam it did not feel like a new day.

Every morning for the past year, at 6.30 A.M. sharp, he faced the same cold grey hall, the same orderly rows, the same urgent whispers to hurry up, and the same lifeless, sunken eyes. The same framed picture of the school’s founder, Jackson Tusk, smiled warmly at him. The same yellow banner hung over the stage, screaming the school motto at him: ‘Listen and be Heard, Follow and You Shall Lead’.

Below it, a navy plaque with smaller words recited the school’s mission statement: ADEQUECY EQUALS MEDIOCRITY.

The new principal was on stage giving a welcome speech, but Cam was more interested in spinning his pen. He was sitting beside his best friend Miles who was squinting as usual. He needed spectacles, but never wore them because he deemed them unfashionable.

A collective groan from the student body made Cam look at the screen. There was a messy clump of highlighter yellow boxes on screen, each representing a subject or activity. Their schedule. Cam knew what to expect. Classes would go on from 7.30 A.M. to around 3.30 P.M. every day, followed by Supplementary classes, chores, Co-Curricular Activities (CCAs), and intensive revision programmes would go on until as late as 9 P.M. Then they would have to rush, wash up and be in bed by 10.30pm. Breaks, highlighted in orange, were short, and usually spent on eating, showering or washing clothes.

Students who missed any classes would need to provide an approved reason, and anyone who was more than fifteen minutes late would get a ‘demerit point’, which the principal said he would explain soon.

In his first year, no one from Cam’s class had skipped a lesson.

He sniffed through his blocked nose, the humid air pressing his head in. There were countless restrictions on school grounds, and they were too burnt out even on freer weekends to devise anything fun to spend their time on.

The principal clicked on a slide, which read ‘Staff’.

“I’m one of them, so I should start there,” he grinned, hoping for laughs that would never come. He was a head taller than the rest of the staff, and wore a kept his blue buttoned-shirt tucked out of his trousers to appear casual. Cam suspected that he was faking his British accent, just like he was faking his enthusiasm and his promises for change. The systems set in place benefitted the school’s reputation, so they would always keep them the same.

The rest of the teachers were introduced one by one, and they responded to their names with wide grins and a dorky wave.

Even after seeing them every day for a year, their presence still filled Cam’s chest with a sense of dread, such that he avoided looking at their faces. They hated him, and he hated them.

The Student Council was introduced too, along with the news that they would be recruiting new members. The Council members, called Councillors, were some of the main topics of gossip among most friend groups in the school, Cam’s included. Whenever he saw them in class or around school, however, he remained cordial, smiling and laughing at their jokes, making sure to get on their good side.

The principal went on to brief the newbies on the school’s ranking score. They were a set of numbers that would determine whether a student would have to attend supplementary lessons, and how the teachers treated them. Teachers paid much closer attention to the ‘weaker’ students, scrutinising their behaviour both in and out of class. As time went on, students would also perceive their lower-ranked peers as dumber and less capable, and the shame born from being marked this way was one of the strongest motivating factor to work hard.

Cam was ranked at 122 out of 211 in his level. Every time he was asked what his rank was, he would answer ‘can’t remember, somewhere around hundred’, before hurrying to change the subject. When he was with Miles, he noticed that teachers and his peers would only address Miles, completely ignoring him. Miles, after all, had moved up to rank forty-six last year.

A slide flashing the school uniform and appearance standards was flashed next. Hair below shoulder length was prohibited for girls, and boys had to keep theirs neat and ahove the forhead. Their grey uniforms had to be ironed crisply and tucked fully at all times. Earrings 0.5cm were allowed for girls, while rings, bracelets or chains were not. Spectacles and hair clips had to be either black or navy blue. Shoes had to be black, and properly polished. Excercise attire - black shorts, navy blue dri-fit T-shirst and grey running sneakers - were provided and to be worn for fitness sessions, sports and retiring to their room.

“Of course, clothes have to be washed,” the Principal laughed.

Cam smoothed the sleeves of his shirt instinctively when the slide came on. Every morning, he pushed his short black hair to the right before putting on his square black glasses, the paint on its frame peeling. He then not tucked in his uniform, making sure it was in but not too neatly. Being too careful with his appearance and behaviour would show his peers that he was trying hard, which was embarrassing when his grades were not the best. He preferred to create the impression that his subpar grades were a result of sloppiness rather than incompetence.

The principal clicked on to the next slide.

“A new demerit points system will be implemented, and attire that is not in order will result in one,” said the principal. “You’ll get one every time you break a school rule. Accumulating demerits would result in increasingly severe punishments, and you could lose rank points too.”

The principal flashed the specifics on the projector. He then moved on to talk about chores and cleanliness, and Cam’s mind wandered off.

Principal Cole hoped his sweat was not visible on his shirt. He stood at a podium on the stage at the front of the school hall. With shiny laminated brown floors and a hundred-metre-high ceiling, the place was spacious, even with the six hundred bodies seated in front of him. The smell of detergent, powder and socks hung over their heads.

His father had warned him to expect odd behaviour from them because of their birth circumstances, but he had not expected to be this intimidated. They were just kids, he told himself. They were just kids, nobody else wanted this job, and no one expected much from him. Still, the way they stared blankly, some with their mouths slightly, like they were in a daze, unnerved him. The sea of dark grey uniforms, with reds from the school’s horseshoe shaped logo on their breast pockets popping through, made him feel alone. He wanted them to like him.

Tapping on his microphone to break the eerie silence that enveloped the hall, he flashed a pearly smile. The projector screen behind him was finally working, displaying a Power Point slide that read ‘Welcome’.

“New students, welcome to Flolone! Former students, welcome to the start of another year. I’m your new Principal. Principal Cole,” he beamed, making sure to pronounce his ‘Ts’ and ‘Rs’ as clearly as he could. The quiver in his voice annoyed him, and he prayed that none of the students picked up on it.

He paused as the student body before him clapped in unison. Some of blazer-clad Student Council members standing to the sides of the hall even smiled, which was comforting.

“Before I go into some important administrative matters, I want to start of with something personal,” Cole continued, breathing deeply to ease his nerves. “A little piece of advice my teachers gave me when I was about your age.”

A Student council member started clapping, and a boy next to him made him stop.

Cole fished out a wireless clicker from his pocket and moved on to the next slide. It had two pictures – one of a carrot, and the other of a steak.

“In life, you always have to choose between the carrot and the steak. Steaks are always tasty, but they are unhealthy,” Principal Cole continued. “While carrots are not as pleasant to eat, they are good for you. They improve your eyesight and boost your immune system.

What I’m trying to say, is that in life, you must make decisions based on what is good for you, rather than what you will most enjoy. Those are the decisions your future self will thank you for.”

The teachers, standing beside the Councilors, clapped loudly and forced smiles. They had made the slides for him, so their approval meant little.

The students continued staring blankly, which, while expected, still stung.

Doing his best to ignore the looks on their faces, Cole clicked to the next slide. “Moving on,” he said. “Let’s go over classes and schedules.”