The next day was Friday, and the atmosphere in Rita's class was buzzing, as usual. But today felt different. Rita had that familiar knot in her stomach as she walked into the classroom, knowing what awaited her. In this class, there were two designated board writers: herself and Anne. They were the ones who would take the chalk or marker when required and write on the board for the class, making sure everyone had what they needed.
Today, however, during the CCA class, Mrs. Odunneye, the CCA teacher, gave Anne the task to write on the board. Rita felt a shift inside her, unsure of how the class would unfold. While Anne wrote, Mrs. Odunneye turned to Rita and asked, "Rita, are you writing for Anne?"
Rita was taken aback by the question. She shook her head and said quietly, "No, Mrs. Odunneye."
Mrs. Odunneye, seemingly a bit disappointed, responded, "It's not good, oh. In other classes, they help each other out."
Rita's face flushed with irritation. Her stomach churned. She had no desire to be involved in Anne's responsibilities—Anne could handle it. But the way Mrs. Odunneye said it made her feel like she was somehow failing in her duties. It was a small thing, but the sting was there.
It was Tope, of all people, who came to the rescue. Tope, noticing Anne's struggle with the board, had quietly taken Anne's notebook from the table and helped her write the notes. Rita's heart sank. It wasn't about the writing anymore—it was about the underlying tension.
The bell rang, signaling the end of the period. As the class packed up, Tope walked over to Anne, handing her the notebook with a smile.
"Thank you, jare," Anne said with a touch of sarcasm, "You're not like some people."
Rita's mind raced. "Some people"—did Anne mean her? The remark was pointed, and Rita couldn't help but feel it cut deep.
Rita silently gathered her things, the weight of the exchange settling in her chest. She tried to shake it off, but the tension between them was becoming harder to ignore. She could feel it creeping up again. Her thoughts drifted to the girl she used to consider a friend—Anne, with whom she had once shared laughter and quiet moments. Now, it felt like there was a wall between them.
*Later that day*, Rita found herself sitting alone in the library, her thoughts spinning. She stared at the pages of her notebook but couldn't focus. Her mind kept drifting back to everything that had happened between her and Anne. The hurt, the confusion, the tension—was it really possible to start over? She didn't know if she was ready for it. But something inside her told her that if they were ever going to move forward, they had to leave the past behind.
Just as she was about to close her notebook and call it a day, she heard a soft voice.
"Rita?"
She looked up to find Anne standing by the table, her arms slightly crossed, but there was something in her eyes—something different. Rita couldn't quite place it, but it felt... vulnerable.
"Can we talk?" Anne's voice was tentative, almost unsure.
Rita felt a knot tighten in her stomach. Was this going to be another confrontation? Another round of accusations and hurtful words? She opened her mouth to respond, but then she noticed the sincerity in Anne's expression, the absence of her usual defensiveness.
"Sure," Rita replied quietly, her voice tinged with caution.
Anne took a deep breath, then spoke again. "Rita, I know I've messed things up. I've hurt you, I've been selfish, and I've said things that I regret. I can't take those things back, but I want to make it right. I'm sorry for everything."
Rita's breath caught in her throat. She hadn't expected this—this openness, this rawness from Anne. It felt like a weight had been lifted, but Rita was still wary. She didn't know what to say. Was this real? Could they really fix what had been broken?
Anne took another step closer, her eyes full of emotion. "I've been holding onto my pride, and it's been eating away at me. I've been so focused on being right, on winning, that I lost sight of what really matters. You matter, Rita. Our friendship matters."
Rita's heart ached at Anne's words. Her mind flashed to all the moments they had shared, the laughter, the inside jokes, the late-night conversations. How did it come to this?
"I'm sorry," Anne continued, her voice trembling slightly. "I know I pushed you away, and I don't blame you for being angry. I've been a terrible friend, but I want to change that. I don't want us to be like this anymore. I want us to start fresh."
Rita felt tears prick her eyes. This wasn't just an apology; it was an admission. It was Anne letting her guard down. And it was exactly what Rita had needed to hear.
"Are you sure you want to start over?" Rita asked, her voice shaky. "After everything?"
Anne nodded, her eyes brimming with sincerity. "Yes. I want to try. I know it won't be easy, but I'm willing to do whatever it takes. I don't want to lose you."
The raw honesty in Anne's words broke something inside Rita. It was like all the walls she'd built up came crumbling down. The anger, the resentment, the hurt—it was all still there, but now it felt more manageable, like they had a chance to rebuild.
Anne stood up a little straighter, then, with a soft smile, said, "Let's start over, Rita. No past, no grudges. Just... us, trying again. What do you say?"
Rita took a deep breath, her heart racing in her chest. Could she really do this? Could she forgive Anne and start again? She hesitated for a moment, but then she saw Anne standing there, vulnerable and hopeful, and something inside her softened. She didn't want to hold on to the bitterness anymore.
"I think we can do that," Rita said, her voice steady but filled with emotion. "I think... we deserve that."
Anne's smile grew wider, and for the first time in a long while, Rita felt a flicker of hope. Maybe they could do this. Maybe they could heal.
Then, Anne did something unexpected. She took a step toward Rita, looking her in the eyes, and said with a playful grin, "Well then, I guess we should start like we've never met before. My name's Anne. Nice to meet you."
Rita blinked, a mixture of shock and laughter rising in her chest. She had expected to hear something more serious, but this? This was Anne—her bold, sometimes quirky Anne. The girl she had once called a friend. And now, they were starting over.
Rita smiled softly, a few tears still lingering in her eyes. "Nice to meet you, Anne," she replied, her voice shaky but warm.
Anne reached out her hand, and Rita hesitated for a split second before shaking it, the simple gesture feeling so much more meaningful than it had ever been before.
"I'm Rita," she said quietly, her smile genuine this time. "I... I think we'll be okay."
Anne squeezed her hand before letting go, her voice full of emotion. "I'm glad you're giving me another chance. And this time, I'll make sure I don't mess it up."
Rita could feel the sincerity in her words, and it reassured her. They weren't just pretending everything was fine. They were acknowledging the hurt and the healing. They were building something new.
As they stood there, the silence between them wasn't uncomfortable. It was calm. It was the first step toward mending what had been broken. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Rita felt a weight lift from her chest. Maybe, just maybe, they could rebuild their friendship—one step at a time.
On Wednesday, the atmosphere was light again, until something unexpected happened. A girl in the class brought a bottle of "Laali" to school. It was a popular marker that everyone seemed to love, and of course, Anne was first in line to borrow it.
Rita watched as Anne took the Laali from the girl and began writing on her hand, a satisfied grin on her face. Rita, always the curious one, wanted to ask the girl for the Laali too.
But before Rita could speak, Anne turned to her with a teasing smile, "Eh, eh, you better don't borrow it, church girl," she said, the words laced with mischief.
Rita raised an eyebrow. "Church girl? Who's a church girl?"
Anne gave her a knowing look, her voice almost dripping with mockery. "You! Everyone knows you as the church girl."
With a dramatic flair, Anne started to sing, her voice carrying through the room. "Rita is a church girl (I ha, I ha, oh) Rita is a church girl (I ha, I ha, oh) I know you know, everybody knows that, Rita is a church girl (I ha, I ha, oh)." She added a little jig, swaying from side to side, fully embracing the fun of the moment.
The class erupted in laughter, everyone joining in on the chorus. Rita's face turned pink as her classmates laughed around her, but there was a hint of amusement in her eyes. Anne was playful and teasing, but there was something about the song—about the entire scene—that softened Rita's heart. It wasn't the tension-filled battle of words from earlier; it was just a joke, a moment of lightness. For a brief second, the walls between them seemed to crumble.
Rita couldn't help but chuckle despite herself, even though the "church girl" label still lingered in the back of her mind. "Alright, alright, I get it," she said, shaking her head in mock exasperation. "No need to make a song out of it."
The fun and laughter continued, but Rita couldn't fully forget how the day had started. The battle between them might have been momentarily forgotten in the wake of Anne's teasing, but deep down, Rita knew that the rift between them wasn't so easily healed.