PHYSICS CLASS****
As usual, Mr McCintyre picks the weirdest times to have his class. Every single person in class were looking deprived of life. On Tuesday he announced a special class for the top 15 of the Omegas, a class he deemed 'compulsory'.
Mr McCintyre stood at the front, his sleeves rolled up, scrawling complex equations across the chalkboard with a rhythmic tapping. He made sure to hold our phones, banning all sorts of distractions, we were faced with just pure, academic grind.
Mr McCintyre: When we analyze the trajectory of a projectile (tapping the chalk against the board), we often neglect air resistance for simplicity. But in a controlled environment, the precision of your initial velocity and launch angle determines the exact point of impact. It is the difference between a hit and a catastrophic miss.
Believe me when I say I was barely holding on. My head was kept up by my hand, my elbow slipping off the edge of the desk every few seconds. I don't think Tephnine allowed two hours of sleep last night.
Mr McCintyre: Mr. Ibeh, If you're finding it this difficult to keep your head up, you can go finish your nap in the hallway. My classroom isn't a dormitory.
Me: I'm Sorry sir (rubbing my eyes), I'm awake.
Mr McCintyre: I'll be honest when I say I hate to see talents waste. We both know you're smart enough to make Gamma but you allow your laziness to control your actions. Even though you've been passing my monthly texts to retain your top three position here at omega, you can do a whole lot better. Stop being lazy. Stop being so dissapointing.
Me: I'm really sorry sir. It really wasn't my intention to sleep off.
Mr McCintyre: the fact remains that you did. I see a bright future for you, stop doing your best to dim that future.
Me: I won't sir.
Mr McCintyre: now to every other person in this class I see you all too. Sneakingly sleeping. Since y'all choose drifting into another realm, I'll be moving the scheduled pop-quiz forward. Clear your desks. I'm giving y'all one problem. No calculators. I want to see your head work and your understanding of the derivation.
This is why I hate Mr McCintyre, who the fuck does quizzes early in the morning. And the painful part is the quiz is gonna be worthless. He's just doing this to prepare us for the forthcoming final test happening this month end. We don't need the preparations. We need to fucking sleep. He spent the next 30 seconds writing down a problem on the chalkboard :
Calculate the exact time of flight and the maximum height of a projectile launched at v∅ = 12m/s at an angle of 30⁰ over a flat plane.
He gave us just five minutes to present an answer to him so everyone immediately got to working, everyone except me though. I honestly saw no need of using a scratch paper for this cause the answer was already looking straight at me.
vøy= vøsin(30⁰) Since we all know sin(30⁰) = 0.5, the vertical velocity was exactly 6m/s.
The time to reach the peak is t=vøy/g.
Using 9.8 m/s² for g, that's roughly 0.61 seconds to the top. Total flight time? Should be 1.22 seconds.
For the height, H=v²øy/2g. That's 36 divided by 19.6. A little less than 2, so around 1.84 meters. Without showing any workings I wrote down my answers. 1.22 secs and 1.84m.
Me: sir. I'm done.
Mr McCintyre: are you sure?, I gave you guys five minutes for this, it's been barely 2.
Me: yes sir.
Mr McCintyre: okay let's see.
Mr McCintyre reached my desk and picked up my paper. He looked at the empty space where the "working out" should have been, then at the correct answers, then back to me.
Mr McCintyre: I don't see your workings
Me: I did all that in my head
Mr McCintyre: hmmm. It's a shame, Ibeh. You have a mind that functions faster than most of the Gammas I teach in the afternoon. But if you keep showing up to my class half-conscious, that potential of yours won't matter. You're correct. Well done
Me: thank you sir.
Mr McCintyre: we already have one correct answer class. The rest of you should hurry up. And Mr Ibeh, Stay awake for the rest of the hour. If I see your eyes dim for just a bit, I'll be banning you from all of my classes
Me: yes sir.
AROUND 4PM*****
Believe me when I say I was having the most perfect dream of my life. one where I was the king of Camelot, and I was in war fighting alongside my generals. I had finally cornered my enemy, a barbarian called Kephala. After a minute of front and back sword fight with him, I finally dealt a fatal strike. After he fell down, I stood over him striking one of the most glorious pose I've ever struck.
Me: Kephala The Damned. Do you have any last words?.
K.T.D: (laughing like a psychopath)
Me: have you finally gone mad?.
K. T. D: mad?. You are the mad one. I tell you this keima. I, will become the king of Camelot.
Me: try being a corpse first.
I swiftly swung my sword, taking off his head. With the war going around me, I took his head, raised it towards the sky and screamed
Me: the people of taku'k tribe!!. Your king is dead!!. What more can you do now!!?.
Seeing this, those barbarians started running off with their heels almost touching their necks, I love it when cowards do that. I was about to chase them down when the world started shaking.
Demonic voice: Keima. Get up. Wake up you lazy bastard.
Fucking hell!!, I was about to get to the climax of the dream. I groaned, pulling the pillow over my head, I just wanted to go on with my sleep and beautiful dream. The annoying part of this was that this demonic voice was familiar, Jensen.
Me: please, Go away, Whatever request you have, the answer is no.
Jensen: The tailor closes in an hour, man. We have to go get our suits or you're going to the Prom in your basketball jersey.
His stupid voice was closer now. I felt the edge of my bed dip as he sat down.
Me: trust me, I'm fine with that. At least It's breathable fabric,
Kayode: He's been like this for twenty minutes, I tried to tell him that Mr McCintyre's brother is even more of a prick than the teacher, but he just told me to 'calculate the probability of him caring.' Which, for the record, was zero.
Me: wow genius, how'd you get that number?.
Jensen: children, stop that. Keima, I'm not asking. Get up, or I'm having people drag out your very much alive carcass from the bed.
Me: That sounds like effort for them. Fine. But if I pass out on the way, leave me where I fall.
We've had since Tuesday to submit our suits, but the whole gang refused to go. I understand Jensen, he's the owner of the school. I understand me, I'm lazy, I can't be arsed. I understand Justin and Barry, they're no different from being useless. Who I don't understand is kayode. Why hasn't he submitted his?. He's literally our role model, and now he's rushing with us on deadline day. Well that aside, I dragged myself into a hoodie, not even bothering to fix my hair, cause honestly, If I was going to be forced to stand in a shop, I was going to be as comfortable as possible while doing it.
The hallway leading to the tailor's shop was a mess. There was a line of Betas and Omegas stretching halfway to the cafeteria, all of them holding their suit bags like they were carrying holy relics. The air was thick with the sound of people arguing over star placements.
Jensen didn't even slow down. He walked straight toward the front of the line, Kayode and I trailing just close enough to let everyone know we're together. There's no way in hell I'll be in that queue. Over my living body.
Random side character: Hey!. There's a line!.
Jensen: so?.
Oh, abuse of power. How much do I love you?. The random was about to reply, but that was when it dawned on him that this blonde hair belongs to the face of Starling high. It belongs to Jensen west. He just went mute. Oh people, when I say power you say abuse. We love that.
Before we knew it, the crowd parted like the Red Sea. It wasn't even about respect, it was just survival instinct. No one at Starling was dumb enough to tell Jensen West to wait his turn.
We walked into the shop, and the bell above the door chimed. The head tailor, who looked exactly like the Physics teacher but with a measuring tape instead of chalk looked up. This was Mr McCintyre's brother, and he looked just as annoyed with life as his sibling.
Head Tailor: Mr. West.
His voice changed from the harsh tone he was using on the omega before us, to a calm, soothing voice.
Head Tailor: I have your registers ready.
Jensen: okay, Good. Let's try to make it quick. My friend here is about to fall asleep on your floor.
I leaned my back against the wall, eyes half closed.
Me: He's not joking sir. So please Just stitch the things on so I can go back to my bed.
The tailor sighed, pulling out the star boxes. He moved to Kayode first. Being the number 1 of Gamma had its perks. Four gold stars were pinned onto his lapel with surgical precision. Kayode stood there, solid and composed, looking every bit the top-tier student he was.
Jensen went next. Same treatment. Four gold stars. The gold thread caught the light, screaming 'Elite' at anyone who looked.
Then it was my turn. The tailor looked at his list, then back at me. I could see the flick of his eyes, the same way the Physics teacher looked at me when I didn't show my work.
Head Tailor: Ibeh, Keima. Top 3 Omega.
He reached into the box and pulled out one gold star and two silver stars. He started pinning them onto my suit. It felt like he was adding weight to my shoulders that I didn't want.
Head Tailor: One gold, two silver. Standard for your rank.
I tried on the suit and looked at the mirror. One bright gold star flanked by two dull silvers. Next to Jensen and Kayode, I looked like a work in progress if I'm being honest.
Jensen: the gold looks a bit lonely, doesn't it?. Mr Anthony, can't something be done about that?.
Head Tailor: Rank is rank, Mr. West. Orders from the top need to be held.
Me: don't listen to my dumb ass friend Mr Anthony. One gold is enough of a stress for me. If possible I'd take just the silvers.
Kayode: what was I even expecting?.
Me: nothing. We're done right?. Can we go now?.
Jensen: (laughing) You're unbelievable. People would kill for that gold star, and you're acting like it's a chore to wear it.
Me: It is a chore. It's metal. It's heavy. And it's not a pillow, which is what I actually need now.
The walk back from the tailor's was basically a test of my physical endurance. Every step felt like I was carrying the weight of the entire Western Division on my back, and Jensen and Kayode weren't helping by walking at a ridiculously fast pace.
Me: would it kill you guys to walk slowly?. I'm dying here
Kayode: sometimes I'm left to question how you're still alive if this is the effort you put into the bare minimum.
Me: by the end of our lives you'll have a gazillion question. Trust me on that.
Jensen: We're finally at your dorm, happy now?.
Me: duhhh. Of course (walking in)
Jensen: and who's to thank?. Me.
Me: nahhh, more like who put me through this stress?. You.
Kayode: a little appreciation won't kill you.
Me: to Jensen?. He'll rub it in my face for the next week or so.
Jensen: I definitely will.
Kayode: still, you should. You're already done, basically maneuvered through the queue. Justin and Barry are still downstairs arguing with the betas and Omegas.
Me: and the Alphas
Jensen: minus the Alphas.
Me: uhhh. Why?.
Kayode: none of the Alphas were permitted to take part in this forthcoming prom. And only the top 20 of the Betas were permitted.
Me: Sheesh. That's just harsh
Kayode: that's honestly what you get when you're in the bottom of the food chain.
Even though this story is just sad, I didn't really have the strength to give two fucks. I kicked off my slides, tossed the suit bag onto the chair, and face planted onto my bed.
Me: Finally. Now I'd appreciate the quietness.
Jensen: Don't get too comfortable (standing in the doorway), Coach wants us at the gym in an hour. we are to re-map the transition plays for the Al-rafahi game.
Me: that's more than enough time to rest
Jensen: unbelievable (turning to leave) See you at the court, Wonder Kid. Try not to drool on the suit.
Kayode: yeah me too. I don't think I can stay here with you.
Me: byeeee.
The door clicked shut, and the room finally went silent. Took some time but I was finally drifting, right on the edge of that perfect, very dreamful sleep, when my phone buzzed against my nightstand. I ignored it. It buzzed again. And a third time. I reached out blindly, grabbing the device. Text from Tephnine.
Tephnine*: I heard you finally paid the tailor a visit
Tephnine*: and yes, Jensen asked me to disturb your rest.
Tephnine*: I've picked out a tie that matches the gold star perfectly. I hope you'll like it. And obviously wear it. I love you. Let's talk later. I'll allow you rest now.
I stared at the screen, a small smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth despite how tired I was. I still replied though
Me: I love you too my angel. Let's talk later.
I tossed the phone back onto the table. Closed my eyes, determined to get at least Forty minutes of peace.
FINAL TRAINING, FRIDAY 8:30PM*****
The gym was dead silent, the only sound being the distant hum of the ventilation system. We had just finished the hell coach called training and now it was finally time for the most important part of our training. Coach's tactics.
Coach John: listen up!. Don't let the rankings fool you. Al-rafahi is sitting in 5th place right now, but that's only because their offense is stagnant. Defensively?, They are the most brutal unit in the league. They aren't just good, they're statistical outliers.
He wrote a digit on the board '62.4'.
Coach John: That's their Points Against Average. It's the lowest in the division. While everyone else is out here playing pretty basketball, Al-rafahi is playing a blood sport. They stay in a suffocating 'Box and One' that hasn't allowed more than eight points in a single quarter for the last three games. They don't play for the highlight reel, they play to make you hate the game. They're 5th because they don't care about scoring 100 points, they care about making sure you don't score 50.
He uncapped a red marker and drew five sharp points on the board.
Coach John: Our starting five: Keima at the point, Jensen at shooting guard, Jace on the wing, with Matt and James locking down the paint. Since Al-rafahi wants to turn this into a slow, grinding half court game, we're going to use their own discipline against them with what I've been having you guys practice all week. I call it 'the Ghost Screen Transition'.
Just make a normal name for heaven sake coach. You suck at naming things. He drew a diagram on the board and started drawing rapid, aggressive lines across the diagram.
Coach John: Keima, I want you bringing the ball up with a slow, dragging pace. Bait them. Make them think we're playing a slow game, make them think we're as lazy as you look.
Me: of course, you don't miss the chance to shoot at me.
Coach John: shut up. No interruption. Now as I was saying, make them think we aren't taking the game serious, everyone knows we're already the Western division champions so use that, but the second you cross the timeline, I want Jensen sprinting toward you like he's setting a hard screen. Al-rafahi's defenders are trained to switch the moment they see that shoulder to shoulder contact.
With this he circled the space between the players he skiddled on the board.
Coach John: But Jensen, you aren't making contact. You're going to ghost it, slip the screen before they can even touch you and cut hard to the corner. That's going to cause a defensive glitch. If they both chase Jensen to the corner, Keima, you've got a clear lane to find Jace flying in from the weak side. If they hesitate, you feed Matt or James in the post.
He turned away from the board, his eyes scanning each of us until they landed on me.
Jensen: Keima, you're gonna have to be the engine. I don't need you sprinting, but I need your eyes working double time. You're the only one on this floor with the processing speed to see that defensive switch before it happens. You see the gap, you deliver the ball. No flash, just execution.
He tossed the marker onto the tray and crossed his arms.
Coach John: we already being the western division champions doesn't give you guys a reason to become complacent. Win this match. Am I clear ?.
Team: yes coach.
Coach John: good. Everyone hit the showers and go to bed. Tomorrow we win Al-rafahi.
SATURDAY, STARLING STRIKE VS AL-RAFAHI ******
I'm way too tired and burnt out to want to properly tell you how the game went. So here's what I can do. Their defence were good, but playing too aggressive favoured us in the sense that we made away with tons of free throws. We won the match a tad bit comfortable 66-39. Thank you for sticking around. Now time to prep for my first ever prom. I can't lie even if I wanna. I'm hyped for this.