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<span class="mu-s">T</span>he chatter in the classroom drowned every thought. Since she made her contract with Kyubey a month ago, Lucinda Newhorn would sit alone at her antique cast-iron and mahogany desk, the furthest from the entrance, elegant and identical to all the others. Frozen in time, she’s looking out the window, legs crossed. If ‘better’ was more than a buzzword it would fit only her- and so, like a rift in the ocean, that stark contrast is quick to suck in attention.
Black Male Student: Yo. Hey, yo.
Lucinda doesn’t turn to address him. Ignoring others has often worked in driving them away- but not everyone picks the message.
Black Male Student: Hey. Hey.
The moment the boy places his sweaty hand on Lucinda's naked shoulder he’s met with the same quiet stare a lioness gave his great-great-great grandfather before ripping his throat to shreds. The hand goes away.
Lucinda: I’m not interested.
Black Male Student: Damn bitch, chill. I didn’t even talk yet.
‘Bitch’. He may have said it casually- but when you throw a mint in cola instead of anywhere else it draws a reaction. Context matters, and soon that dense chatter is losing air like a cheap balloon- just like the boy’s face, growing whiter by the second.
Black Male Student: I’m sorry. I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.
Lucinda’s lioness eyes scan around; the damage has already been done. The students are looking her way. Some even approach; all dressed in tidy uniforms, all wearing bright scarlet ties under their sleek dark green coats.
Unlike her, in the casual, checkered armless blue blouse and skirt.
