The morning sun rises too quickly-like it knows Ridgeway Boarding High is not ready for whatever chaos today holds.
The hallways buzz before breakfast. Doors slam, heels click, boys shout across corridors, and somewhere on the third floor someone is already panicking because they "lost their script again."
The intercom crackles.
"Good morning, students," Principal Adeyemi's deep voice fills the school. "A reminder that today marks our official cultural rehearsals. I expect excellence. As I said last week, we will be receiving extremely important guests during the main event... including cultural dignitaries, the Mayor of Ridgeway, and-"
There's a pause, the kind that makes the entire school freeze.
"-two or three presidents."
Screams erupt across the dorms.
Someone drops a tray in the cafeteria.
Someone else yells, "PRESIDENTS?! As in actual presidents?!"
The intercom clicks off.
And just like that, the pressure becomes a living thing.
Every group has its own rehearsal room. Drama Club takes the auditorium. Group 12 takes the music hall. Group 3 is outside, dragging a huge speaker they clearly can't lift.
But Team 7?
Their rehearsal space is the only one that smells like turpentine and old paintbrushes.
The art studio.
Sunlight pours through tall windows. Paintings lean against walls like silent judges. A row of wooden mannequins stands in the back-creepy, but artistic.
Maliya adjusts her headscarf and looks around.
Matteo is stretching like he's preparing for a world cup final.
Leo is pacing the floor mumbling facts about Nigeria under his breath like the exam is next period.
Amir flips through notes about Morocco, trying to look calm (he isn't).
Khadija raises her hand dramatically while practicing some Brazilian sentence she definitely made up.
Their teacher, Ms. Rina, clasps her hands. "Alright, Team 7. Sudan is your main country theme for the event, but each of you is presenting for another group's culture. You know the drill."
And she lists them again:
Maliya - presenting ITALY
Leo - presenting NIGERIA
Khadija - presenting BRAZIL
Matteo - presenting TURKEY & AMERICA
Amir - presenting MOROCCO
The country swap still feels weird, but kind of fun.
Khadija flips her braids and sighs dramatically.
"Imagine. A Moroccan girl, presenting Brazil. Wallahi life is a movie."
Principal Adeyemi and several teachers walk room to room, checking progress.
When they enter the art studio, everyone stiffens.
"Team 7," he says, pushing his glasses up. His eyes sweep the room. "You are one of our strongest groups. Do not embarrass me."
Leo whispers under his breath, "No pressure."
Matteo nearly chokes.
The principal continues, "The dignitaries attending this event include ambassadors, cultural leaders, and-"
He pauses again, because apparently suspense is his hobby.
"-His Excellency the President of one of our partner nations."
Chaos. Pure chaos.
Amir drops his flash cards.
Khadija sits down like her legs forgot how to function.
Maliya whispers, "At least it's not our president."
Leo whispers back, "It could be worse because we are not sure which president will come ".
The whole rehearsal finishes quickly then the staff leaves the studio, Team 7 sits in silence for exactly ten seconds.
Then:
"We need to rehearse harder," Maliya says, voice steady but eyes wide.
Everyone nods.
The day turns into a blur of practicing gestures, correcting pronunciation, fixing transitions, rewriting lines, laughing, arguing, re-arguing, and Khadija threatening Matteo with a paintbrush because he keeps mixing up two Turkish facts.
Two weeks pass by...
Not slowly.
Not peacefully.
More like a tornado that didn't bother knocking.
The rehearsal week becomes rehearsal weeks. Students sleep with flash cards under their pillows. Teachers drink more coffee than medically recommended. Leo dreams about mispronouncing "Jollof rice" in front of a president. Amir keeps waking up thinking he forgot something (he has).
And then suddenly-
Dinner ends. The school feels too quiet.
Everyone is restless, buzzing with nerves.
Team 7 gathers briefly in the hallway, forming a circle.
Matteo says, "Guys... we've practiced enough to win a war. Tomorrow we just do what we've done every day."
Leo punches his shoulder lightly. "We got this."
Amir nods.
Khadija smiles, but it's a small smile.
Maliya exhales, shoulders lifting and falling.
They break up and head to their rooms.
In their shared room, Khadija sits on her bed tying and untying the strings of her hoodie. Maliya watches her for a while before finally asking:
"Khadija... what really happened between you and Matteo?"
Khadija pauses.
Then she laughs softly-not happy, not sad.
Just tired.
"You know," she says, "you're a good person for asking."
And so she tells her.
How she and Matteo were close, real close.
How he was part of the friend circle with Amir and Leo.
How people started whispering-calling her desperate, boy-crazy, attention-seeking.
She ignored them. She wasn't about to let gossip control her life.
But then the rumor came:
That she was the one chasing Matteo for attention. That she couldn't stay away from boys. That she used Matteo to get attention.
She didn't care about rumors-until she heard Matteo might have told people the story himself.
At first she didn't believe it.
Then she approached him to ask.
He ignored her.
Not once.
Not twice.
But repeatedly, as if she was invisible.
"That's what hurt me the most," she says quietly. "Not the rumors. Just the silence. Like he didn't respect me enough to even deny it."
Maliya listens, her heart heavy.
"And those girls," Khadija adds softly, "they swore Matteo was the one who told them what to say."
She shakes her head.
"Tomorrow, after the performance... I'm going to talk to him. And apologize first. Because I just want us to be cool. And I want the truth."
Maliya sees the determination in her eyes-fierce, stubborn, brave.
It reminds her of her little sister.
The one she lost.
Her respect for Khadija deepens.
She looks at her and gives her a soft, steady smile.
A smile that says: You're stronger than you think.
A smile that Khadija understands instantly.
Khadija smiles back.
The school is quiet now.
Too quiet.
Lights flicker off door by door.
Students lie awake staring at ceilings, rehearsing lines in their heads, imagining themselves tripping onstage in front of presidents.
Khadija turns in her bed. She suddenly misses her parents and doesn't know why. Homesickness hits her like a soft wave she didn't expect.
Maliya closes her eyes, but her mind refuses to rest.
In another building, Leo sits up rewriting his notes for the 100th time.
Amir rereads a paragraph about Moroccan architecture until the words blur.
Matteo practices breathing exercises like he's giving birth.
None of them sleep.
Not really.
Because tomorrow is the biggest event Ridgeway has ever hosted.
And Team 7 is right at the center of it.
End of Chapter 11.
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