They Messed With The Wrong Twin

I like my things organized and clean, so seeing filthy garbage all over my desk ticked me off. I was on the edge of exploding, ready to rub their smug faces in it, but the teacher walked in.

Ms. Gertrude looked at me dead in the eye, ignoring the mess I held. “Class has started, Nyla. Why aren’t you at your desk?”

I raised my books, trying to control my frustration. “Zara and her gang stuffed my desk with garbage, and my chair’s covered in glue.”

Her expression shifted slightly, but she masked it quickly. Raising an eyebrow, she sneered. “Are you accusing Zara of bullying you? Zara, the top student in our grade? She wouldn’t do that.”

I didn’t respond. I just held her gaze, letting the silence speak for itself.

Ms. Gertrude’s lips curled. “Zara’s not even here today, so stop making baseless accusations.” She turned to Mira, who was nodding with a smug grin.

“Ms. Gertrude, I think Nyla’s just jealous of Zara’s grades. Everyone knows Zara is the best student in our class,” Mira chimed in, looking at me like I was the one at fault.

“Sit down, Nyla. If you don’t want to learn, that’s your choice, but don’t disrupt the others.” Ms. Gertrude’s tone was final, and dismissive, like I was the problem here.

That was it. The bubbling anger I had been holding in burst. I kicked my desk over, sending garbage spilling across the floor. Oil stains seeped into the tiles, and the whole class gasped in shock.

Mira shot daggers at me. “Maybe you’re just a slob and can’t clean up after yourself. Don’t try to pin this on Zara!”

Ms. Gertrude didn’t even glance at the mess. “Zara wouldn’t do this. And if she was bullying you, Nyla, maybe you should ask yourself why. Why doesn’t she bully anyone else? It takes two to tango, doesn’t it?”

I couldn’t take it anymore. Without thinking, I moved swiftly, my hand connecting with her cheek in a sharp slap that echoed through the room.

The class went silent.

Ms. Gertrude’s face turned beet red, her neck swelling with fury. “Nyla! You dare hit a teacher?! You’re finished here! I’m calling your parents. Pack your things; you won’t be studying here anymore!”

I waited in the hallway for Mom to arrive. When she finally did, she gave me a small smile that said, “Well done.”

In the office, Ms. Gertrude unleashed her complaints, her voice thick with indignation. “This student slapped me in front of the entire class! I’ve been teaching for years and have never been so disrespected!”

Mom listened, her head slightly tilted, a look of calm disdain on her face. “Ms. Gertrude, why is it that Nyla only slapped you? Have you considered that maybe the problem isn’t my daughter but you?”

Ms. Gertrude stammered, at a loss for words. Her authority had been shattered by my mother’s sharp response.

“Well,” Ms. Gertrude finally managed, “let’s go see the principal. Let’s see if he’ll keep this disrespectful student or me, an experienced teacher.”

“Let’s,” Mom agreed coolly.

We met the principal in his office, and Mom was all smiles. She shook his hand warmly. “Principal, I’m sorry you’ve been troubled with this. Our Nyla can be thoughtless at times. But my husband and I have been thinking—we’d like to donate a little to give the students a more productive environment.”

The principal’s eyes lit up. “That’s a generous offer.”

Mom nodded, her smile now full of challenge as she glanced at Ms. Gertrude. “Of course, we wouldn’t joke about such a matter.”

The principal beamed. “This really isn’t such a big deal, then. Children can be mischievous, but I’m sure Nyla didn’t mean any harm. Ms. Gertrude, you’ve been here for so long, surely you understand. Right?”

Ms. Gertrude’s face turned an awful shade of blue, her fury barely contained. She was trapped. Nodding stiffly, she said nothing, the expulsion she had planned for me stuck in her throat.

I let out a soft chuckle. This was only the beginning.

I knew my sister had been through something similar. She must’ve reached out to Ms. Gertrude before, probably begging for help, but the teacher had turned a blind eye. She chose to protect Zara and the others instead, aiding their cruelty.

My sister had always been too kind. Even when she was drowning in her pain, pushed to the brink of suicide, she shielded the ones tormenting her, telling us everything was fine. The teachers were “good,” the classmates were “nice.” She never let on how bad it really was, protecting them from our wrath. She knew if we ever got our hands on them, there would be no mercy.

But that was her. I wasn’t going to let them get away with it. Not anymore.