Kenya could practically smell the money oozing out of the walls as she walked through the halls of her new school. The walls were unusually clean for a high school and it smelled like fabreze. It was unnatural for a place that was full of destructive, hormonal young adults to be this clean. Her day was going a lot better than she anticipated though. She was thankful for orientation the previous day; knowing where her classes were took the awkwardness and anxiety out of her first day. She couldn’t say much about the students though. Everyone she ran into was snobbier than the next; the teachers were just as bad.

She was taking basic classes like science, AP English, American government, political science, calculus and a few college courses. She was thankful for study hall was part of her class schedule, studying and doing her home work would be a breeze because of it. So far her English teacher was okay, her science teacher had an obnoxious sense of humor coupled with an annoying laugh, and her American government teacher was monotone and boring.  It’s going to be a wonderful year, she thought sarcastically.

Kenya walked down the crowded hallway towards her political science class, her last class of the day, hoping against hope that she had a cool teacher. She loved politics, even though she never spoke up in class, but the wrong teacher could ruin it for her. As she entered, the four students already inside the classroom looked up, curiosity written on their faces. Ignoring them, she made her way to the back of the class and got comfortable. Most people thought that students who sat in the back of a classroom did so because they were lazy and not serious about their education. Kenya was the exact opposite. She hated being the center of attention and being called on by a teacher was the easiest way to draw unwanted attention. Most teachers ignored students in the back of the classroom, which was why she always sat there.

“Oh my god Tristan you are so funny!”

Kenya winced when she heard a hyena type laugh followed by a snort. It was funny how people with the ugliest laughs were sometimes the loudest. She minded her business and flipped through the pages in her book as the rest of the class, including the teacher poured in. She tried not to groan when the seats to the right and left of her were taken. Maybe she shouldn’t have sat in the middle row.

“I can’t believe we have to take this class. Who wants to learn about politics? We have a socialist for a president and our country is going down the drain. I miss President Bush.”

Kenya couldn’t control her eye roll. How was she going to survive in a class with idiots like this chick?

“You are so right Emily. I mean I’m thinking about moving to Canada because of what’s going on. He should definitely be impeached.”

Lord, the idiot has like minded friends, Kenya thought in dismay. It was a good thing the two of them were pretty because they probably weren’t going to accomplish much beyond graduating high school, if that.

“Alright, settle down so we can get started people. I’m going to call out each of your names and when I do, I’d like you to stand up and tell the class two things about yourself.”

Damn, Kenya thought. She hated introductions.

“I’ll start us off. My name is Mr. Simmons. I’m married with three children, two boys and a girl, and I like long walks on the beach,” Mr. Simmons said, causing some students to snicker.

“Matt Rhines?”

“Right here teach. I’m Matty Rhizzle and I like tackling bodies and breaking heads. Meaning I like to play football,” Matt said high fiving a couple of his teammates. 

“I’m Page Sawyer. I like dogs and romance novels.”

“Loser,” someone coughed. Some of the people who heard started giggling.

The immaturity in the class was beginning to irritate her. She watched Page try to hold back tears as she sat back down. Kenya zoned out as Mr. Simmons continued to call out names.

A  deep male voice was what drew her out of her day dream.

“I’m Tristan Kelly. I also love playing football and my role model is Nelson Mandela.”

Kenya looked in his direction but quickly diverted her gaze when their eyes locked. The boy was fine. And tall. With a nice body, better than nice actually.

She mentally shook herself. There were good looking guys all over the school. Why would this one catch her attention?

“Emily Woods?”

The idiot who knew nothing about politics stood up with a big smile on her face.

“My turn? Yay. Ok, ok. My name is Emily. I like tanning and making out. Oh, I’m also the chaptain of the cheerleading squad. Gooooo Eagles,” Emily said with one of her hands in the air and a big smile on her face.

Kenya wanted to shoot her. She would never get back the brain cells she lost from hearing her talk. Some people really didn’t belong in school.

“Alrighty then. Thank you for that, Emily. Kenya…is it Nomenyo?”

Kenya’s heart thudded in her chest as she cleared her throat and stood up.

“Yes, that’s correct. I was born in Kenya and this is my first year at this school.”

After sitting back down Kenya noticed that some people were still looking at her strangely. If her looks didn’t set her apart, her accent certainly did. She was 10 years old when she moved to Florida and no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t completely get rid of her accent.  People either thought it was adorable or they thought she sounded too much like an immigrant. She didn’t want to know what these stuck up kids were thinking.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Tristan tried to get her attention the rest of the class period but subtlety wasn’t working. Kenya was gorgeous with her cute accent and curvy figure. He could already tell she was different from most of the girls at the school. He could also tell she wasn’t from money, a refreshing change in his mind. To say he was sick and tired of this school was an understatement. He couldn’t go a day without a girl trying to get in his pants or become the next Mrs. Kelly. Most of them only wanted him for his money and the type of status they would have if they were with him.

He was lucky to have grown up with rich parents but he didn’t consider himself spoiled. His parents had taught him to value others, to not let money get to his head. His father was an architect, a very successful one. In fact half of Miami was built by him. His mother was a writer with six books that were New York’s #1 best sellers. Two of her books were still on the list. He was an only child so he got all the love he could handle and money whenever he wanted or needed it.

For his birthday last year, his parents had replaced his Mercedes with a Jaguar. Did they spoil him, probably a little too much. They wanted the best for him, including a great education. He was a shoe in for some great scholarships because of his playing abilities so he had nothing to worry about when it came to college. He already knew what college he would be attending, his grades were solid; all he was waiting for was graduation.

Unlike most of his friends, Tristan didn’t use his parent’s wealth and position in society to get away with anything he wanted. He was arrested for underage drinking when he was 15, which made his mother cry for days. Ever since then, he kept his nose clean. He hated seeing his mother in tears and the look of disappointment on his father’s face was like a knife to his gut. His dad made the charges go away, grounded him for two months and made him promise to stay out of trouble. He had a good life, a bright future, screwing it up was out of the question.

Tristan glanced at the new girl again. She was still flipping through the pages of their textbook, probably reading tomorrow’s assignment. She was so damn pretty and he wanted to get to know her. His friends would say she was too dark, too poor, they might even consider her over weight. He could care less about her skin color, social status, and he thought her curves were sexy. Not everyone had to be anorexic like Emily to be considered beautiful.

“For tomorrow’s assignment I want you all to ask your parents about their political affiliation, why they do or don’t belong to a party, and write a one page paper about their answers. You’re free to go,” Mr. Simmons said.

Tristan watched as Kenya quickly grabbed her things and headed for the door. He would have to wait another day to introduce himself.

“Dude, we’re going to the beach later and drink after practice. You up for it?” Matt asked as he put his arm around Tristan.

Tristan didn’t know why Matt kept pushing the drinking issue. Ever since they were caught he told Matt he was done with alcohol until he was legal.

“You know I don’t drink anymore. I will go to the beach but only to surf.”

“You’re no fun Kelly. Alright, I’ll see you in the locker room dude,” Matt replied.

Tristan shook his head as Matt walked out with two blondes on his arm, giggling at whatever he was saying.  For someone who claimed to hate drama, Matt sure attracted a lot of it, usually in the form of the opposite sex.

Throwing deuces to Mr. Simmons, Tristan headed to football practice.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

It was a good thing she was talented when it came to bullshitting papers. It had been years since she gave a second thought to her parents. As she walked towards her apartment, the memories came flooding back.  Kenya’s last memory of her parents wasn’t a good one.

They had such a great life living on their farm outside of Nairobi, growing corn and raising cattle. She enjoyed running around with her cousins and friends in their village and getting into all kinds of trouble.

Everything changed the day the militia attacked their village. They killed almost everyone and burned everything. Sometimes, when the nightmares returned, she could still hear the screams and smell the smoke.

She remembered being brought in front of the man she would never forget. He was so dark, he appeared blue. He had an ugly scar across his face his face and an eye patch over his left eye. Kenya remembered being so scared she wet herself. The soldiers dragged her and her parents in front of him and for the longest time, he didn’t say anything. He stared at her for minutes on end which made her want to crawl in a hole and die. Most of her friends and relatives were dead anyway, she might as well join them.

“I want your daughter. I will pay you $3,000 American dollars and spare your life for her.”

Even his voice sounded evil; it sent shivers up and down her spine. Her father glanced at her and her mother, tears in her eyes. She had known what his decision was going to before he said a word.

“She is yours.”

Those three words had been like an arrow to her heart; they shattered her world and crushed her trust. Her father and mother were supposed to protect her, not sell her to a monster that most likely would have used her as a sex slave if she hadn’t escaped.

A soft cry drew Kenya out of her dark memories. Page Sawyer, whom she remembered from her political science class, was crying and bent over a pile of books on the side walk. She recognized some other students from her class walking away and laughing at Page.

‘Walk away Kenya, this isn’t your problem.’

No matter what she said to herself, she couldn’t walk away. She used to be that girl. She used to be the one everyone picked on because she was different and no one understood her. She wasn’t going to be best friends with the girl; she just wanted to help her out.  She wished someone had helped her when she needed it.

“Here, let me help you,” Kenya said, as she picked up several books. Did this girl clean out her locker or something? Why was she carrying so many books?

“Thanks. Kenya, right?”

“Yeah. I know this is none of my business but you shouldn’t listen to those girls. The only reason they pick on you is because they’re insecure about themselves. People who like themselves don’t try to prove it by hurting others, they go on enjoying life. I’m not trying to get all kumbaya on you but ignore them. Not being their friend is probably the best thing that will ever happen to you. You deserve better friends then those jerks. Have a nice day.”

Kenya handed Page her books. Before things became awkward, she walked away.

Page Sawyer watched her walk away. A single tear rolled down her face. With her innocent words of encouragement, Kenya Nomenyo saved her life.