Do you know what the dumbest thing is? No, the dumbest thing ever? Motivating someone. Who has the time to look into someone’s depressing but hopeful eyes and tell them they can do it, whatever it is they want to do? Isn’t it obvious they really can’t? Isn’t that exactly why they want someone to tell them they can?
I stood before a red and white building that should have been demolished by now. It had outlived its life, just like its owner. The paint was peeling near the gate. The nameboard was rusted at the corners. The owner was a strict, short, old lady who called herself the principal of the school. She had invited me to motivate her students.
“Why?” I asked when the school first called me.
“We want you to motivate our students,” the proud teacher on the other end said.
“Why?”
There was silence. I heard people chatting in the background, deciding what to say next.
“Because students look up to people like you, sir. You are an alumnus of the school. They will be motivated to hear about your success,” she said, conviction clear in her voice.
“Why?”
The teacher didn’t have an answer. She told me the time and date and hung up.
These teachers really need to learn how not to be rude on calls.
Speaking of rudeness, the old principal didn’t even offer me coffee that morning. She offered me tea instead. Who drinks tea nowadays? Didn’t the British take that habit back with them when they gave us our freedom?
I wanted to leave right then. But the other teachers were watching me, chatting among themselves, smiling, tucking their hair behind their ears. A few blushed the moment I looked their way, then looked down at their shoes.
“So what’s your next goal?” the old principal asked, sitting beside me. She didn’t smile. There was a sternness in her voice, the same as always. A rhetorical question, I assumed.
“To leave this school premises as soon as possible,” I said. Her eyes widened. So I corrected myself. “I mean, after motivating the students.”
She nodded, still visibly offended. But I wasn’t her student anymore. I wasn’t afraid of her anymore either.
Slowly the students filed in, a long queue of green checkered shirts and leafy green trousers. Some looked at me sideways. Others kept their eyes fixed on the ground, too afraid to look toward their principal. I checked my watch, then the gate, as more of them kept coming in under the morning sun.
One boy hung back near the gate, watching me instead of watching his shoes like the rest of them. I crouched down for a second and said something low, just for him. He grinned, way too big for the moment, and jogged off to join the line before anyone noticed.
I remembered something important. “Madam, we haven’t discussed my payment. I accept cash as well,” I said.
The principal looked at me as if she had seen a ghost.
“You want payment? From your own school? For motivating students?” Her voice had climbed a full octave.
“Oh, I am so sorry, I didn’t inform you,” I pinched my lips. “Can I get an advance before I start? The students are waiting.” I tilted my head toward the rows of children trying hard to sit still. “Hurry. I have places to be after this.”
She stared at me for a long moment, gritted her teeth, shook her head, and called someone over. I hoped it was the accountant. She murmured something in his ear. He nodded and disappeared inside. Three minutes later he was back with a sealed envelope that felt far too light in my hand.
“It’s light,” I said, holding it up to my ear, as if that would change anything.
“Just an advance. You’ll get the rest. We’re processing it,” she said, pointing toward some teachers already handing out collection sheets to the students. Some things never change in thirty years.
I stood up. The host, a nervous young teacher, waited for the principal’s nod before she began. The principal nodded. The host introduced me, and the students clapped as I walked toward the small, makeshift stage. On the way, I paused near a teacher who had been blushing since I arrived. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll motivate you too. Separate charge, though.” I winked.
She laughed nervously and looked away. Rude. Ridiculous.
I stepped forward and my foot came down squarely on a boy’s shoe, the same boy from the gate. He yelped, clutched his foot, and folded to the ground as if someone had shot him. I gasped, waved the school clerk over, and had him taken aside. The other students looked more shaken than the boy himself.
“So, dear little fellas, how are you?” I said into the mic, pulling the attention away from the crying boy.
“We have limited time, so let’s focus. I’m sure your friend is fine. Who cries over such small things, anyway?” I laughed at my joke. Nobody else did. A ripple of whispers ran through the rows instead.
The principal looked worried. She signalled the host, who moved through the crowd trying to settle the students down. I checked my watch again, hoping to wrap this up soon.
Once they had quieted, I asked, “So, you all want me to motivate you?”
Nobody answered. A few students shook their heads, arms folded, clearly still angry about their friend. I stared back until their teachers gently pushed their eyes back down. “Good,” I said.
I glanced at the principal. She was rubbing her forehead, not looking up.
“How many of you have big dreams?”
A couple of hands went up.
“Come on, only these few? All of you must be dreaming of something. I used to, when I was in this school.”
More hands rose.
“Good. Now tell me what your dream is.”
One by one, they called out their answers.
“I want to become an astronaut.”
“NASA engineer.”
“Doctor. Scientist. Pilot.”
“Hmm. Good,” I said. Then I looked straight at the principal. “But I want to tell you something important.” I turned back to the children and smiled as wide as I could. “Your dreams are a waste. You can’t become any of the things you just said. Well, you can. But you won’t.”
The students’ faces fell. A few had tears building in their eyes.
“Why are you crying? Can’t you take the truth? I’m a successful alumnus of this school. Believe me,” I said, my voice rising.
The principal stood up fast and motioned for the host to take the mic from me. The host reached for it, her hand almost touching mine. I pulled it away. Romance could wait. This mattered more.
“Trust me, you can’t achieve any of it. Stop dreaming and come back to reality,” I said, still smiling.
The children looked horrified now. The principal was already walking toward the stage, reaching for the mic.
“Excuse me, madam. What’s the problem? Why does it bother you when someone tells the truth?” I asked, not moving. “Didn’t you tell my parents the same thing when I told you what I wanted to become, back in tenth grade?”
The principal froze. The murmuring in the crowd stopped. Some teachers covered their mouths. Others exchanged glances.
I straightened up, looked her in the eye, and let a few seconds pass before I spoke again.
“People will tell you that you can’t become what you dream of. And if you believe them, you won’t.” I turned to face the children directly. “But if you stop listening to them, and listen only to what your heart says, and believe it, you will get there.”
I waved the clerk over. The boy from the gate walked back in, not a trace of a limp, and gave me the same big grin from an hour ago. “Your friend was never hurt. I asked him this morning if he’d play along, because I needed you to remember this, not just hear it. People can hurt you. They can weaken your spirit if you let them.” I looked at the principal. “When you fall, some people will laugh. They’ll question you. But make sure you have the last laugh. Get up and fight back. Like I did.”
I held her gaze for one more second, then handed the mic to the host.
“One last thing,” I said, taking it back. “Every one of you will achieve your dreams. I believe in each one of you.”
I gave the mic back for good this time, and the host smiled and thanked me. I nodded.
The principal looked away, something close to embarrassment on her face. I climbed down from the stage, and the students came running. Some shook my hand. Others just hugged me for believing in something they weren’t sure anyone else did.
Behind them, the old red and white building stood exactly where it always had. Still standing. Still refusing to fall.
300 pages or Less - Romance !!
Genres: Romance, Romance / Contemporary, and Romance / New Adult
Kindle Unlimited Romances
Genres: Romance, Romance / Contemporary, and Romance / New Adult