The Rebellion

It has already been a few days since Howie's last show, and everything has been pretty quiet on his side since then.

He comes to class on time as always, doesn't speak in class, and even outside of class he doesn't say a word, he doesn't even blink and barely breathes.

It's not like it's his habit to mingle with the others to chat and laugh at their prowess or anything else either, he doesn't have that camaraderie with his classmates and anyone else for that matter yet it’s quite disturbing to watch him like that each time.

Howie is only there as a complicated sculpture that is sulking and questioning the common sense of its creator for carving it and then leaving it among people who don't even understand its meaning in a public square or something.

He feels like the artist himself was out of his mind when he did it, so who can pity these poor souls if they can't even understand what the artist wanted to express?

The other students wondered if he was a drug addict or an insane person because he made them think of both sometimes. He has all the hallmarks of someone mentally unstable.

But if someone takes enough trouble to go beyond appearances and trust their eyes, they will certainly see that there is something hidden behind that beautiful troubled face, something deep that perhaps even he himself ignores the origin or that he knows it but refuses to reveal it in broad daylight.

But what could it be exactly?

After his last show, he was still called to the principal's office despite Mr. Mork having canceled the call for assistance.

The surveillance cameras still filmed his antics to the pleasure of the headmistress who doesn’t like his guts and who does everything she can to cancel his scholarship and also to the displeasure of the Dean who does everything within her power to keep him within the walls of Wood Hill from the day of his arrival until today.

As punishment this time, he is forced to attend a therapy session every week for twenty minutes a day, until his therapist declares that he is making progress, courtesy of the dean whose mission is to save him from his self-destruction.

So in the meanwhile the lad decided to do nothing at all, and wandered here and there like a lost soul with no possible destination in sight. With Howie, it’s all or nothing.

His comrades throw him sideways glances, a little preoccupied with his current state, but he is far too busy in his head cooking up who knows what to pay them the slightest attention like he always did.

No mayhem, the twins themselves have developed a certain interest in the moron on duty. When everyone was preparing for the eventual that there would be a show before the end of the day, the artist imposed himself by doing nothing.

It's not as if he was acting on command or for someone's pleasure, it's the only way he has at hand to let off steam, to vent his frustration and sorrow.

It's not necessarily Howie's mental state that worries them exactly, but it's what he allows them to do every time he is under the influence of his demons.

When Howie is in charge of the main show, others take the opportunity to let off steam without arousing suspicion.

That's why they're a little concerned about Howie's hibernating state these last few days. This is not good for them and their business!

Everything and everyone has a monster sleeping inside them, one just has to push them to the limit to wake them up. Some people don't even need to be pushed, since they are the trigger for others.

The girls at Wood Hill have always been faced with a dilemma which is none other than the school uniform. They too were treated to the famous old-fashioned three-piece uniform devoid of charm and style.

They signed petition after petition for the leaders to alleviate their plight, but petition or not, their request never resulted in anything positive.

They have never taken their protest into account until now; it is as if they did not exist.

It’s not just a whim or some teenage crisis; they wanted each person to wear the uniform in a way that made them feel good in their skin and confident about themselves.

They shouldn't have to wear pants because they're boys and ankle-length skirts because they're girls. It's absurd!

For their part, they were forced to wear long, ankle-length skirts, white shirts, jackets, and red ties to complete the look.

No one is going to laugh at the situation, believe it or not, there really is no point. They are horrible, really horrible.

Do they intend to sell the story of the chaste, pure, and innocent girl, to justify the horrible uniform that even the sisters of Saint Dhaiki would not dare to wear, right?

It's true that it's nice to dress decently, anyone would agree that it's classy and refined too. No need to show off every bit of flesh on your body to feel beautiful and admired.

They are aware of this but that does not explain why they have to be decked in such attire. It's ridiculous! Outrageous! And it’s an outrage given the era in which they are living.

The boys at least look good wearing it, let's say some of them, and their pants don't leave much to be desired too. Their pants don't cover their shoes like clowns at a child's birthday party which is likely to turn into a nightmare.

Additionally some of them like; Howie, Ayke, Aike, Raphael, Todd and a few more who are not mentioned allow themselves to wear some modifications by wearing turtlenecks, sweaters, or something more convenient under their jackets instead of white shirts which is written black on white in the school charter.

And yet no one makes any salacious remarks to them, nor have they signed a petition to make these claims.

The charter stipulates that one must properly wear the school uniform as it has been mentioned by those in charge without any artifice or anything else that is likely to modify it.

Stipulation, yeah! Not only did they modify it, they made it fashionable and stylish.

Black shoes for both sexes are also required, and the girls' shoes should not have heels higher than two centimeters high, does anyone believe that?

The big joke!

While the boys on their side wear sneakers, they openly mock the protocol and everything the school charter stipulates. It's like they're going to a fashion show, nobody says a word.

The girls, led by Kaeli, Izzy, and Drice, start a rebellion. A rebellion that everyone saw coming, but thought they wouldn't have enough courage to openly deviate from the rules.

This morning, while everyone expected Howie to be the center of attention as usual, Wood Hill sees a horde of unrecognizable girls in mini skirts, pants, and overalls and such show up all over the school grounds without exception.

Red ribbons in their hair, surely symbolize the red ties they no longer wear.

Some wear boots, moccasins, and men's shoes without laces or with laces, and others wear shoes with heels that go well beyond the required two centimeters and another category parades freely in the provocative gothic style.

The school grounds looked like a venue decorated for a fan annual meeting convention, a Manga mixed with a teen’s Korean drama plus the typical New York youth.

There is the cute style, which is rather attractive, these girls wear their skirts two to three centimeters higher than the knees, and they do not reveal too much skin since they are accompanied by flat shoes with white socks that reach up to the knee or which exceeds it.

The tie is reduced to a small, very thin bow tie that they tie themselves under the round collar of their white shirts.

And those who say, I'm a bitch and I accept it but look how innocent I am; this category struts around in skirts that they won't dare bend down with even if they wear it, some wear heels with pulpit flaps, and others wear boots with pulpit flaps as well.

For them, the poor tie becomes ribbons for the hair, and the jacket is much more stylish with pockets and very feminine accessories like pearls and brooches.

This is one of the many signs that prove this situation was not planned on a whim or in a hurry.

They took their time putting everything together and once they were ready, they put their plan into action.

Then there are the goths, the transformation is unparalleled, and no one knew there were girls like that in their school.

They realize that they didn't even have the chance to know their real friend, but rather copies of what their parents and school leaders wanted to see.

Their makeup is something crazy, but what's interesting is the hair and accessories, jewelry for stomachs, legs, nose, lips, and eyebrows which are even more intriguing.

No one had noticed these piercings before, or at least is this a way of provoking their superiors for refusing to discuss with them the numerous petitions submitted in the past?

Or is this the opportunity to reveal who they really are, what they want, and what they feel deep down?

These are the cries of their anguished and imprisoned being; it is the cry of their soul that they now reveal after many attempts to discuss properly.

It must be said that the boys react well to this new image of the girls of Wood Hill; exclamations of surprise, and whistles of admiration arise from all sides.

Giggles and laughter and even words of encouragement are heard from everywhere.

This Wood Hill which yesterday taught boring zombie heads today finds itself facing a pack of hungry she-wolves.

Classes were suspended, and teachers went from classroom to classroom to see the damage that oppression was causing.

When they realized that they were all in the same boat, they were called to the staff room to discuss how the day had turned out.

Wood Hill is no longer as quiet as it once was; lively conversations between girls and boys, between girls and girls, and between boys and boys fill this building which seems to come to life for the first time at these hours of the day in its entire history.

While the teachers are in a meeting with the other members of the management, a murmur of voices rises between the walls of the establishment like a hum, ending in a harmonious meeting of voices and very distinct melodious notes.

Eighties music fills the entire school with "what's up" vibes.

Astonished, some of the teachers don't even know the music, are too young or too old-fashioned to pay attention to it, and there it is on their wall rumbling like a battle song.

The teachers and other staff members present in the meeting room stopped chatting to listen to the vibrant and harmonious whole.

And then, one by one after the Dean left, they head towards the cafeteria where the young people have gathered.

The school choir and other students joined their voices together to sing while others played the melody and performed a mimed choreography.

They express their frustration; they release the toxic pheromones that inhabited their little beings which suffocated them, which filled them with anger and feelings of inferiority for all those years they were forced to endure this uniform and the silence of their Dean.

This revolution is not a bad thing in itself, without it, the leaders of Wood Hill would never know what they face every day.

It is good to give the kids some time to make their own decisions, it is also good to let them find their own paths, and it is even good to let them face the consequences of their actions and choices while shouldering them.

Most often the best way to assimilate a lesson is through practice or a demonstration. And it’s even better to listen to them when they have something to say instead of brushing it aside thinking there’s more important than what they have to say.

There are different kinds of students, some learn by listening to the teacher's explanations, others by reading twice and thrice the paper, and there are those who are graphic as long as there is no image or illustration nothing happens, it is just a loss of time.

This is why it is imperative to know the student in front of you or the child you are educating.

Everyone knows how hard it is for a parent to let go, but what they don't know, letting go does not mean resigning from their role, or forgetting what they represent in the life of the child, on the contrary.

It's a way of telling the kids that they believe in them and they are there no matter the question or thing that troubles them they could feel free to speak to them.

In fact, their role is to guide the kid towards a less chaotic path without putting pressure on him, without forgetting to take their requests into account.

That morning, the Dean understood that she never took the time to understand her daughter and that she spent her time comparing her to other children with whom she had nothing to do.

She would have liked her daughter to be in the cute category but her astonishment was most obvious when she recognized the identity of the choir leader.

Hair shaved in a three-level gradient, the hair in front is much longer than that on the sides and back.

She turned into a real tomboy.

Her long grandmother's skirt now gives way to Italian-style pants that reach one to two centimeters higher than her ankle where a small black chain with gold stars shines and highlights her pretty ankle, and her damn flat shoes now give way to a pretty pair of black man’s shoes.

She wears a man's wristwatch on her left hand which is buried in the pocket of her pants and hugs her long muscular legs like those of a svelte and slim boy.

She is breathtaking, that’s the first thing that comes to mind when someone leads an eye on her; she has never looked as pretty in these sixteen years as she does today. Everyone feels it and sees it.

She feels beautiful and in truth, she is beautiful, very beautiful more than beautiful, she is confident. She has an arrogant air that floats around her which is none other than the confidence she exudes.

Elilah nodded to her mother whom she had just noticed and continued to sing with her eyes filled with sustained tears.

She looked at her comrades and forced a smile that made her eyes shine.

Celine, the dean, and mother of Elilah, really doesn't know what she feels at this moment, betrayal, anger, shame, regrets... she doesn't know, but tears invade her cheeks like a torrent.

Upset and distraught, she doesn't know whether to go to her daughter to put some sense into her head or stand still there until they finish singing to see her reaction.

She cries silently, she doesn't know if it's from joy, anger, frustration, or shame. She doesn't know anything about it at all and she's afraid to know it too.

…Shame of not having understood her child, the shame of having always pressured her to do things as she wanted without asking her opinion, the shame of having been an executioner instead of being a mother, a friend.

Frustrated and betrayed because all this happened under her roof without anyone saying a word to her... because her daughter sees herself as a boy even though she adored this girl she gave birth to sixteen years ago.

She doesn't know what it is and she doesn't know how she should feel.

She looked around searching for her eldest son who is one year older than Elilah, Raphael, but she couldn't find him anywhere..., and suddenly she started to panic.

She fears that a reality more frightening than this will befall her, although she doesn't know if there is anything more terrifying than this news.

She is afraid to realize that her two children are going through difficult times without her noticing anything while she is engrossed in her role as a modern mother and so on.

As panic took over her, she felt two arms embrace her from behind, and she recognized the perfume and the uniform. Despite this, she closed her eyes for fear of facing new surprises.

As she tried to slow down the moment of truth, Raphael leaned down and whispered to her, "She's pretty, isn't she?" She opened her eyes and turned to face her son, her heart on her fingertips.

She nodded positively, too emotional to say a single word, she took a deep breath relieved that Raphael was still Raphael.

Raphael, who towers over her by a good few centimeters, looked at his mother with tenderness and handed her a handkerchief that he had in the inside pocket of his jacket.

He looked up in his sister's direction and gave her a thumb up with a big smile plastered all over his face.

Elie, her little name, felt her heart leap in her chest before returning the smile to her brother, giving free rein to her tears while mentally thinking that she was finally free of all these tensions and identity crises that were eating her life away without her mother understanding that she was not doing well.

…That same mother who is normally very devoted to her children but who nevertheless failed to notice her, to see her as she was.

Wood Hill is part of Morgan's heritage, since their birth their mother Celine swears by Wood Hill.

Their great-great-grandparents set up this establishment for the simple and good cause that they had an indomitable, unmanageable son… a son who swore only by chaos, and disorder due to his wild and thoughtless nature.

All the boarding schools for young people kicked him out; he was as turbulent as an addict.

They had to find a radical and effective solution once and for all otherwise this little brat would cost them all their savings and their lives with it, like a little starting bonus.

His mother also did not want to have him interned or follow any center specializing in behavior or mental illnesses, which would have force-fed him with medication that would only make his case worse without finding a solution to their problem.

She refused to believe that her only child could have suffered from any illness that could relegate him to the ranks of the unfit or whatever they would have called him.

So, as she had no shortage of money or resources, she decided to train him as best she could at home.

Her husband for his part despaired that his wife would sink into madness while trying with all her might to find a solution to help their only son resemble the norms and find his place on the list of suitable people.

After a few years, they decided to make a center to welcome other children to keep him company and it was only a few years later that all their efforts began to bear fruit.

Sandler had become calmer and would sit for hours talking with the other children who had joined the center.

Celine wanted to follow in the footsteps of her ancestors and those of her parents despite the fact that over the years what Wood Hill was created for had changed, but she intended to follow the means that were applied to continue the work.

This is also why she is as patient with Howie, a problem child as she calls him.

She also studied here, so what's the point of changing a winning team, hum? She held up her children as examples for others...she wanted them to follow instructions to the letter, like her before them.

She pushed them to be part of the student council even though they both refused, but it was a shame for her that her own children were not involved in the smooth running of their inheritance.

But without ever asking them for their opinion …Without ever thinking about the possibility that they could like to do something else or be free from all duties for the moment.

What she wanted was for them to obey and not make any derogatory comments or contradict her; she told herself that she knew what was good for them.

And she didn't know she was doing exactly what she shouldn't until she found herself against the wall.

If they unfortunately try to get in a word, she gives them the speech about what Wood Hill is all about.

And began to look for examples or compare them to other children like the twins for example or Kaeli who today no longer has anything to do with this sweet and kind girl she knows.

Dressed in a skirt so short that she can feel the wind blowing under her buttocks this escort girl's makeup, makes her want to vomit when she lays eyes on her, but the girl wears them well and with pride.

She left the room, some teachers like Mr. Mork followed her while the others remained to appreciate the spectacle, some applauded, and others still not comfortable with what they had in front of them began to curse their profession and these children too spoiled for their tastes and their own good.

She walked towards her office where she started thinking about the situation, and how she would deal with this situation which seems to be taking an important turn in her life.

How to make a decision without hurting her daughter much more than she already has?

She held her head in her hands and sobbed silently for a good hundred minutes or more.

A few knocks on her door brought her out of her racing thoughts. She wiped her tears and adjusted her straight dress before ordering the person to come in.

An anxious Elie stuck her head first through the door before making her way to her mother's desk office.

Celine sat straight as a column, not moving an inch in her chair.

The large luxurious office suddenly seemed to lose its entire luster when Elie stopped in the middle of the room a few centimeters away from her mother's desk hesitant and unsure of how to speak.

An Elie who had so much to say a few minutes ago and here she is, forgetting everything she wanted to say to her mother, losing all her words.

Celine couldn't take her eyes off her daughter, she had never seen her so beautiful, she hadn't noticed that she looked exactly like her father, with a little pointy nose, a chiseled jawline that seemed more or less square, this arrogant little chin which points towards her with an air of distrust. It is perhaps due to her new haircut and light gray eyes which sparkle in the light.

"You're the spitting image of Edgard," she finally said in a small voice.

Elie looked up at her and noticed that her mother was not angry at all but she had cried; she could feel her tears in her voice. She doesn't say anything and doesn't move.

She had done enough like that to impose anything else on her mother for the moment, not even the sound of her voice.

Her mother rose from her chair and walked around the large modern mahogany desk to stand in front of her daughter. She shyly grabbed her daughter's chin so she could look into her eyes.

At the meeting of their gazes filled with emotion and unspoken words, Celine pulled her daughter into her arms in a burst of emotion while apologizing to her, asking her to forgive her because she had not taken her needs into account, because she failed in her duty as a mother.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I haven't been enough, and I haven't been a mother to you. I'm sorry I failed in my duty and left you to deal with all of this alone. I pushed you to do things without ever taking your opinion into account, I’m sorry, Elie”

Elie passed her arms around the thin waist of her mother in tears while crying hot tears on her side.

“It’s not your fault mom, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I’m sorry for being so selfish, I’m sorry for putting you in such a position. Please forgive me, Mom.”

Celine pulls out of her daughter's embrace to look her in the eyes.

“Listen to me, Elie, my darling you haven't done anything wrong, if I hadn't tried so hard to reproduce the same patterns as my parents before, today this situation would be different but I assure you that I will improve myself and take into account your needs and desires. The only stupid person here is me! I made the mistake of believing that all my decisions were what were best for you and I never asked you for your opinions. I am ready to change that to be a better mother from now on.”

She took a short pause to wipe a tear from her daughter's cheek with a small, reassuring smile.

“I realized my mistake a few minutes ago when I was looking for you among this excited crowd. I thought I was going to see you reasoning with these little hellions and putting them on the right path to follow.” She gave a nervous little laugh, looking away for a few seconds.

“When suddenly I caught the eye of this pretty new boy, I was going to wonder who he was when in the end you smiled at the others. I was shocked at how little I knew my daughter. I don't want this to continue, I don't want you to hide to please me, I want to know what you like, what gives you pleasure, and what you feel. I want to get to know my tomboy. Can you do this for me?”

Elie shook her head vigorously in response; too busy wiping her tears that wouldn't stop flowing freely to say a single word...

Her mother handed her the handkerchief that Raphael had left her and kissed her daughter on her wet cheeks. “I love you, baby,” she said softly.

“I love you too, Mom,” Elie replied. After a final hug, Celine sent her daughter back to her classmates to finish the day and began to prepare for the parents' meeting that she must hold at all costs in the days to come.

Sometimes you have to grab the bull by the horns, says the proverb, if the girls hadn't taken charge of this little rebellion, today Celine wouldn't have to think about a parents' meeting.

She would have once again put the new petition on the pile that she already has, and blamed everything on teenage crises without thinking much or taking a look at the said petition.