19 Sirikarn The Class Monitor

A quaint little bistro nestles beside the school, its open-air seating adorned with rustic wooden tables, shaded beneath vibrant, oversized umbrellas. The golden hues of the setting sun spill across the city, painting everything in a soft, amber glow. The air is rich with the scent of freshly baked pastries and the robust aroma of brewing coffee, mingling with the gentle hum of after-school chatter. 

Kamon strides briskly down the sidewalk, clutching her schoolbag with a disgruntled expression, muttering under her breath. 

"Leaving early, my foot. I was practically exorcising my soul scrubbing that wretched classroom floor, and here she is, probably sprawled on her couch doing absolutely nothing. If she so much as sighs about being tired tomorrow—"

Her monologue is abruptly cut short as her gaze lands on a familiar figure seated at one of the bistro tables. 

Supaporn, looking uncharacteristically refined, sits across from a boy—neatly dressed, well-groomed, and exuding an air of nervous admiration. A delicate porcelain teacup rests between her fingers, her laughter ringing out—suspiciously polished and dainty. 

Kamon's eyes widen in sheer delight, a devilish smirk curling at her lips. She rubs her hands together like a scheming villain presented with the perfect opportunity for chaos. Without hesitation, she marches toward the table, yanking out a chair with exaggerated enthusiasm before plopping down between them like an uninvited royal guest. 

"Oh my, what do we have here?" Kamon muses, her voice dripping with mischief. 

Supaporn freezes mid-sip. The color drains from her face before flooding back in an unflattering shade of crimson. 

"Kamon?! What are you—" 

"What am I doing here? Oh, you mean after being abandoned and left to toil away in solitude during cleaning duty? Just taking a well-earned break," Kamon cuts in smoothly. 

She pivots towards the boy with an unsettlingly friendly grin. 

"Hi there! I'm Kamon. Best friend, professional Supaporn tormentor, and today's deeply wronged victim of neglect. And you are?" 

The boy adjusts his glasses nervously. "Uh… Pichai."

Kamon clasps her hands together dramatically. "Pichai! A strong, dependable name. Tell me, Pichai, did you know that our dear Supaporn possesses the upper-body strength of a sedated koala and once managed to ensnare herself in her own shoelaces for a full five minutes?" 

"Kamon, stop," Supaporn hisses, glaring daggers at her. 

Kamon gasps theatrically, feigning surprise. "Oh, but of course! You must be unfamiliar with her legendary sporting prowess. Did she regale you with the tale of how she once threw a basketball directly upwards, only to take out an innocent ceiling light?" 

Pichai presses his lips together, but a chuckle escapes despite his best efforts. 

"I will smother you in your sleep," Supaporn growls, seething. 

Kamon leans back, beaming. "And yet, here she is, sipping tea with the elegance of a noble lady in a period drama. It's honestly impressive, Pichai. I never thought I'd see her in anything other than ketchup-stained uniforms and existential despair."

Supaporn, her patience evaporating, delivers a swift, merciless kick beneath the table. Kamon yelps, clutching her shin. 

"Oof! There it is! The beast reveals itself! Pichai, she's violent! Run while you still can!"

Pichai finally bursts into laughter, his shoulders shaking. 

"She actually told me she was graceful."

Kamon gasps, clutching her chest as if physically wounded. "GRACEFUL? Oh, I need a moment—"She laughs so hard she claps her hands. 

Supaporn groans, burying her face in her hands. "I despise you." 

Kamon wipes away fake tears of joy. "Pichai, I like you. You have excellent taste in chaos." 

She leans in, mock-whispering conspiratorially, "Just so you know, she also cries during every animal documentary, even when they have happy endings." 

Supaporn grits her teeth. "I hope you trip on your way home." 

Kamon grins, standing up and stretching. "Well, I think my work here is done. Pichai, lovely meeting you. Supaporn, dearest friend, enjoy your date! And don't worry—I won't tell the others you left early for this."

Supaporn shoots her a look of pure murder as Kamon waltzes away, whistling. The second she's gone, Supaporn slumps onto the table, groaning. 

"I'm going to fight her." 

Pichai, still grinning, leans back. "I think she just made this date ten times more interesting." 

Kamon arrives home, her stomach growling like a feral beast. The house is eerily tranquil—too tranquil. Something is amiss. 

She sniffs the air. No trace of food. Panic grips her. 

Dramatically, she storms into the living room, dropping her school bag with an exaggerated flourish. She scans the room like a detective at a crime scene, her expression one of deep suspicion. 

"I am starving! Where is the food?"

Her mother, lounging on the couch flipping through a magazine, barely spares her a glance. 

"Not ready yet," she replies with cruel nonchalance. 

Silence. 

Kamon blinks. Her brain refuses to process this devastating betrayal. 

"Not ready yet? If I said that about my assignments, what would happen?" 

Her mother finally looks up, one eyebrow arched. Kamon clutches her chest, feigning a grievous wound. 

"How is it not ready? You were home the entire time!"

Her mother takes a sip of tea, entirely unbothered. "My job is not to cook all day."

Kamon gasps, clutching her imaginary pearls. "The audacity! The injustice!" 

Staggering towards the kitchen like a tragic heroine, she yanks open the fridge. Amidst the cold emptiness, a beacon of hope glows—orange juice. Her salvation. 

With reverence, she pours herself a generous glass. Just as she lifts it to her lips, her mother calls out lazily. 

"Leave some for your brother, Tee."

Kamon freezes mid-sip. Her eye twitches. Slowly, she turns to her mother, horror-stricken. 

"Since he got home thirty minutes ago and hasn't thought about orange juice, why should he start now?"

Just then, Tee shuffles in, yawning. 

"I wasn't thirsty then," he says. 

Kamon lifts her glass triumphantly. "Then don't be thirsty now." 

A tense silence follows. Their mother sighs, rubbing her temples. Tee narrows his eyes, weighing his options. 

"That's not fair,"he protests. 

Kamon sips, unbothered. "Life isn't fair, Tee." 

Tee glares at their mother. "Mom, are you hearing this?" 

Their mother, still flipping through her magazine, replies without looking up. "If I interfere, it will escalate." 

Tee lunges for the jug. Kamon dodges, clutching it like a priceless artifact. 

"Give me some!" Tee shouts. 

Kamon shakes her head. "This is the price of hesitation, Tee. Learn from your mistakes." 

Tee grabs a cup, scowling. "Fine, I'll pour my own!" 

Kamon lifts the jug, shaking it slightly. Tee watches in horror as he realizes how much she's already consumed. 

"You drank THAT much?!" 

Kamon shrugs. "Hydration is important." 

Their mother slams her magazine shut. Both siblings freeze. 

"If you two don't stop acting like savages, neither of you will eat tonight." 

A silent truce is formed. 

"Of course, Mother. We were just… bonding," Kamon says sweetly. 

Tee nods quickly. "Yes! A sibling exercise in negotiation." 

Their mother sighs. "Then negotiate your way to setting the table. Dinner is ready."

Truce accepted. For now.

Kamon and Tee sigh in relief. The battle is over—for now. As they set the table, Kamon leans toward Tee, whispering smugly. 

Kamon asks grinning. "Still not thirsty?"

"I hope you trip on your own shoelaces."Tee glares at her, muttering. 

The golden afternoon sun streamed in through the wide windows of Room 3B casting long rays over the battlefield that was supposed to be a classroom. Desks were in varying states of disorder—some neatly arranged, others looking as though they'd been abandoned mid-earthquake. Students engaged in dramatic debates over the most trivial matters, as if the fate of the world depended on them. At the heart of it all stood Kamon, arms crossed, eyes blazing, locked in a verbal war with Kanya, Nat, and Pim. 

"Admit it!" Kanya jabbed a finger at Kamon. "You're the one who started yelling about how pencils should be called 'graphite wands!'" 

"Excuse me, it's a valid argument!" Kamon scoffed, flicking her hair. "The word 'pencil' is far too basic for something that holds the power of creation." 

"You were practically giving a TED Talk about it!" Nat interjected, arms flailing. 

"And then you started demonstrating 'proper wand technique' by flinging erasers across the room!" Pim added, voice shrill with accusation. 

"For educational purposes!" Kamon defended herself, placing a hand over her heart as if she were a martyr for the cause of art. 

"You hit me in the head!" Kanya huffed, rubbing the side of her temple for dramatic effect. 

Kamon shrugged. "Okay, but did you die?" 

Before Kanya could launch into another retort, the classroom door swung open with the kind of force that could send shivers down a lesser student's spine. In stepped Mr. Thanom, a teacher whose presence alone could silence a stadium. But unfortunately, this was Room 1-2. 

The chaos dwindled to hushed whispers as Mr. Thanom's gaze swept over the battlefield before him—scattered books, students mid-whisper, Kamon trying (and failing) to look innocent. He let out a long, slow exhale. 

His voice was calm but dangerous. "Who's the class monitor here?" 

All eyes turned toward Sirikarn, who sighed deeply, as if she had just been summoned to battle. She stood, locked eyes with the teacher, and awaited her fate. 

Mr. Thanom gestured vaguely at the classroom. "Why is your class making noise, and you're just standing here?" 

Sirikarn blinked. "Where else am I supposed to be, sir?" she asked, deadpan. 

A ripple of barely contained laughter spread through the class. 

The teacher pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look at your class." 

Sirikarn obediently turned her head left, then right, slowly taking in the sight—the mess, the students still whispering, Kamon mouthing, You got this! 

"I'm done looking," Sirikarn said, nodding, turning back to the teacher. 

That was it. The class erupted into muffled laughter, shoulders shaking as students tried and failed to stay silent. 

Mr. Thanom stared at her, eyes narrowing. "No wonder they're making noise. I wonder what criteria was used to choose you as prefect." 

Sirikarn, unfazed, started counting on her fingers. "Pretty, bold, mentally stable—oh wait, scratch that one—and, most importantly, completely lacks intelligence." 

The class exploded into full-blown laughter. Wanida high-fived Sirikarn under the desk. Kanya, Nat, and Pim wiped tears from their eyes. 

The teacher clapped his hands loudly, silencing the room. "Is this funny to you?" 

The class held their breath. 

"If I come back here again," Mr. Thanom said, voice low, "you'll know me." 

Sirikarn nodded sagely. "But sir, I already know you." 

The teacher glared. "You'll know that I don't talk twice." 

Sirikarn tilted her head, eyes twinkling. "So… do you talk thrice, then?" 

For a moment, absolute silence. Then, the classroom exploded. Students fell out of their chairs. Kanya was on the floor wheezing. Pim clutched Nat's arm for support. 

Mr. Thanom closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. Exhaled. Without another word, he turned on his heel and marched out. 

The second he was gone, Kamon turned back to the trio, smirking. "So, where were we? Ah yes—graphite wand supremacy!" 

And with that, the classroom dissolved back into its lively, chaotic debates, proving once and for all that some battles—especially those of volume—were never truly won. 

The moment Mr. Thanom stepped out of the classroom, the once orderly room dissolved into anarchy. Pens clattered, whispered gossip turned into full-volume debates, and the classroom transformed into something resembling a chaotic street market. Supaporn, arms crossed, spun around in her seat to face Ploynapat, her expression one of pure frustration. 

"Tell me, Ploynapat," she began, tilting her head dramatically, "what kind of school is this where we have to wake up earlier than birds and sleep later than thieves, all in the name of education?" 

Ploynapat, who had just uncapped her water bottle, nearly choked on her sip. She wiped her mouth, eyes twinkling with amusement. "Are you writing poetry now? Because that was deep." 

"I'm serious!" Supaporn threw up her hands. "At home, they teach us how to walk and talk, and then we come to school just to be told to sit down and shut up." 

From the desk behind them, Kittipong, who had been balancing a ruler on his finger, chimed in. "And don't forget the most important lesson—how to suffer in silence." 

The students around them erupted in laughter. 

Ploynapat leaned back in her chair, grinning. "I mean, technically, school is preparing us for real life. Ever seen adults? They all wake up early, sleep late, and complain about their jobs. This is just our training phase." 

"Yeah, but at least they get paid for it," Supaporn huffed. "We just get stress, homework, and the occasional free pen from a random seminar." 

The door suddenly creaked open. Everyone fell silent for a second, fearing Mr. Thanom had returned. But it was just Tanawat, a known class clown, sneaking back in after a bathroom break. 

"Why do you all look like you saw a ghost?" he asked, sliding into his seat. 

"Thought you were Thanom," said Ploynapat. 

Tanawat shuddered. "Please, don't curse me with that." 

Just then, the bell rang, signaling the start of their next subject. The noise level in the classroom rose again as students scrambled to gather their books. 

"Biology time," Supaporn groaned. "The only thing deader than a preserved frog in a jar is my will to sit through this class." 

The hallway leading to the biology lab was bustling with students, some walking sluggishly like zombies and others chatting enthusiastically about irrelevant things—like the latest school gossip or whether a hotdog was considered a sandwich. 

"Did you do the homework?" Wanida asked Fah as they walked side by side. 

Fah gave a dry laugh. "I wrote my name at the top of the page. That counts as effort, right?" 

As they reached the lab, a familiar sight greeted them—Nicha, their classmate, dragging her feet toward the door with the energy of someone who had just run a marathon without training. 

"Nicha, you look like you've fought a war," Wanida observed. 

Nicha sighed, her eyelids drooping. "I barely survived the morning math class. My brain has reached its data limit." 

"You need an upgrade," Fah teased. 

"I need a refund on this life," Nicha muttered as they entered the lab. 

The biology lab was as lifeless as the specimens stored in jars on the back shelves. The teacher, Ms. Ratchanee, stood at the front of the class, flipping through her notes. 

"As you all know, today we will continue our discussion on the structure of the human digestive system," she began. 

Supaporn nudged Ploynapat. "Speaking of digestion, I'm starving." 

Ploynapat smirked. "You should have eaten during break." 

Nicha, seated with Fah and Wanida, leaned her head on the table. "Wake me up when class is over." 

"Wake you up? We're all trying to stay awake," Fah whispered. 

As the teacher droned on about enzymes and nutrient absorption, Nicha reached into her notebook and tore a small piece of paper from the back. She looked at it for a moment before popping it into her mouth and chewing absentmindedly. 

Fah raised an eyebrow. "Nicha... what are you doing?" 

"Testing my digestive system," Nicha replied without emotion. 

Wanida snickered. "You do realize paper isn't food, right?" 

Before Nicha could respond, Ms. Ratchanee's voice cut through the room. 

"Nicha, what are you doing?" 

Nicha froze. The entire class turned to look at her. She slowly opened her mouth, revealing the half-chewed paper sitting on her tongue. 

The teacher's eyes narrowed. "Are you... eating paper? Are you a goat that you chew curd?"

A beat of silence. 

Then, chaos. 

The class erupted into laughter, students slamming their hands on desks, some wiping away tears. Tanawat nearly fell off his chair, clutching his stomach. Even the usually composed Ploynapat was struggling to keep a straight face. 

"Nicha, what did we say about lab rules?" Ms. Ratchanee sighed, rubbing her temples. 

"Not to eat in the lab," Nicha recited robotically, still chewing. 

"Then why are you chewing paper?" 

Nicha swallowed. "I got hungry." 

This only sent the class into another wave of hysterics. 

Ms. Ratchanee pinched the bridge of her nose. "And how, pray tell, does eating paper help with hunger?" 

Nicha shrugged. "It has fiber?" 

The teacher took a deep breath, as if trying to find the will to continue teaching. "Let me make this clear: the only thing you should be digesting right now is knowledge. And if I catch anyone else experimenting with their own digestive systems, you'll be dissecting frogs alone after class." 

The threat of after-school work was enough to silence the students, though occasional giggles still slipped out. 

Nicha leaned toward Fah and whispered, "Totally worth it."