Schoolgirl’s Secret
Chapter Three – Arguments and Attention
Saturday mornings were usually reserved for laundry, revision, and catching up on news reports. But this one was different.
Brenda found herself standing outside the gates of Hilltop Community Centre, clutching her file of debate papers like a shield. The special mentorship clinic was hosted by the Regional Youth Speech Network—and Brian would be there.
Mercy, who had grudgingly agreed to come along, sipped on a juice box with the patience of a parent. “You better take notes. If you so much as forget a single point because of that guy’s smile, I’ll report you to your father.”
Brenda rolled her eyes. “Can you stop acting like I’ve joined a cult?”
“I’m just here to supervise your hormones.”
They entered the hall, where about twenty students from different schools were seated in a semi-circle. At the front stood Brian, dressed in a simple polo shirt and jeans, adjusting a projector. He looked casual—too casual, Brenda thought, for someone who could bend minds with words.
As the workshop began, Brian took the floor with ease.
“Today’s topic: Emotional Persuasion in Argumentation. Because sometimes, the strongest argument isn’t the most logical one — it’s the one that makes people feel.”
He paused, then turned to the students. “Who here has ever changed their mind because of how someone made them feel—not what they said?”
A few hands went up, including Brenda’s.
He pointed to her. “Tell us.”
Brenda stood slowly. “My father. He doesn’t always have the best facts. But when he talks about how much he’s sacrificed to raise me… even if I disagree with him, I always go silent.”
Brian nodded, holding her gaze. “That’s real. Thank you.”
Mercy leaned over and whispered, “That’s two long stares now. Should I call the head teacher or just send a text to your dad?”
Brenda ignored her.
Later, during the lunch break, Brenda stood outside under a tree, rereading her notes. Brian approached, holding two samosas and a soda.
“You don’t eat?” he asked, offering her one.
She hesitated, then took it. “Thanks.”
“I read your essays,” he said. “You don’t just debate. You think beyond the surface. Most students your age don’t.”
Brenda glanced at him. “Most mentors don’t notice.”
Brian chuckled. “Touché.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then he added, “You remind me of someone I once knew.”
Brenda raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. Your first crush?”
He grinned. “No. My younger self. Focused, driven, zero room for error. But I eventually learned something important.”
“What?”
“That sometimes, life happens in the mistakes.”
Brenda looked away. She didn’t like that. Mistakes meant weakness. Detours. Shame.
“I’m not planning on making any mistakes,” she said firmly.
Brian nodded slowly. “Just don’t mistake living for failing.”
He walked away before she could respond.
That evening, as Brenda rode home in a taxi with Mercy, her thoughts were far from the workshop.
Mercy glanced at her. “You’re quiet.”
“I’m thinking.”
“About debate or Brian?”
Brenda didn’t answer.
But later that night, as she opened her notebook to revise for Monday’s exams, the samosa wrapper was still tucked inside—along with a folded note she hadn’t noticed.
“You have a voice people listen to.
But don’t forget — your silence says a lot too.
— B.”
Brenda stared at the note for a long moment.
And then, for the first time in weeks, she didn’t open her revision book.