Meet Me Where the Oak Tree Grows

My eyes darted around, and I grabbed his hand in a panic, blurting out, "Jonah, hold on, let's not do anything crazy. We can talk this through, no need
for shooting."
In a flash, the crowd in front of us scattered like leaves in the wind. Jonah just stood there silently. His reputation had taken off like a rocket, and
whatever he'd said to their parents had done the trick. Now, whenever they saw me, they made sure to steer clear.
Riding high on this newfound peace, I even treated myself to an extra helping at dinner. But my joy was short-lived.
That night, Jonah pointed at my math test with a score of 17, teasing, "Who knew you were such a standout?"
My face went beet red. During last month's math test, the girls kept kicking my chair, demanding answers. In frustration, I scribbled for five minutes
and then just zoned out.
You know what they say—the tallest tree catches the wind.
Being good at school, keeping to myself, and having no one to lean on only made things tougher, so I always tried to blend in.
Jonah put aside his sketching, pulled up a stool next to me, and picked up my test paper, ready to teach me math.
At first, I thought he was joking, but as he broke down the problems, I was blown away. He made complicated stuff sound easy, effortlessly showing
me how to apply what I’d learned.
I was stunned. Since when did being a rebel come with such high standards?
I guess my surprise was written all over my face because he flicked my forehead lightly. "What are you gawking at? With my knowledge, teaching you
is a breeze."
I replied, puzzled, "But you don't look like the studying type."
He gave me a knowing look, "And you look like you are."
So, every night, he took the time to tutor me in math. I wasn’t a bad student, but math was my Achilles' heel. So I didn't turn him down.
By the time the next exams rolled around, my rank jumped from 500th to 3rd in the grade.
Seeing the report card, he chuckled and teased, "You really do know how to learn. Were you just messing with me?"
I blinked innocently, clasping my hands, "No, no, it's all thanks to your amazing teaching, Jonah!"

Some people can't break free from their own chains but become liberators for others. Aunt Marie was like that, and so was Jonah.
They told me that at fourteen, I was still a kid, and what I needed wasn't strength but safety and protection.
I no longer had to wake up at the crack of dawn, lugging a sack to scavenge for recyclables. I could sleep in until 6:30 like everyone else and enjoy a
hearty breakfast, without worrying about the next meal.
I no longer had to endure sudden beatings in the dead of night. I could sleep peacefully, like others, after saying goodnight, instead of barricading the
door with a desk out of fear.
I no longer had to hide behind my hair, covering my face as I went to school. I could wear my hair in a high ponytail, humming and skipping along like
others, without the fear of being dragged into a bathroom.
I no longer wished for the last class to stretch on forever. I could pack my bag like others, waiting for the teacher's dismissal to dash out of the
classroom like a bird eager to return to its nest, knowing that this time, there would be a light on just for me.
I never hoped to be better than others; I just wanted to be normal, ordinary. But they told me I could be exceptional, that I could strive and fight and
work hard.