“Namaste Mrs Wilson, hello, good morning!”

Mrs Wilson who was sitting at her desk busily marking some papers while waiting for her 12 o’clock class to arrive, pushed her reading glasses lower down her nose and looked at the students walking in. She smiled when she saw Rosa Blau with her usual large grin on her face, carrying what looked like a scrap book under her wing walk into the classroom and plonk herself on a chair.

Mrs Wilson waited for the rest of the class to take their seats before saying anything. She then carefully put her red pen down and got up from her chair. She walked over to the white board, picked up a dry erase marker and pointed at Rosa. “Good afternoon, everyone!” That caused Rosa to giggle slightly and cover her beak in embarrassment.

“Sorry, Mrs Wilson. I should’ve said good afternoon.”

Mrs Wilson nodded her head and smiled. “Rosa Blau, why don’t you stand up for a second.” Rosa did so and Mrs Wilson continued. “What was the first word you said to me when you came into the classroom?”

Rosa thought for a second wondering if it was a trick question, but then deciding it wasn’t, answered, “Namaste, Mrs Wilson.”

The teacher turned her back to the class and was about to write on the board but then turned back and pointed the marker at Rosa again. “Rosa, can you please spell the word for me?” Rosa had never been asked to spell that word and so she was stumped. She gulped and stood there frozen to the spot. “Yes, Rosa, I’m waiting.”

“I don’t know,” Rosa answered sounding a little nervous.

“Take a stab at it please.”

“Ok,” she replied and then took her favourite stance with her legs crossed, her wings crossed peculiarly and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and began, “N U M U S T A Y.” As she slowly spelled out the word, Mrs Wilson wrote them one by one. Once she was done, Rosa looked at the word and then looked around at the class and took a bow. She looked back at the teacher who had a blank stare on her face.

“Would you like to try again?” she asked and Rosa gulped.

“Did I spell it wrong?”

“Well Rosa, before I ask someone else to try to spell it, I want to give you another chance.” Rosa was pleased that this was one class Anjali did not attend.

“It looks good to me Mrs Wilson.”

“Ok,” she replied and then waved her marker at the class. Only one student raised their wing and it was Rosa’s least favourite, Chantal.

“Yes, please Mrs Wilson,” shouted Chantal who was also Mrs Wilson’s least favourite student. She was not yet ready to have her take a shot at it. She gave the entire class another few seconds before asking Chantal to stand up, which she did with the pomp and circumstance she was well known for being that she was a European bee eater.

Chantal stood up, pushed back her chair very unladylike, and took a deep breath. “Bon après midi.” Everyone turned their heads and looked at Chantal.

Mrs Wilson looked vexed. “What was that Chantal?” she asked.

“French for good afternoon.”

“That’s not what I asked for. I asked for the spelling of namaste.” Rosa beamed. She looked at Chantal and stuck her tongue out at her. Mrs Wilson scolded Rosa for doing so. Rosa was going to object but just the satisfaction that her least favourite bird did not get the answer right was enough.

Chantal sat down looking completely deflated. “I thought you wanted me to spell good afternoon in French,” she mumbled as she tried to slide under the desk.

“Ok,” Mrs Wilson began, “this is how you spell it,” and with that, she wrote down the word the correct way.

“Oh,” Rosa said writing it down in her book. Rosa was about to sit down when Mrs Wilson asked to remain standing.

“Ok Rosa we will begin with you. What did you do last weekend?”

Every Monday afternoon, Mrs Wilson at the beginning of her class would ask a random student to stand and tell the class about their weekend. Seeing that Rosa came bouncing in wishing her a good day in another language, she thought it would be a good idea for her to tell the class where she learnt the word, assuming she leant it from someone. Nothing could please Rosa more than being the centre of attention.

She drew herself to her full height, placed her wings behind her back, rocked on her heels for a second and then once deciding where to start she began. “My brother Timmy wore a tuxedo on Sunday for dinner.” That was new and Mrs Wilson was glad she had asked Rosa who was never shy about telling anyone of her adventures continued. “My family without my aunty, who nobody likes, went to my bestest friend’s nest for dinner. Timmy likes my bestest friend and so he decided he was going to wear a tuxedo for dinner so that her parents would agree to him marrying Anjali.”

Mrs Wilson looked at Rosa intently. “Isn’t Timmy 13?”

“Yes Mrs Wilson, but in the Jewish religion 13 means you’re old enough.”

“And how old is Anjali?”

“8,” whispered Rosa looking down at her feet.

“Do you think Anjali’s parents agreed?”

“No, Mrs Wilson.”

“So, is this a fantasy of yours?”

Rosa took a deep breath and restarted. “We had chicken curry that was so hot, Timmy had to take off his tuxedo because he began to boil.” Mrs Wilson again looked intently at Rosa. This was not a new practice of hers. She was well used to Rosa exaggerating and fabricating stories.

“If he took his clothes off,” asked Melanie who was once Timmy’s girlfriend, “then was he naked?”

“No Melanie. Timmy put on some Indian clothes that Anjali’s dad gave him.”

“A sari?” Melanie asked causing the class to laugh. Rosa ignored Melanie and continued.

“You know that in India weddings go on for 500 days and Timmy will get a lot of money like 500 dollars. And I will be the flower girl.”

Mrs Wilson decided the story had gone on long enough and that it was time to continue with the class. Rosa sat down to the obligatory applause from the rest of the class led by Mrs Wilson.

Later in the day while she was walking home, she heard another bird fly up close to her and when she looked it was Chantal. “Your brother isn’t really going to marry Anjali, is he? she asked.

“Why?” asked Rosa.

“Because I’d like to come to the wedding if he is.”

Rosa stopped and looked at Chantal. “Why? We aren’t even friends.”

“We could start,” she replied.

Rosa shook her head and began walking away.

“I could teach you French,” Chantal shouted after Rosa believing she had hit the jackpot.

“Why would I want to learn French?” Rosa began to pick up speed hoping to leave Chantal behind, but she was not about to be deterred.

“It would be another language you would know and then we could talk French together.”

Rosa stopped and looked at Chantal who was feeling good about herself.

Rosa turned and began walking again. “No thank you,” she replied, “Anjali is teaching me Indian so we can talk to each other without anyone knowing what we are talking about.” And with that, Rosa took to the air, knowing the chances of Chantal flying after her were slim to none because she knew Rosa had a cat.