What Should Have Never Happened...Happened.

What Should Have Never Happened...Happened Chapter One

Copyright© 2013 Ezar Soeparman

All Rights Reserved.

What Should Have Never Happened...Happened.

© 2013, Ezar Soeparman ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher at: ezar96_soeparman@hotmail.com

"Taylor, come read us what you wrote." Mr. Barrett told me from his desk and I made a face.

I guess it's now or never. I sighed and begrudgingly got up from my seat.

Last week Mr. Barrett had assigned each of us to work on a five-thousand-word book report and to write our very own romantic poem. So you can just imagine how tough it was for me, an adolescent teenage girl who didn't have much experience in the love department and who doesn't have much interest to write said poem because of her lack of ability to express her feelings on paper.

When I finally reached Mr. Barrett's desk, I handed him the book report and then later the white, crisp and very clean sheet of paper that was supposed to be filled with fine literature. Mr. Barrett looked down at it and sighed in disappointment, making several of my classmates to chuckle from their seats and Mr. Barrett just gave them a look that basically told them to pipe down.

"Taylor, is something wrong with you? Every time I ask you to write a poem, you always seem to be too caught up in your other studies." He said and I shook my head in reply feeling too embarrassed when Mr. Barrett mentioned my overused excuse.

"Then what is it that hinders you from doing the poem? Because seeing from your other works, I can tell that you're an excellent writer." He said and I began to twiddle my fingers, a thing I do when I'm nervous, embarrassed or anxious about something.

"I Just find it so hard to express my feelings on a piece of paper." I admitted shamefully.

"I don't think that's the problem. You just need to explore a little bit more so I suggest you take some time to do so and work on it." He said, handing me back the paper and I looked at it with disgust.

I loathe you. I mentally spoke to the paper that was now in my hands.

Suddenly the bell rang and everyone instantly shot up from their seats and was now filing out of the door. I tried to see if any of my friends were waiting for me but it seemed that they've all disappeared along with the crowd out the door. Damn them.

"I expect to see your poem on my desk Monday morning. No more excuses." Mr. Barrett warned before letting me off the hook. I quickly thanked him and went back to get my stuff before sprinting out of his class.

I thought he was going to give me a long lecture. Thankfully he didn't though, because all I wanted to do is get home, take a catnap and then hang out with my mates, if they were up for it. If all else fails, I'll just have to take a longer nap and start finishing my math, physics and chemistry homework and also get started on writing that damned poem.

With my car keys in hand I strutted to the school's entrance. Another thing I was thankful for is that I was lucky enough to get a parking space near the entrance this time. I stopped in my tracks when I saw my group of friends conversing with each other with enthusiasm, which had me wondering what they were talking about that it has Caleb putting off swimming practice.