November 27, 1997, Thursday
I was shivering and trembling as the alarm went off at six o'clock. The day was amidst the air—the cold, misty air that had been creeping me up all night. Nothing to grab onto nor to cover with. I found myself with no blanket, fallen as it seemed. The wind breeze makes my blood more and more cold. I walked with a blurry vision, far and heightened sight as I crept towards the window. The time goes by, and it's a windy Thursday.
I started the morning by taking a shower. As I hopped out of the shower, I concealed the acne that had been bothering my face. The appearance was sudden, and I heard people saying it was a symbol—having a romantic attraction to another. I got up and walked in and out of the bathroom. It made me layer the foundation along the marks, hoping to minimize the appearance.
Even though the sun was shining outside, the time stood still. To reach the uppermost part of the wooden tree beside the window is a temptation, all about plucking the leaves and screaming. Screaming out all the emotions I've dealt with, I can imagine it makes me feel free. But I found myself staring at the walls that surrounded me. These walls have no channeled echo, destroyed posters, and invited secrets. They're all in plain drawings that I created as a kid. Most of the drawings are stickmen—unlocking the inner me. I guess drawing a human-like face is unlikely to be achieved. I describe them as effortless, but they look horrified with all the wobbly lines in them. These thoughts made me forget the time. I glanced at the clock and didn't realize how much time had passed. I am already running late for school.
I ran down the stairs and said goodbye to my parents.
"Sit, finish your meal. Your mom worked hard on breakfast," my father said to me, smoking a pack of cigarettes directly across our faces.
"Yes, Dad."
He left a seat open for me, and as I sat down. "Quit that look on your face," he said.
I ate until my father left the scene, quickly across the doorstep. Outside is my destination, but not forgetting to wear sneakers, hard to fit but firm. I heard a voice fading as I rushed. I went inside one more time. "Don't forget your lunch, Honey," my Mom reminded me, pointing at the counter. "Eat well this time. It's beef with mushrooms."
I opened the paper bag, and across the ceiling, the food smelled amazing. "Thank you, Mom." As if I was drooling all over when I stated that. The next second, I ran down the alley, up the road, and east. East High.
I walked my way inside and saw Jade waiting for me on the staircase. "Rode, that's three minutes left," she said, pointing at her wristwatch. "At least you're on time."
"I know. I ran all the way here. You know how hard it is to run miles here," my voice sounded poached and breathless.
"Isn't it like streets far away from here? Take this," Jade passed her water. "Take some time to cool yourself down. They're waiting for us."
Jade Monroe, who is the president of the class, is the type of friend who will never leave one's side. Astonishing as she looks, her academics aren't something she'd bow down to. Her attributes made her a bright leader for the class. We made our way to the lockers and headed to our first class. "Sorry, we're late. Charlie here ran to the school," Jade told the group as we went to the middle row. The middle row, where all of us sit. Giving us the nickname; lucky five. "Oh, that's okay. Grab a seat."
That's Wayne, who's wearing all-black. Black hoodie, black leather shoes, black jeans. "That outfit isn't fooling anyone," I told him, nodding my head in a no-no manner. He looks like a troublemaker, the type to ditch a class but never did. Wayne does excellent work on projects that include art. The other day, he created a better portrait drawing than all of us. He is an artistic person but someone wouldn't sway across that. "Stunning mascara, can you show me the brand?" Fiona said to Jade, spotting her makeup immediately is her strength. As the visual one of the group, her face wouldn't be like a friendly competition as she attracts both females and males. Also, the kind of friend that needs to get the approval of her parents before we go out. "Don't give it to her, Jade. She never returns the things I handed to her," Harry said. The smartest one, the most likely to be a valedictorian at the school as he reaches the top of the class. Introverted like me, but showcases his extrovertness around everyone he's close with.
After several hours, Mr. Watts, our advisor ends the whole juncture. Books are being carried. Books are being flipped, and books are being closed. Books that we throw will end up in our lockers. All of us headed out after class. "Shall we go out tonight?" Jade asked the group. "Certainly. Do you want to join us, Fiona?" Harry perceives Fiona, as she pulls up her phone. "That only occurred one time," she said
"I cannot handle your Mom's temper when dialing her cell," he said to Fiona.
"Why not Charlie?" Wayne making a point to the group. "He's well-loved by the students as well as the adults."
"I am? I guess I am doing it," I said, holding my phone. Dialing the numbers of Fiona's parents and leaving a message for them. Permitting to allow Fiona to join us for the night.
Everyone had nothing to do but wait at the bench. The bench of the school where the whole building is seen from afar. Moments later, my phone began to ring. It's them.
"Good evening, this is Charlie Rode, Fiona's closest friend. As stated in the message, will you be willing to let Fiona join us?" I heard arguments and agreements along the line. Eventually, the line ended with us. They ended up agreeing.
"That has to be a tradition from now on," Harry said, having to comprehend the past months with Fiona's parents.