January 20, 1998, Tuesday
I sat down in the conversation. Wayne raised his hand, "Hey, Rode. You're here, better late than early, are we?" Distancing myself from time troubled me from the lack of traveling to school. "Am I that late?" I dropped my bag and placed my arms on the desk.
"Charlie, he's being sarcastic. Remember that," Fiona said, turning her back to look at us. "Besides, Mr. Watts wouldn't record that. After all, he's nowhere to be seen in class."
"Right. Now, can you tell me where you get the blood?" Wayne asked, with his fist resting on the side of his brain staring directly at my arms. It must've been the telephone.
I quickly hid my shoulder behind my desk and found the wound. It was visible, in the back of my arms. "Show me," Jade said, going through her backpack.
I raised my head. "I will apply ointment on it," she said, raising her medical kit.
"Didn't know you have that."
"You're lucky, Rode. She never treated me when I had a wound," Harry joined.
Jade applied ointment to my arms, "What do you mean wound?"
"Probably the time he got rejected by Phoebe," Wayne replied.
"That's not something to laugh at. Anyways, forget it," he answered.
Fiona turned around at us, "Indeed, never forget but never forgive for that."
After Jade was finished with my wound, Mr. Watts came into the room. "Good morning class, this morning, I will be listing students who–,"
"Me," Wayne said, raising his hands repetitively. Mr. Watts raised his eyebrows, "Who will be showcasing their creative poems? Caught you there, didn't I? Mr. Parker."
Everyone started to become noisy as Mr. Watts tried to collect names, "Anyone? Is anyone at the back? I only need one."
"Charlie? You should do it," Harry turned his head around me. "I've seen you write before. Don't tell me you're not joining."
Wayne grabbed my hand and raised it, "Yeah, Charlie will do it, Mr. Watts." I got listed and I was surprised. Honest to God, I can't handle that much pressure as everyone started to applaud me when Mr. Watts stated my name joining the contest.
"Will there be a prize, sir?" Wayne asked.
Now, that's a question to be asked. "There will be. As of now, any information is exclusive." Hearing those made me more focused and I knew that I had to do it. Not because of my friends, but because of the opportunity that I shouldn't miss out on.
Breaks happened. Curious about the contest, they began cheering me on and aiming for first place. First place, or no prize at all. Jade grabbed the flier for the contest, "Every participant should create a poem of any designated theme of their choice. The poem must include a 200-word count for it to be accepted. I just know that you could do it, Rode."
I set my mindset for a greater purpose. A poet wouldn't work without inspiration, not the wind but something deeper than the heaves of the trees. I heard buses arriving. Wheels on the bus. That idea would work. But to motivate that idea, I could scrap the bus and say the wheels are being represented by the students and how they are being controlled by grown-ups as they roll.
I plot out my poem but nothing is happening. Fiona sitting at my side, "Cheer up, will you? The sun is still out, that's what matters." She handed me a doughnut, this time it's a chocolate-flavored one. "I haven't seen you try that one, haven't you?"
Chocolate, bearing to the taste but unbearing the more I taste it. The donut kept leaving a smell, making me more tempted. "No, but I'll gladly accept it." I finished the donut before I had a take on my poem. Still nothing, my mind must've been blocking a plot for me.
"Just take note that the deadline for the poems will be on the 23rd," Jade said, viewing the guidelines of the contest.
Harry exclaimed, "By Friday. Charlie, you can do this. Break a leg, will you?"
"What do you mean—oh, that's wishing for luck, huh? Am I right? Am I nearly right? Am I getting there?" Wayne replied as the voices in my head started to fade his voice away.