Our Symphonies | satosere

8 ;

「 eight 」

"Is that good?"

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The next day after the last period got over, I found him sitting all by himself in the kids' play area grass. He was in search for something in his rickety leather book bag - being soaked by the targetting noon sunrays.

I licked my lips and adjusted the straps of my own bag.

No I was not nervous talking to him. Why would I be? He was a soft-spoken guy with respectful morals -- as much as my insights could judge. He didn't, in fact, make me feel a sliver of uneasiness; And like I had said at the party, perhaps the two of us had several things in common. Then what even is the point of fretting?

I decided not to scare him away by a callout, so with a cool composure, I approached the boy from back and tapped him on the shoulder - unwillingly gulping.

He quaked just then, [though I wasn't expecting any less] before looking up at me with wide eyes; then exhaling. "You scared the headlights out of me!"

"Sorry about that. But you should be, you know - a little aware of your surroundings," I stated in the most polite way possible; because judging by his outburst the other day, he took things personally quite often.

"I am aware. It's just that I don't like surprises -- all out of the blue stuff," A faint scowl took over his merry expressions, "I'm never ready for them."

I overlooked his words and focused on my main intentions. "May? why isn't she with you today?" I quietly enquired before sitting beside him.

"She wanted to practice high notes alone in the music room, makes it easier for her to focus." He shrugged.

"I see." Nodding, I narrowly watched him playing with the strap of his bag and plucking at its torn material.

Then, with every ounce of courage within, I held my breath and pulled out the folded paper from my denim pockets. He seemed puzzled at first, but when I kept it on his lap and gestured him to check it, he vaguely nodded and straightened it out to read; but not before putting spectacles on.

I couldn't help but ask, "So - you use glasses for reading? I thought they're used for seeing faraway objects."

He immediately shook his head, fixing the spects over his nose. "I have far-sightedness, meaning I can't see nearby objects that clearly."

I frowned. "But do senior citizens not have that?"

Heat caught his cheeks. "If you've got a prob with it then simply consider me a forty year old. Is that good?" He softly retorted, provoked, and looking away from me.

I pressed my lips together. "I really didn't know that teenagers can have this illness too - I'm so sorry." I cringed at the number of times I had apologized to him in mere two days, but it couldn't be helped, he was too touchy. "Kay - now can you read the pamphlet?"

He didn't say anything in return except for inspecting the bright red gloss paper, and as he reached the end of it, his face had gotten even more dull than it was in the first place [if that's even valid].

"So - what am I supposed to do with this?" He asked as though he hadn't just read the entire thing.

My eyebrows touched each other. "Participate, of course?"

"Wh- What?" His jaw dropped to the ground [metaphorically] as he gasped.

I inhaled, "I said - that you have to part-i-ci-pate in this competition." I animatedly spelled the syllables of the word 'participate' just to put more limelight on my statement.