Forbidden Literature

14| Victor

My streak of not missing workshops came to an end the next morning. The most important day. The day that I was supposed to turn in my work for the competition.

Instead I woke up hours later missing nearly all of my workshops. I started to panic when I realized that not only had I missed class, but because I fell asleep last night I didn't get to work on my poem.

Happy Saturday to me.

Quickly I gathered my things and raced out of my room towards the main lobby skipping the elevator all together. I couldn't wait for it to reach my level so running was a better option.

Once on the main level I threw open the doors to Jasper's workshop only to find him wrapping up his lecture and people began to file out. I shoved past them to get to his desk but he wasn't paying attention. Instead he was collecting poems from other students including Aaron who noticed me and gave a small smile. My mind went to what happened last night and I wanted to slap that smile right off his face.

After Jasper collected everyone's poems he turned to see me and stopped. His face hid no surprise. "Ms. Miller, I was wondering if you would show up."

I ignored his comment. "I overslept, it's a long story. Look, I was wondering if there was still time to turn in my poem for the competition."

He gave me a wary look then turned to his desk placing the poems down. "If I remember correctly, I told you to turn it in after the lecture."

"Yes, you did," I acknowledged.

"And do you have your work with you now?"

"Yes!" I threw my backpack down practically attacking it to find my journal. Once I did I held it up for him to see. "I have it right here with me!" a thought occurred to me and my smile dropped. "Only it's not entirely complete," with the realization of the matter sinking in my excitement started to deflate.

I had lost my opportunity.

But instead of rejecting in like I thought he held out a hand for my journal.

"Let me see it. I'll determine its status."

I obeyed placing the journal in his hand showing him where everything was written. He pushed his glasses up his nose while his dark eyes scanned my work. It was quiet while he read, the silence deafening.

Like a bad habit I grabbed the end of my shirt and twisted it in my hands waiting in anticipation. After all, some of the poems were about him. I was hoping he couldn't tell, but he was very intelligent. Far more than I give him credit usually.

The silence broke after he let out a, "Hmm," then turned back to me. "This is excellent work, Allison. Very excellent. Even better than the last poems of yours that I read," he noted making me smile. "I won't critique you too much this time because I want you to have your own voice, but definitely go back to. . . oh which poem was it? The one about forbidden flames dancing in a battlefield?" I tried not to react to what he said. That poem was most definitely about him.

He flipped through the journal searching for the right poem until his eyes landed on it. "Here it is. It's rather violent yet has undertones of romance and sadness. It hits almost every emotion wrapping it all together neatly, and it definitely sounds like you. I think you should focus on this one a bit more then turn it in to me," he snapped the journal shut and passed it back.

I slowly took it eyeing him cautiously. "You are letting me turn it in later?"

"I am letting you turn it in within an hour," he corrected. "I have a deadline to meet with these poems. The committee wants them within the next two hours," he leaned back against his desk, his signature pose, with his hands in his pocket. "Just turn in your finished product to my room. You remember where it is, right?" I nodded. How could I forget? "Excellent, I will see you in an hour," he went to his desk to get a rubberband out and wrapped them around his stack of papers.