Notes and Kisses

Cinco

Cinco

To say that life was being nice to me was an understatement. Life’s being too nice, actually.

                I got five poems today at school, which made me the talk of the whole student body. Who wouldn’t talk about me? The student president, head cheerleader, my math teacher, a student assistant and a janitor were the ones who handed me the papers. Yeah, that wouldn’t make me the talk of the school.

                 “Who’s the mystery guy, Carter?”

                 “Carter, I’m so jealous of you.”

                 “You’re Carter, right? Nice, secret admirer.”

                Carter here, Carter there, Carter everywhere. Ugh!

                 “Carter!” someone called.

                I spun around to see Sam running towards. Classes were over now and I was about to head home.

                 “Carter,” she said again. She was panting so hard. “You… have… to… come… with me…” she said between her breathings.

                I smiled. “Breath, first, Sam.”

                She raised a finger at me. After a minute she said, “You have to see something in the field.” She didn’t bother to wait for my answer. She pulled me immediately to the direction of the field.

                There were lot of students there. And as I was about to head close, their gazes fell upon on me. What was going on?

                 “That’s her.”

                 “Yeah, she’s so lucky.”

                 “Whoever that guy is, I’m going to steal him.”

                That’s what I heard when I passed by them. When I got to the front, I saw a big banner posted on the scoring board. It’s a poem again.

                Carter,

                  Your voice, that’s always what I want to hear

                  It’s like the water in the river that’s so clear

                  I see you, I hear you

                 That’s enough for me if you only knew.

                M.

                My cheeks were heating up. I looked down as I felt all their eyes on me. What’s really in the mind of that guy?

                 “Carter,” I heard Coach Moore called.

                 “Coach,” was all I said.

                 “What’s that?” he pointed at the banner. He had a scowl on his face, obviously annoyed.

                 “I don’t know, Coach. Someone’s stalking me.” But the crowd didn’t agree with the term stalk. There were murmurs but it was clear that they were disagreeing with me. If they only knew how creepy it was to receive random poems from random people, for sure, they would agree with me.