“Cera Ward,” the teacher calls.
I raise my hand to let my presence be known and slump on my seat as Mr. Maddox folds his attendance sheet and digs in his pile of stuff for the text book. I really don’t feel like listening today. If anything, I just want to lie on my bed and read to cut down my never ending queue of books on my shelf. I think it’s better than figuring out a way to solve a mathematical problem in more than a thousand ways.
Leaning back on the white board, Mr. Maddox starts to talk about slopes and all that as he draws curve lines over a graph on the board as his other hand balances the opened book. I’d be lying if I say that this subject interests me because I’m more than certain that it doesn’t. With that, I take my notebook out of my bag and my pencil and start to scribble on a sheet, drawing curves and cute little monsters everywhere. I am lost and I don’t hear anything after that.
The next sound I hear is the bell ringing thrice signaling the end of class. I smile, feeling accomplished that I manage to fill a whole sheet at the back of my notebook with just doodles around Holly’s and my name and not be caught. Not that I do it every day anyway, it’s only during times when I don’t feel like being a model student, eyes trained in front, listening intently as I jot down notes. Nope. Today isn’t one of those common days and I’m not a bit guilty. Closing the notebook, I put it back in my bag and scurry out the room to meet my best friend down the hall.
Even from afar, that bundle of blond hair sitting messily on top of her head is hard to overlook. Standing at 5’9”, that lump of hair makes her look even taller. She prances toward me with an ear-splitting grin that quickly sends me on alert. No one can blame me. I’ve seen it a million times that getting my guard up whenever I see it has been a reflex.
“Hey. What’s up?” I ask, cautious and curious. Holly is never enthusiastic after history class. Ever.
She grabs my hand and pulls me to the side, giving way to the students who hurriedly pass by toward the cafeteria. We both lean sideway, our hips pressed on the concrete wall.
“You won’t believe this!” she chirps, her eyes glistening in excitement. Her head bobs up and down as if urging me to ask her before she tells on.
“What?”
She holds up a finger before shuffling on her bag, pulling out a piece of folded paper. Unfolding it, she holds it up in front of me. A huge ‘congratulations’ is written in fancy script in the middle followed by words I ignore as I turn back to her. Her grin widens more, if that’s possible.
She holds her hand out me, wiggling it. “Where’s yours? Come on. Give it to me!” she squeaks.
Somehow I think ‘what’ is the only word left on my vocabulary. It was all I can utter. And as I say that single word, I can’t keep the confusion out of my voice and the curiosity that comes with it. I don’t know what that letter is, what’s it about. The only thing I’m sure of is that it came straight from the office.
There are only three reasons for the office to send out letters to students. First, is for recognition, for giving pride to the school or something like that. Second, is an invitation, to join, attend or participate in an event they know you are best at. And third is a warning for absences, failing grades or for simply being a pain the in the ass for the school. Surely, it’s either of the first two.
“Innocence doesn’t suit you. Hand me your letter. Come on!” She grabs my bag and drops it on the floor, opening it unceremoniously. My mouth falls.
“Hey! My tablet’s in there!” I think I turn pale.
She looks up at me, shocked. “Shit!” She quickly takes my tablet out and checks if it’s still working or has any damage. There’s none. She sighs, relief evident in her face. “That scared me.”
