threat of joy | wen junhui

ONE?

ONE, IS THIS IT?
HILLSIDE ST - VITA EAST HIGH

SENIORITIS struck Junhui hard, as if he had been hit by his mom, straight after the game. He couldn't stop thinking of the answer as to just how many lame football losses that he was expected to endure. This year would probably mark the tenth anniversary of their failures. His band director told him 14 more games but he was exhausted, especially considering the fact that he had waited until just the night before to write up a whole essay on how he expected his last year to go.

'Halftime was okay' was what he told his mom the first instance he saw her at home: that tiny little figure of hers, worn, weathered, but still emanating that fresh honeydew scent.

"Where's bàbà?" Junhui questioned hesitantly after forgetting how to say the first half of his question in Mandarin Chinese as he kicked his bibbers off his lengthy legs. His mother hummed somewhat of an E natural, notifying him to repeat his question.

"I said, why do I have such a beautiful mother?" This time, he iterated in all Mandarin, embracing her gently.

"Go wash up and we can make dinner together, okay? Father and Yang Yang will come soon. They went to rent a film so we can all watch together!" The wrinkles by her eyes mirrored the behavior of the tides by their old home in China when she would smile, which Junhui's memory falls short of by a few instances.

Giving his mother a quick kiss upon her right temple, he trudged over to his room with a fatigued limp, collapsing on his bed at the foot, as soon as he remembered that he left his trombone and the rest of his uniform in his car.

This was where his senioritis played as it rationalized his sudden lack of motivation to do what he needed to do, not to mention that one paper in his sociology class. It wasn't part of his intentions to ignore his hygienic, familial, or academic duties, as well as his own personal responsibilities but this was what also led to him a chain reaction of things.

However, nonetheless, it resulted him in his tardiness. It seemed ridiculous that he managed to sleep just a few moments before midnight struck but his body's necessity of sleep had piled up on him and it had exceeded him. In fact, he had merely managed to pack in a full seven hours of rest in the past week and a half. Typical Jun.

Blaming this sudden lack of motivation that was often common in high school seniors, Junhui awoke, half caught in fright, as he showered into an outfit much too similar to one he had wore the week before but it was late.

He hated being late not because his parents would wreck havoc upon him and his adolescent freedoms, nor the teachers since he charmed just about everyone but because of the one person he didn't: Mr. freaking Wesley, the assistant to the Head director of the school, who was currently in the hospital after giving birth just the week before.

After having someone scratched the bumper of his car, Junhui knew it was inevitable to be stopped by the director on his way to his second period class and perhaps that this was the dawn of something insidious.

"Wow, Mr. Wen! Look at the time!" The elder's sarcasm seemed far too evident today. "Now that you're late, why don't you join me in my office, huh?" Junhui already began taking the lead to the hall, which would sever off into the corridors for the counselors and directors.

They passed the table of the entrance where the elderly counselors sat, humming with small chatter, along with his two friends, who helped around.