The Sun, The Moon, and Their Stars

04 : Honor

July 2004

Kimberly

It's raining like the day of the flood this Thursday, and I don't have a good relationship with dark clouds or rains.

Lawrence comes back to our table and puts down the glasses of water he got from the dispenser near the cashier. We're fortunate enough to secure our favorite spot in the canteen, given the volume of students here right now. The place looks busier than usual. It must be because of the weather.

He's reciting some list of terms he's memorizing for their quiz in History this afternoon. And I make a quick survey of my surroundings to see if Darlynne was right that one time she mentioned that I have excellent observation skills.

I see Sir Archie, passing by the middle of two elongated tables in the heart of the large room, nodding his head to any familiar face he sees along the way. And as he passes by, the girls look over their shoulders with fascination in their eyes. He's our English teacher and cool enough to let us call him by his name. He's also a bit younger than most of the faculty and undeniably good-looking, hence, the turning heads.

I've always enjoyed English classes since we studied Christopher Marlowe's poems with Miss de la Cruz in Grade Eight. But this year, Sir Archie made it even more exciting, and it has nothing to do with his face. He's arranged the lessons with us doing technical writing for the first two grading periods before we move to literary pieces for the third and final grading periods.

He stops at the end of one long table and is now talking to one-fourth of the A4.

So, I was right. The A4 eat lunch at the school canteen when it's raining.

I would have told Darlynne this, but she no longer talks to either Lawrence or me. If she were here, and if I were to tell her that, then she would have said something like: they must be those people who don't want to get their umbrellas wet. And then we would have laughed. But she's not here. She hasn't been, since after my birthday last year.

Sir Archie pats Steve's back before he starts walking out, swinging a bottle of water with his right hand as he does. The A4 hunch closer to the table, listening to what Daryl is saying. They're all laughing now. He must be the funny one in their group.

Benjamin is still beaming when they stand up one by one and slowly make their way to the exit. Seeing him smile is like being touched by sunshine on a grey rainy day like this.

Lawrence folds the piece of paper with his notes and puts it back in the breast pocket of his uniform. His watch says it's twelve-fifteen. We don't usually stay this long eating lunch, but something about this day feels slow, lethargic almost.

"I still don't have a piece for the talent show," he says to me as we exit the canteen doors. "Help me."

He signed up on that thing for the school's Foundation Week, which is held annually in the first week of August.

"When is that again?" I ask, craning my neck up to look at him.

He's tall; about five-foot-eight. He just had his hair trimmed to maintain his clean-cut. And up close, I can see the acne scars on his face. He started going to a dermatologist last year.

"Last day of Foundation Week," he replies.

"So, two weeks from now." My head is now leveled, and I'm looking straight ahead.

"Yes, and I still don't know what to sing."

"How about that song from Hercules?" I offer, angling my head up again.