Summer is over, and the only thing I could remember from it was the fact that I was never sent out for a vacation, and I just stayed inside our house eating plain pancakes while watching NBA replays, and pretending that summer didn’t exist—even once.
Today’s the first day of my last year in Maximo High School, and it’s still strange to me to think that in the next twelve months, I’ll be leaving this place to settle for greater things in college. But that’s only if I’ll get accepted in college. Basketball is my only ticket to continue my studies, and it pains me to know that it slowly disappears before my eyes because the new principal is such a pain in the ass. I remember one time when he phoned me in the middle of my home vacation, only to tell me that I’m not eligible to play for the next season of Inter-High School Basketball League just because of my grades. That is ultimately unacceptable, isn’t it?
I take the deepest sigh I could ever make before stepping my right foot first out of the car. Sweats begin to bead on my uniform as the golden rays of sunlight start to kiss my bare skin. I close the door after me. “I’m going inside now, Mom,” I say as I head to the driver’s seat to give her a kiss on the cheek.
“Good luck, sweetheart,” she says, waving her hand as I walk my way towards the entrance.
I look at the giant canvas in front of me. ‘Welcome to Maximo High School!’ it reads. I don’t bother spending a minute or two of my life seeming like an idiot in front of it, so I just proceed to the hallway packed with students crowded enough for an apple to fall. On the middle of my way, I bump with Stephen; he is on his sophomore year now and he was playing point guard last season on the same team as mine.
“Bryan! It’s been a while, isn’t it?” he greets, his voice loud enough to force all the students to stop and stare at him.
“Yeah, it is,” I reply, deadpan. I scrutinise him and the first thing I notice is the color of his hair. As far as my memory could recall, it was supposed to be blonde; but now it’s all black. As for his height, nothing really changes. He’s still few centimetres shorter than me, only that he’s few fats thicker.
“I haven’t seen you in the Summer Camp, where have you been in the last two months?” he asks as we continue to walk.
“Home.”
“Home? That’s freakin’ boring. How did you managed to survive then?” he asks again. I hate to say this, but Stephen’s mouth is really the most annoying thing in the world for me. During our basketball practices, he would always blabber about something or someone as if it’s interesting to listen to, and as if everyone would care to digest his words. If it wasn’t for his skills, he would’ve been kicked out of the roster because of his mouth—and that’s as sure as the eggs are eggs.
I smirk. “It was boring, yes. But not on the part where you can eat unlimited pancakes and watch unlimited NBA replays.” I raise my chin up, and shoot my brows to the ceiling as I prompt to face him. “I reckon it’s more boring to participle in a Summer Camp full of newbies. I already surpassed that stage, and I believe you know that.”
“Eh, you got a point there.” For the first time since we met two minutes ago, he is silenced.
When we reach the end of the hallway where there are another three hallways that leads to different directions, a bunch of girls suddenly appear out of nowhere and block our path. They are screaming their hearts out, while shaking the banners and posters with my picture in it. Seriously. This never gets old.
“I know that the Bryan Fans Club would show up in the first day of school, but I didn’t know they would show up this early. I mean, it’s only 7:35!” Stephen screams silently, if that’s even a thing. Regardless, he is right though.
“I actually forgot that they are still existing,” I reply, careful not to be heard by my so-called fans.
“What should you do now? Man, this is awkward.” Stephen run a hand over his face.
“I don’t know. Let’s see what I can do.” I approach the group of girls with an unsteady smile quivering on my face. The nearer I get, the louder they become. “What’s up, girls?” I say, and they all lose their sanity.
“Could you sign this for me?”
“Let’s take a picture, can we? Can we?!”
“Please take this necklace, I made this for you!”
“Here’s some flowers. Take these flowers!”
“So when’s your next game, MVP?”
Bombarded with their not-so flattering words, I just take a deep sigh and tap my forehead in great, great regret. I look at Stephen as an indication that I need his help, but he’s a dickhead and all he just say is, “I’m going to my class. Catch you later!”
Now I’m screwed, and I am left with no choice but to answer all their prayers and pretend I am their god.
After forty-five infinities, I am finally able to proceed to my class. Of course, I’m late. Thanks to those Bryan Fans Club I’m getting my first warning just in the first few minutes of the first day of school alone.
“Mr. Nicholas, you’re here!” Professor Stoner says when he sees me entering sneakily through the door.
I freeze. I get this awkward position where my right foot is up in the air, and my hands are balled in front of me while my body leans forward. In a snap of a finger, I straighten my body. I tighten my grip on the straps of my bag and answer, “Yes, Prof. I’m here.”
The entire class burst in laughter.
With a collision of confusion and disappointment on his face, the Professor asks, “Would you like to return to the door and say your greetings properly, Mr. Nicholas?”
“No, Prof.” I flaunt my widest smile, but all I get in return is a flying whiteboard eraser.
“Proceed to the Guidance Councillor’s Office after this class. You’ll enjoy spending some time in there,” the Professor announces. By the looks of him, I could see how he prevents himself from exploding in anger and dismay. Did I just offended him? How?
I swear to all the pancakes I ate the entire summer that I didn’t mean to be rude to him. He asked. I answered. What’s so rude with that?
With creases existing on my forehead, I brush past the few rows of chairs and walk peacefully en route to the only vacant seat in the room; the one in the corner found at the backmost column of the chairs. I take my seat quietly, and give an examining look to my seatmate. She is a girl. Her eyes are big and intimidating, with traces of dark eyeliners tattooed beneath them. She is chewing a bubble gum, and the inflating of bubble out of her mouth would tell it all.
With curiosity running all throughout my nerves, I ask in a low monotone. “New here? I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”
She pops the bubble and it’s sticky fragments scatter all over her scarlet lips. “Yes, I’m new here,” she answers without giving a damn if whether or not I’m still listening to her. She run a tongue on her lips to get rid of the remaining gum.
I shrug, not because that’s all I can do, but because that’s how I end boring conversations. Since there’s no ‘what’s your name?’ included in that small talk, I find her irrelevant and uninteresting. I just tilt my head back to the direction of Professor Stoner, and pretend as if I’m listening to whatever it is that he’s talking about. But the truth is, I can’t even hear him. And even if I can, I guarantee I won’t be listening anyways.
The interesting part during first day of high school is that, you don’t always begin the class with a discussion. Usually, it will start with introducing of oneself, showcasing of talents, electing of classroom officers, and the legend of all; writing essays about how you spent your summer vacation.
Right. Speaking of which, how did I spend my summer again?
While looking at the plain sheet of white paper, I stifle a laugh. I’ve been mentioning this a lot of times already, but I’ll never get tired of mentioning it again. With my fingers gripping tightly to the pen, I write; “I spent my summer slouching at the couch and watching NBA replays, while eating five to eight layers of plain pancakes. This had been part of my daily routine for the past two months; seven days a week, and three hours per day. Now if this isn’t considered a summer vacation, then I’m afraid to tell you I didn’t have any vacation at all.” Just like that, my essay is done.
I get out of my seat and bring my paper with me. I proceed to the front where the Professor is waiting, and pass my essay to him. There’s a surprise kind of look on his face when he receives my work. “I am asking for an essay about your summer vacation, Mr. Nicholas. Not a free verse poetry about your boring life,” he mocks after reading, which I don’t care by the way.
“That is an essay, Professor Stoner.” I give him a grin, an annoying one. “Besides, that’s how I really spent this year’s summer. So if you find it boring, then deal with it. It’s about my summer and not yours anyway.” I seal my counter argument with a powerful smile. The whole class give a round of applause which is very pleasing to me, and very annoying to him.
As I turn myself back to the direction of my seat, I leave my final question to Professor Stoner. “Since I submitted my essay early, can I get out of your class early, too?” By the time I finish my question, I’m already at my seat, packing my things up.
“Of course, you can! And please never come back!” says he.
“My pleasure,” are the last words I say before I totally disappear from his room. When I finally free myself from his cage, I hear him shouting, “Proceed to the Guidance Office.”
“No, thanks.”
