I looked at the top of the board and saw the minute hand drop at the fiftieth minute of the first hour of the afternoon. Only forty minutes left and we’re off.

Mr. Scott’s deep, booming voice would’ve made the others lively, but because of his boring history lessons today, some of us started opening their mouths into a huge yawn, others are taking a nap with their heads on the table.

I rotated my neck and saw Adhira Hill  doodling on the back of the notebook, which made something smash into my mind.

My comic strip, I whispered, my eyes widening. My elbows landed on my desk with a thud and I placed my face in my hands. I started to groan.

I have to finish it by tomorrow Friday morning before eight, and I had just finished three out of ten scenes.

Curse my procrastination, I thought. Adhira, or simply called Ire, and my others best friends, Damara Sanders and Roselani Dunn, have been inviting me over to hang out at different places, making me say ‘yes‘ and move my schedule in making my comic.

Therefore, it’s not their fault. The announcement for doing stuff like this was told almost two weeks ago, and it’s for our school paper, and it’s my first time working there, as I was only the president of the Visual Arts Club last year at Sophie High.

Our moderator, Mr. Wickes, just told the Veritas(the official school paper title) moderator(haven’t met him yet) that he has someone who could replace the cartoonist, who already graduated last June, and he said that the person he’s talking about is me. He told him of my achievements, like being the representative of our year level to compete with others at drawing contests and being able to win.

Mr. Wickes just told me that I was assigned to draw the comics at the school paper, so I had no option. I left my position as the club president.

Why? A rule here at school say that you only have to be in one list of club/class officers.

Being offered with a position at clubs like Veritas is like telling that you’re already an officer, except when you’re invited to be just a contributor, and you can never back out until the end of the school year, because (a)there’s no one who would like to replace the person who left the position, (b)you were recommended by a teacher, and/or (c) the person who left was the one who recommended you. And everyone in the club will be counting on you. (Right now I’m already being pressured. Making a cartoon that will surely entertain the readers is really hard.)

Being nominated for a position at any other clubs/classes is just a choice. You can have an excuse why you shouldn’t be an officer(like you don’t even know how to handle things) and point the others you know will be able to do their responsibilities well.

And that’s what happened last year, because they’ve noticed that I’m the one who kept them updated when I was just a first year student.

Now. Back to History class.

While Mr. Scott continued to read stuff from the book, I’ve decided to refuse any hang-out-with-us-it-will-be-fun invitation whenever I have to do something important.

All of the sudden, the bell rang. I looked at the clock and saw that it’s already half past two. Many students who have been taking naps woke up, looking like they have no idea what’s going on.

I got up and swung my bag over my shoulder and began to rush outside the backdoor.

“Chris!” I heard a faint shout coming from the class, but I have to start doing my comic now.

“CHRIS!” The shout got louder as the sea of students thinned.


I stopped on my tracks and turned around, finding myself looking at Ire, Mara(Damara), and Rose(Roselani).

“Hey, guys,” I said, shuffling.

“Why were you running?” Mara asked, her green eyes and red hair shining from sun rays, making her freckles visible against her white skin.

“I’m going to do something important,” I said truthfully as my feet itched to run away.

“What’s that ‘something’?” Ire inquired.

“It’s for the Visual Arts Club and I was the one picked to be the representative for something that will be released next week.”

“What’s that another ‘something’?” Rose’s turn to ask.

“It’s a secret.”

“Fine then” Ire said. “Can you go with us to the Richards residence? Lindsay invited Rose over but she said we could tell others.”

“Sorry. I really have to do something really important.”

I turned away and ran towards the Art Studio.

I saw the door hanging ajar from the distance and slowed down. As I got nearer, I heard voices coming out of it.”

“…make sure that he’ll be able to pass it.”

“Thank you, sir.”

I heard footsteps coming to the door and saw a girl I’ve never seen before, merge from the room. She saw me and smiled and she walked out.

I went in and saw that no body’s there, though I’m sure I heard Mr. Wickes’ voice outside.

He must’ve returned to his office, I thought. I reached for my table which is only located at the left side of the door, which is placed at the corner of the room, quickly pulling the drawer and grab my comic and ran out.

My mind spinned through many things but I’ve got a dialogue on my head that caught my ear(another version for “caught my eye”, of course).

That girl’s pretty cute, one voice said. Maybe you should go out with her.

Or I can be best friends with her, another one said. You can ask her whatever you like to want about makeup, clothes or attracting boys.

But you might like her. Not the she-is-the-type-of-person-that-I-like-to-be-friends-with kind of like, but more on the she-might-be-the-person-who-can-help-me-with-my-gender-case or not-an-obsession-but-I-really-want-to-know-more-about -this-girl type.

Shut up. It won’t happen. You only like guys. You’re simply a homo. Case clo—

It won’t be closed until you are able to find the answer to your problem.

I shook the dialogue from my head. I decided not to think about it…

But what if the first voice was right? I told Ire and Mara(I’ve just recently met Rose) two years ago that I really want to do things that a girl does like dress up and flirt with guys, and they told me that it was homosexual, but when I felt like even though I act like a girl but I wanted to do things guys do, they told me they don’t know.

Well, I have to admit. That girl was really pretty, but I don’t know what I feel.

Lack of control on my identity crisis, maybe.


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