Lingering Melody

I keep my hood on as I pull out my homework. I sigh, looking at it. The assignment was to work on our personal history. Last week we had all turned in an essay but this week, was to comprise it into a poem.

I bite my lip. I’ve written two stanzas by the time others are entering. I don’t even glance up to see who just deliberately knocked down my books on the edge and my papers go flying. Rochelle begins laughing because I couldn’t stop it all.

Blush begins to creep up my cheeks as I scramble around, trying to pick up my papers. Of course it was Alex who pushed them down. He picks one up and begins to read it in a scornful voice. “’Watching the room, I stand there alone, their eyes skip past mine as I turn to stone. I see their hearts beating, what could they be thinking? My mind is a swirl…’ What is this? Trying your hand at poetry?” Others laugh at him.

If only he knew! Yet I think how I can’t turn it into anything now. I’d been hoping to adjust it into a new song… I swallow, shifting. I stand up, and put all my papers down. I bite my lip to push back shameful tears. “Can- please, I want it back,” I ask in a small voice. I wish I bore more courage.

He snorts. “Of course, I wouldn’t want to keep you from your petty life,” but before he hands it to me, he begin ripping it up. I lunge for it, but he moves in time and rips up the rest into tiny pieces with in moments. I gasp in fear, because it always hurts, seeing my words were being lost.

“Class!” Comes Warren’s voice. Even Alex doesn’t try anything and moves into his desk. I’m left on the floor, trying to pick up my pieces of ruined paper. “Hampton?” I freeze and turn a little to him. “Hood off,” he instructs. I hesitate a minute and he sends a look. I keep my eyes glued on the floor as I take it off. “Good, now throw away those bits of paper. You know how I hate seeing a mess.”

I grit my teeth but I obey. I numbly pick them up and toss them in the trash, trying to remember everything in it. As I return to my seat and try to warm my hands. Warren starts the morning routine as I shuffle through my papers, looking again for my piece for English. It’s not there! I look around frantically, but it’s not to be found.

Snickers. Rochelle and Michelle, of course. I lower my eyes and slink down in my seat, wishing the ground could swallow me up. Finally I shuffle my way through World History and turn in what I had of the homework. Through Biology and Chemistry I ask myself why I’m not home schooling, which I could be with a tutor and all. P.E. was awful, as usual. Our coach is well…un-gender-oriented. Sexist- hates girls, in the least. We all assume he was in the military…eighty years ago. He just makes the girls take laps as the boys go play the sports. Most of the girls just walk off the field, but I keep it up constantly, knowing I had to stay in shape.

English is my last class of the day. It ends soon enough, but before I can escape, Mr. Gregory calls my name. I slump and go up to his desk, trying to ignore the whispers already being said. “Yes, sir?” I ask in a small voice.

He glances at the door as it swings closed, everyone else is gone. “How is it, Shy?” What?! I give him a shocked look and step back, holding tightly onto my backpack. He smiles. “My niece is in love with your music and you turned in that poem several months ago, do you recall? Hearing it put to music was something new for me.”

I don’t know what to say. I glance at the door warily, as though expecting the paparazzi or police to burst through. He sighs, looking down at his desk. “You didn’t turn in your homework.”

“No, sir,” I say in a small voice and I don’t bother with the excuse. My uncle stopped me from coming up with them a long time ago.

“Why not?” He asks me. “Odd as it seems, I did listen to your CD. You wrote all those songs?” I nod cautiously. “They are very good, Sky, and genuine- unlike most of today’s music, but they are a work of art. How are you finding time to write them and not do your English homework?”

I shrugged. “I’m working on another song and I fell asleep.”

He squinted up at me through his glasses. He’s a respectable old man, and one of the few teachers who really want to teach the students something. He’s also a true, honest man I know. He has worked with his hands and the land, and more. “What time did you fall asleep?”

I think. “Around… eleven?”

He gives the critical eye over his glasses. Those always scare me. “Is that when you usually fall asleep?” I hesitate but can’t lie. I nod slowly. “And when do you usually wake up in the morning, Miss Hampton?”

“Around…six?”

He doesn’t like that. “Are you aware of how long you’re sleeping? That’s seven hours a night, meaning around forty-two hours of sleep a week, unless you’re up longer on the weekends,” my cheeks tinge pink- too true. And he can tell. “Sky, young adults of your age are supposed to be getting ten hours of sleep a night- meaning seventy a week. I believe, then, that you need to be getting more sleep. Also, knowing you can do harder and better, I’ll let you off without a punishment this once- but you must turn it in tomorrow,” he said sternly. I nodded quickly. “Also…” he took one of my hands.

“Nice slim fingers of yours, they look long enough… you play the piano?”

“I’m in the Piano Finishing class, sir,” I inform him- Hemingway High provides a few better extracurricular activities than most schools, being in L.A. Plenty of instruments, photography, most sports, and such.

“Good, good- I’ll sign you up for Guitar Beginning,” he smiles. “That will be all.” I stare at him as he turns away. Then he turns back. “No need to worry. It begins right after that piano class and is in the same room, too!”

I leave the class, confused. I head to my locker, thinking. Just dandy- school ends at two, but Piano Finishing ends at three, meaning Guitar Beginning will end at four. I stare at the floor, grumbling to myself and reach my locker.