Festival : Part 1

Gizem's morning began with the gray sky of the town. The dim light filtering through her window spread across her room, and the wind slipped in through the slightly open curtain, leaving a faint whisper on the wooden floor. She sat up in bed, pulling the blanket to her chest, her eyes lingering on the shadows in the corners of her room. The sound of waves from outside—distant but familiar—filled the morning silence. The festival is approaching, she thought, her heart beating slightly faster. Everyone is talking about it, laughing… But what will I do? Writing, sports, or something else? If she were in Istanbul, she and Zeynep would sit at a table, sip coffee, and decide.

She got up, her steps slow and thoughtful, and walked to her desk, preparing her bag. As she put on her navy blue skirt, the fabric felt cool against her legs. Her fingers paused briefly as she buttoned her shirt, then she threw her cardigan over her shoulders. She looked at herself in the mirror, her eyes catching her own reflection as she tied her hair. I need to do something. Leave a mark in this town… But what? Should I play volleyball, write, or play the drums? Which suits me? Which represents me?

When she went down to the kitchen, the smell of toast filled her nose. Nuray had set the breakfast table—olives in a small dish, cheese sliced, steam rising from the teapot. Hakan was on the couch, buried in his newspaper, his coffee cup swaying in his hand, glasses slipping to the tip of his nose.

"Good morning," Gizem said as she sat down, her voice still carrying traces of sleep.

Nuray turned to her, a teaspoon in hand, her eyes scanning Gizem. "Good morning. What's happening at school today?" There was a motherly curiosity in her voice—gentle but attentive.

"I think there’s a festival announcement," Gizem said, taking a bite of her toast. As it melted in her mouth, her thoughts scattered. I don’t know what to choose. Maybe I should try everything? But what if I can’t keep up?

Hakan lifted his head from his newspaper, looking over his glasses. "A festival? You’ll do something interesting, I suppose," he said with a faint smile, his voice calm and amused.

Gizem shrugged, her eyes drifting to the olives on the table. "We’ll see," she said, thinking to herself, I need to find an idea. This town feels like it’s pushing me. But maybe that’s an opportunity…

She rode her bike through the narrow streets of the town. The wind hit her face, tossing her hair, the salty air filling her lungs. Fishermen were gathering their nets on the shore, seagulls were gliding through the sky, streetlights had yet to turn off—the town was waking up.

When she arrived at school, the courtyard was bustling. Students whispered in groups, laughter floating in the air. She opened the door to 12-A, and the classroom was its usual chaos. Mert and Emre were joking in the back, their laughter echoing against the walls. Pınar and Beste were whispering in a corner, giggling occasionally. Selin was buried in her notebook, her pen moving swiftly across the paper. Yiğit sat in the back, his dark brown hair falling over his forehead, playing with his mechanical pencil, his gaze fixed on his desk—an island of calm in the middle of the storm.

The bell rang, and the noise in the class died down for a moment, but not completely. The door opened, and a tall, bespectacled student—a duty officer from 11th grade—walked in. Holding a piece of paper, his voice was clear but slightly tired:

"Hello, everyone. The talent festival is this Saturday. The competitions are as follows: music band, writing, painting, dance, football, volleyball, basketball. Writing and painting are individual, and their themes will be announced soon. The others are team-based: football is 6v6, with a maximum of 10 people; volleyball max 8; basketball max 7; dance max 3. For each category, captains will write down names and submit them to the P.E. teacher. Any questions?"

He placed the paper on a desk, glanced around the class for a moment, then turned toward the door. "Alright, get started," he said before leaving, the door closing softly behind him.

Mert stood up, crossing his arms, his voice confident. "I’ll organize the basketball team. The limit is seven players. Who’s in?" His eyes scanned the class, a challenge in his gaze.

Emre jumped in immediately, his laughter filling the room. "I’m in! Don’t worry, I’ll pass the ball," he said, slapping the desk, his messy hair falling onto his forehead.

He jumps at everything, Gizem thought, a faint smile on her lips.

Selin lifted her head, setting her pen down on her notebook. "I’ll play," she said, her voice calm but sharp.

She hesitated, then looked at Mert. "But if you’re captain, I might reconsider. You can’t even get the ball through the hoop." Her words were teasing, but there was a real challenge in her eyes.

Mert rolled his eyes, a flicker of irritation flashing across his face before he grinned. "Her Majesty speaks again. Fine, you’re in. We’ll vote on the captain later, don’t make a fuss." There was impatience in his voice, but it was clear he enjoyed their back-and-forth.

Kaan took off his headphones and lifted his head slightly. "I’ll play," he said, his voice calm, eyes still on his phone.

How is he always so relaxed? Gizem thought, admiring Kaan’s composure.

Mert grinned, tapping the desk lightly. "That’s three. We need four more." He turned to the class, scanning everyone one by one.

Ece leaned forward, her short blonde hair falling into her face. "I can play," she said, her voice shy but eager. "But I’ll be tired after playing the keyboard, just so you know."

Mert nodded, approval flashing in his eyes. "Alright, four. Can, you liked basketball—are you in?" There was an expectation in his voice.

Can lifted his head from the back rows, shrugging. "Fine, but I’ll only be a substitute," he said, his voice lazy but willing.

Mert picked up the paper from the desk and grabbed a pen. "Five. Okan, you’re fast. Will you play?" His eyes landed on Okan, waiting for an answer.

Okan straightened in his chair, grinning. "Sure, I’m in," he said, excitement in his voice.

Mert muttered as he wrote. "Six. We need one more." He turned to the class, raising an eyebrow. "Baran, what do you say? You weren’t bad last year."

Baran leaned forward, shrugging. "Alright, I’ll play," he said, his voice calm but not unwilling.

Mert smirked, scribbling the last name. "Seven complete: Mert, Emre, Selin, Kaan, Ece, Can, Okan, Baran. We’ll vote on the captain later; I’ll write that down too." He placed the paper back on the desk, rubbing his hands together in satisfaction.

Pınar stood up, flipping her long black hair, her movement confident and attention-grabbing. "The dance team is mine," she said, her voice commanding. "The limit is three people." She grabbed the paper from Mert and took the pen, her eyes scanning the class.

Beste immediately jumped in, grinning. "I'm in," she said, her voice full of support for Pınar, her eyes sparkling with the urge to giggle.

Pınar nodded and gave Beste a quick smile. "Of course, you are. Zeynep?" Her eyes turned to Zeynep, waiting for a response.

Zeynep straightened up at her desk, a soft smile on her lips. "Alright, I'll join," she said, her voice gentle but firm.

Pınar scribbled their names on the paper and tapped the pen on the desk. "Me, Beste, Zeynep. The dance team is complete. We’ll win again, just like last year," she said, confidence radiating from her voice, a glint of victory in her eyes. She placed the paper back on the desk and put her hands on her hips.

She paused for a moment, then picked up the paper again. "I'm in charge of volleyball too," she announced, her voice louder, as if declaring her captaincy. "I'm the captain, and the maximum is eight players. Who's joining?" She scanned the class, her gaze challenging.

Beste immediately raised her hand, eager. "I'll play," she said, her voice full of loyalty to Pınar.

Pınar smirked and wrote her name down. "Me and Beste, that's two. Selin, what do you say?" She turned to Selin, waiting for an answer.

Selin looked up, twirled her pen in her fingers, and thought for a moment. "There's basketball, but volleyball works too," she said, her voice uncertain at first, but then she nodded. "I'll join."

Pınar wrote it down. "Three. We need five more." She impatiently scanned the classroom.

Gizem felt a wave of courage rise within her. Volleyball… I won first place in Istanbul. Could I do it here too? Her heart pounded as she slowly stood up. "I want to join," she said, her voice clear but with a slight tremor. Her eyes locked onto Pınar, waiting for her reaction.

Pınar turned to her, raising an eyebrow, an amused smirk forming on her lips. "You?" she said, her tone doubtful. "Can you actually play volleyball?" Her eyes swept Gizem from head to toe, as if searching for a weak spot.

Gizem took a deep breath, keeping her composure, though unease stirred within her. "Yes," she said firmly. "I won first place with my old school in Istanbul." I have to say this, but what if they don’t believe me?

The class fell silent for a moment, the atmosphere tense. Pınar pursed her lips, glancing at Beste, a questioning look in her eyes. "First place?" she repeated, her tone mocking but with a hint of jealousy. "When did you win this first place?"

Gizem shrugged, her hands clenched in her pockets. "Last year," she said calmly, though inside she thought: Why is she pushing this so much? "It was a school tournament."

Beste leaned forward, her long black hair falling over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing. "Which school?" she asked, her tone challenging. "Maybe you're lying. How do we know?"

Gizem’s cheeks flushed slightly, but she didn’t look away. "Kadıköy Anadolu," she said, her voice firm. "You can look it up if you want." I don’t care if they’re jealous, but I need to get on this team. I’ll get in with my skills.

Pınar narrowed her eyes, gripping the paper tightly in her hand. "Alright, let's say it's true," she said reluctantly. "What position did you play? What use would you be?"

"Setter," Gizem said, lifting her chin slightly. "But I can play anywhere." I can prove it, as long as they give me a chance.

Beste giggled, her laugh sharp like a needle. "A setter, huh? Pınar is already the setter. What are you going to do, be a substitute?"

Pınar smirked, pressing the paper to her chest. "I'm the captain, and I'm the setter," she said with authority. "You can play somewhere else. If there's even a spot on the team, that is." She twirled the pen in her fingers but didn’t write, staring at Gizem like a challenge.

Selin straightened up at her desk, frowning. "Pınar, stop interrogating her," she said impatiently. "If she won first place, she’s good. We still don’t have eight players. We need her."

Pınar furrowed her brows, her lips tightening. "Fine, but do you have proof?" she said sharply. "Anyone can just say, ‘I won first place.’"

Gizem thought: What proof am I supposed to show, bring my medal? She took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay calm. "The tournament results are online," she said, her voice weary. "You can check—Kadıköy Anadolu, last year." I don’t care if they believe me, but this attitude…

Beste shrugged, giving a mocking smile. "We won’t check. You prove it," she said, winking at Pınar.

Yiğit looked up, straightened in his chair, and spoke in a calm voice. "Pınar, drop it," he said, his eyes fixed on her. "If she won first place, she’s good. Write her name down." His voice was soft but firm, and for a brief moment, he glanced at Gizem, a faint approving smile on his lips.

Pınar pursed her lips, as if about to resist, but under Yiğit’s gaze, she gave in. "Fine, I’ll write it," she said grudgingly. She moved her pen to the paper and scribbled Gizem’s name. "But I’m the captain, got it?" Her eyes scanned Gizem, the jealousy in them too obvious to hide.

Gizem nodded, feeling a wave of relief inside. "That’s not a problem," she said calmly. I don’t care about being captain—I just want to play. But Pınar’s reaction… Strange.

Yiğit took the paper from Pınar’s hand and grabbed the pen. "That makes four," he said smoothly. "Ece, what about you?"

Ece straightened up at her desk, the light catching her short blonde hair. "I like volleyball," she said eagerly. "I’ll join."

Yiğit wrote her name down and nodded. "Five."

Pınar turned to scan the class again, her eyes landing on Okan. "Okan, will you play?"

Okan stretched in his chair and grinned. "Sure, why not?" he said cheerfully.

Yiğit added to the paper. “Six. Two more people.”

Pınar thought for a moment, then looked at Yiğit. “Zeynep hasn’t come up yet. Yiğit, what do you think? Do you like volleyball?”

Yiğit shrugged, a slight smile on his lips. “I do,” he said calmly. “I’ll join. The team will be good.”

Pınar nodded, satisfaction in her eyes. “Seven. One more to go.”

Beste leaned forward, her voice eager. “Melis can play; she was good last year,” she said, glancing toward the front rows.

Melis lifted her head, thought for a moment, then smiled. “Alright, I’ll join,” she said, a hint of shyness in her voice.

Yiğit wrote it down, placed the pen on the desk. “Eight complete: Pınar, Beste, Selin, Gizem, Ece, Okan, Yiğit, Melis. Captain Pınar,” he said, calm but firm. He handed the paper to Pınar.

Pınar took the paper, a victorious smile on her lips. “Volleyball is done,” she said, placing the paper on the desk.

Yiğit picked it up from the desk and stood up. “Now it’s my turn for football,” he said, his voice calm but confident. “Let’s move on to the football team. We’ll play six-a-side, maximum ten people. If we keep last year’s team, we’ll win.” He scanned the classroom, pausing for a moment, thoughtful. “Mert, you’ll stay in midfield again. Your passes were fast; we need that.”

Mert grinned, tapping the desk lightly. “Of course, captain! Midfield is mine,” he said, enthusiasm in his voice.

Yiğit nodded, his eyes shifting to Emre. “Emre, you’ll run on the right wing again. This time, if your positioning is off, I’ll throw you in the trash myself,” he said, a smirk on his lips.

Emre burst out laughing, straightening in his chair. “Assists are on me, then,” he said, his eyes shining.

Yiğit thought for a moment, then turned to Kaan. “Kaan, you held strong in defense. You were solid last match,” he said with approval in his voice.

Kaan took off his headphones, gave a slight nod. “Alright,” he said, calm but accepting.

Yiğit continued, his eyes landing on Can. “Can, you’ll be our goalkeeper. Your reflexes are good,” he said with confidence.

Can shrugged, stretching in his chair. “Fine,” he said, his voice lazy but not unwilling.

Yiğit asked, “Okan, your speed on the left wing will help us. Will you join?”

Okan grinned, nodding. “Sure,” he said, a cheerful tone in his voice.

Yiğit added, “Baran, will you be the backup goalkeeper? You helped a lot last year.”

Baran leaned forward, shrugged. “Alright,” he said, calm.

Finally, Yiğit turned to Ali. “Ali, you’re our backup midfielder,” he said, approval in his gaze.

Ali nodded, a slight smile on his lips. “Alright, Yiğit,” he said.

Yiğit wrote it down, placed the pen on the desk. “Eight people: Yiğit, Mert, Emre, Kaan, Can, Okan, Baran, Ali. Football is done,” he said, calm but firm.

Mert called out, his eyes shifting to Yiğit. “Music group?”

Yiğit picked up the paper again, got up from his chair. “Music group is mine too,” he said, his voice soft but clear. “I’m on guitar and vocals, Kaan on bass, Ece on keyboard. But we don’t have a drummer…” His eyes scanned the classroom, pausing for a moment.

Mert jumped in, raising his eyebrows. “Who was the drummer last year? Deniz or Göktuğ?”

Ece nodded, her short blonde hair falling over her face. “It was Deniz,” she said, a hint of sadness in her voice. “But he moved this summer, transferred to another school.”

Kaan murmured, placing his headphones on the desk. “Practices were awful without him,” he said, exhaustion in his voice.

Something stirred inside Gizem. Drums… I used to play in Istanbul. The sound of drumsticks still echoes in my ears. And now? Could this be my chance here? Her heart raced, her hands grew sweaty, but she gathered her courage, slowly stood up. “I can join,” she said, her voice shaky but determined. Her eyes locked onto Yiğit, waiting for his reaction.

Yiğit raised an eyebrow, silent for a moment, his dark eyes studying Gizem. “Drums?” he said, skepticism in his voice, but underneath, curiosity. “Are you sure?” A faint smile appeared on his lips, but his eyes still questioned.

Gizem took a deep breath, excitement surging through her. “Yes,” she said, her voice growing stronger. “I took lessons in Istanbul, played for two years.” I can do this. I have to show him.

Pınar chuckled, her voice sharp like a needle pricking the air. “Volleyball, now drums…” she said with a mocking smirk. “Is the new girl getting involved in everything?” She turned to Beste, winking.

Beste smirked, leaning forward. “Maybe she’s just showing off,” she said, a challenging tone in her voice, her eyes locked on Gizem.

Gizem rolled her eyes, a flicker of anger inside, but she pushed it down. “I’m not showing off,” she said, her voice calm but sharp. “I play, that’s all.” I’ll prove it—to Pınar, to everyone.

Yiğit nodded, silent for a moment, then picked up the pen. “Alright, but let’s test it,” he said, curiosity in his voice. “What’s the basic rhythm?” His eyes locked onto Gizem, waiting for an answer.

Gizem’s heart pounded, but the knowledge rushed to her mind. “One-four, two-three,” she said quickly, confidence in her voice. “You start with the kick and snare.” I know this. I won’t mess up.

Yiğit raised an eyebrow, a hint of approval on his lips. “How do you keep tempo?” he asked, his voice soft but testing.

Gizem didn’t look away, hesitated for a second under Yiğit’s gaze, but continued. “With a metronome or your internal rhythm,” she said, her voice steadying. “Hi-hat keeps it consistent.” Alright, I got this one too.

Yiğit paused for a moment, then asked, “Where do you use a crash?” Curiosity in his voice, a spark in his eyes.

Gizem took a deep breath, looking into Yiğit’s eyes, her heart hammering in her chest. “In transitions or for emphasis,” she said, her voice firm. That’s it. Now, what will he say?

Yiğit was silent for a moment, then grinned, his dark eyes gleaming. “Alright, you know your stuff,” he said, respect in his voice. “We’ll practice tonight, choose a song.” He brought the pen to the paper, wrote Gizem’s name.

Yiğit looked at the paper. “Music group: Yiğit, Kaan, Ece, Gizem,” he said, calm but firm.

As Gizem sat down, she thought to herself: I did it. Drums… Maybe this is where I belong. She stood up again, pausing for a second. “I’ll join the writing club too,” she said, determination in her voice. Volleyball, music, writing… Will all three give me something?

Beyza turned to Gizem, her short brown hair falling over her face, whispering, “All three?” Admiration in her voice. “I admire your courage.”

Gizem smiled, a sense of relief washing over her. “You should join art,” she said softly. “We can help each other.”

Beyza nodded, a smile on her lips. “Alright, I’m writing my name down,” she said, adding her name to the paper.

The paper remained on the desk, the bell rang, the class scattered, noise filling the room again. But Gizem was already excited for the music practice that night. Yet, what was she really excited about? Playing the drums again like she used to—or Yiğit? That was something she was truly curious to find out…