With A Lot

The winter wind still clung to the corners of our high school, but spring was slowly stirring beneath its icy surface. Inside the room, Emma's voice ran through the chilled air, tinged with exasperation. It had only been a few days since we finished our tests, and my mind was craving a moment of respite. Fortunately, my exams had gone quite smoothly, thanks to Adica's patient tutoring during our club hours. But just as I thought I had overcome one challenge, another seemed to surface out of nowhere.

"What can I even do for the literature fest?" Emma asked, her tone colored by a hint of annoyance. "I've never been particularly keen on joining the club, and I'm only here because Adica signed up."

"Emma, don't be too disheartened," Adica reassured her, leaning in and offering her arm as support.

"I'm not feeling down, though..."

"It will be fun, I promise! We have a whole world of words to explore."

Emma shook her head, her short black hair brushing against her cheeks. "I'm sorry, Adica. I'm just not into this stuff. Maybe we could head to the music room instead? The music club isn't practicing today."

I chimed in to support Emma. "Emma, as Adica said, just give it a try. I'm confident you can come up with something great."

She sighed. "Getting encouragement from you kinda feels strange..."

I asked, "What do you mean by that?"

Emma chuckled, shrugging off my question. "I was just kidding. Don't take it too seriously!"

You might be wondering what's been happening. Well, it all began when Mr. Clair caught the three of us goofing off in the club room yesterday, once again... While Adica was diligently immersed in her novel, as she always did, Emma and I had succumbed to exhaustion and were fast asleep. I mean, our tests had finally come to an end, and every cell in my body had given its all just to stay upright for even a second. Mr. Clair didn't scold us or anything; he was simply here to remind us about the spring cultural festival once more. Perhaps he had something else to discuss, but his conversation was abruptly cut short by a phone call, after which he rushed out in a hurry.

Today, after our classes, Mr. Clair returned to the club room. His initial words were an apology for not providing us with proper guidance despite being our club advisor. It was true that none of us, except perhaps Adica, had shown much enthusiasm for the club. However, the tone of Mr. Clair's words left no doubt that he was taking this matter very seriously.

He pulled out a chair, reclining in it as his eyes seemed to wander into the distance, lost in a sea of memories. The room itself appeared to hush, as if even the walls were leaning in to listen.

"You know," he began, his voice carrying a hint of nostalgia, "back in my time, this literature club was like a sanctuary. We were a small group, much like all of you, united by a shared passion for words."

He paused, his gaze drifting towards the rows of dusty books adorning the shelves, each one seemingly holding a fragment of his past. "We used to gather here after school, much like you," he continued, his voice carrying a nostalgic tone. "It wasn't about assignments or deadlines. It was about immersing ourselves in the worlds crafted by authors, about discovering solace within the pages of a book."

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "We fervently debated characters and their motivations. We even engaged in heated arguments about the endings of certain novels. And you know what? Our club birthed something beautiful. We once published a collection of our own writings as a magazine during the spring cultural festival at the end of the semester. It wasn't a massive success, and we even had to contribute from our own pockets because they didn't sell well, but still... it was uniquely ours."

"I'm not suggesting that you replicate what we did," he clarified. "It's just that..." He turned back to face us, his eyes gleaming with a subdued fervor. "This club boasts a history, a legacy. It may have faltered after my time, but I have faith in each of you. You have the potential to breathe new life into it."

"I really don't understand this stuff though, literature and all..." Emma confessed, as if her words were mirroring her uncertainty.

"Understanding isn't the most important aspect, Emma," Mr. Clair reassured her. "Literature isn't about being right or wrong, or about understanding or not understanding. It's about how it makes you feel, what it inspires in you, and how it moves you. Take, for instance, the spring literature festival. Even though participants are given themes and guidelines, literature, in my opinion, is a personal journey. It's a way for us to share our unique perspectives on the world, to convey our emotions, and to reveal our innermost thoughts. The colors we see, the melodies we hear, and the fragrances we smell. Literature is about expression, about using words to paint our emotions and allowing others to catch a glimpse of the beauty we've discovered hidden in the world."

His words seemed to overwhelm Emma further with her own doubts. "But it's still hard, you know... it's hard to express these things!"

"Tell me, do you think flowers are beautiful?"

"Flowers... well, yes, they are. But that's not the issue."

"First, tell me, why do you find flowers beautiful? You yourself said it."

"I mean, they have vibrant colors, a pleasant fragrance... anything else?"

"Now, if you were to ask a scientist, can you guess what they might say? They'd likely talk about colorful pigments in their cells, the role of fragrance in pollination, and various intricate processes occurring inside those cells. These things fascinate them... even though hearing it from them can feel a bit like watching a dissection. But it's their way of appreciating beauty. Just because they perceive flowers differently, it doesn't diminish their fascination or the beauty they find in them in any way."

Emma remained silent for a moment, appearing lost in thought. Then, with a long sigh, she finally said, "Alright, maybe I'll give it a shot."

The first not-so-dull lectures of the semester had drawn to a close. Afterward, Mr. Clair left us to explore the world of words on our own. While I contemplated his words, Emma had already started plucking books from the shelves, one by one.

This continued for a while until the afternoon was nearly over. "Adica, we could call it a day now. It's getting quite late." Emma said, dropping the book in her hand on the table.

"Hmm, I guess it's time to head out." However, before they left, Adica turned to me with a hopeful smile. "Reol, would you mind if I take one of the pamphlets for the literature festival? I'd like to learn more about it."

I knew I had kept a few pamphlets in a box tucked away in the corner of the room. I retrieved one and handed it to her. "Here. And Emma, put all the books back in their place before you leave."

Emma clapped her hands sigh, before bringing her eyes towards me. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Reol. I'd be incredibly grateful if you could take care of that for me."

"What? Why me?"

"I'm really sorry... and thank you!"

"Emma..." Adica seemed ready to argue against Emma's request, but Emma persisted until I reluctantly agreed. With a resigned sigh, I began the task of shelving the books. Emma beamed a triumphant smile, clearly pleased with her persuasive skills, and then, along with Adica, left the room.

"Goodbye, Reol! Thanks a lot! I'll treat you someday for your help!" Emma called as she exited.

"Take care!" Adica added before they disappeared from my view.

After I had returned the last book to its rightful place, I left the club room and began my journey home. It had become a daily routine for me, especially with the days growing shorter, and that I now visited the club room regularly, I had to take the slightly longer route, avoiding Bryant and his group. The words he had uttered during our confrontation in the warehouse still echoed in my mind. 

It was as if I had gradually begun to piece together the message he had been trying to convey. Although a part of me questioned whether he was genuinely as menacing as he appeared, I wasn't willing to take any risks. Despite him sitting right in front of me in class, I managed to avoid him for the most part. And other than during class, I made a conscious effort to stay clear of his path.

That night, after dinner, I sat at my desk, pondering what to do for the literature festival. Despite Mr. Clair's inspiring words, I found it challenging to come up with ideas. My mind felt like a vast, empty canvas waiting to be filled with words, but I didn't know where to begin.

Suddenly, a loud, jarring noise pierced through the night. It sounded like something heavy had fallen and crashed to the ground. Without a second thought, I rushed to my balcony to investigate.

If I didn't hear wrong, the sound had come from Adica's house. The night was once again silent, and I strained my ears, hoping to catch any further clues. What could have occurred at this late hour?

My suspicions were confirmed the next day when I entered the classroom. There, I noticed Adica's left arm wrapped in bandages. Unable to contain my concern, I asked, "Adica, what happened to your hand?"

She met my gaze with her usual warm smile, gently shaking her head. "Oh, it's nothing to worry about. I was helping my mom clear the table after dinner, and I simply slipped, sending all the dishes crashing to the ground. It's just a minor accident, Reol. Thank you for your concern."