Bubblegum Serenade

Exam Season

Eevee flung herself across the bed, the mattress groaning in protest. It sounded more like a fart than a groan, if she was being honest.

Exam season was on, and she was off. Her priorities out the window, with only pressing one's ass on a chair to scoop shit into her brain to be certified as pro info devourer and pass. Only to do the same thing next term.

It used to hold color—maybe because back in High School she bothered to buy colorful pens and glittering highlighters and transparent tabs for marking pages. Now all she had was one blue pen on the verge of dying and a pencil that is in a serious need for sharpening.

She'd heard of Logan's visit, and the beef with spices that was cooked. Jeralt's mouth was as big as microphone—everyone had heard.

But everyone had turned away, including Macchiato, who was immersed deeply in his studying materials.

Envy blotted circle in her vision as she found him studying one day at the library, the university permitting it open 24/7 for the sake of the late owls who only know how to grind when the moon is high. His hair was disheveled, but his eyes—bright and certain. Like he was about to take aim.

Meanwhile, Jeralt sat next to him. Nose in phone rather than book. It took a quick passing over, to glance over his shoulder, and find him playing Chess online. Of course he'd feel guilty—like the thing we humans do when we clean the house when we have an important exam the following day.

Not that she was not guilty, she was sitting in the comic section of the library, the pages light beneath her fingers. The colors seem to ooze her stress off, when she read comics, sometimes she wished there was an address on the last page. A way to say thank you other than purchasing comics and spreading it through word of mouth. Sometimes she wanted to write a personal note to the author and the artist, the whole team that made this book possible to drop on her extended palms. Thank you for making life less unbearable.

Zara was a strange cricket, who strummed her fingertips over the strings of her guitar, with her back curved over the instrument. She worshipped her guitar in a way that made God himself jealous. She loved playing music while studying—to bring peace for herself, live. Zara didn't like recorded stuff, hence why she never went to the cinema. It was all prepared. No element of surprise.

Eevee observed everyone around her. It was not the worst habit to have. But she wondered all of a sudden of this Logan whose name toppled mountains and crashed calm waters. Wondered how he studied of all things! But hearing his wild nature, maybe he paid his way through exams. Maybe.

She was never a good writer, but forming and stringing words gave her a sense of calm. Sometimes before a studying session, she pulled free her notebook under the trash in the top drawer. Flicked open a blank page. Pressed ink to paper. Then wrote. Wrote whatever came to her mind or out of her mind, no matter how silly or bizarre. She just wrote until the world was at the mercy of the tip of her pen. Wrote until the paper was tainted. Her fingertips marked with black circles and shaped like smeared mascara.

She didn't have enough balls—actually she bore none. To call herself a writer. Not that she needed that weird shaped muscle. Was it a muscle or an organ? But the business of writing was lonely, and she dreaded loneliness—It felt like putting on pants after a swim. Wet and uncomfortable.

One time Jeralt caught her chucking a huge chunk of paper stack in the trash. He gave her an odd look but said nothing.

Later on he hinted at it. Thus a conversation, quite heated, unfolded.

"Why do you throw your art?" He asked.

"Because no one reads it, anyway. It just takes space."

He stared at me in disbelief. Then said. "You read it. Are you not considered a number in the human existence?"

"A small one." She prattled.

"Don't get me started on how you don't share it." He commented.

Her face went red as she caught him red-handed pulling the stack out of his backpack.

"You did NOT take my work." She seethed.

"If it makes you feel better then I didn't."

Did he consider me this dumb when the evidence right under my nose, thought Eevee.

"I didn't read it." He added, trying to stifle the fire that was in her eyes.

Those words fanned them more. Ironically.

"Hand it over." She said.

"Open your palms."

She was about to argue, but then decided otherwise. Extending her hands and revealing them upwards, like she was about to scoop water to rinse and spit.

"Close your eyes." He continued.

"Oh, fuck off." She twisted one hand into a vulgar gesture, which made Jeralt skitter with laughter.

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

A staring contest was on. He won.

Dammit!

To no avail, the arse was not about to back down.

She shut her eyes.

Something smooth and surprisingly heavy was placed on her palms. With jagged blunted edges. For a moment she thought it was one big music box, but to her surprise, something winked down. Like teeth going off. Her heart fluttered.

She opened her eyes before even hearing his command.

There, sat, a typewriter that was not a typewriter. The keys weren't shaped like teeth but rather tiny blocks of black with letters scrawled in white. Instead of a normal typewriter where a paper would be plucked in, like a tongue—stood a tiny monitor. That was so small it could barely be seen unless you wrap your face to it. She wrote the first word ever. To be on this tiny digital typewriter. Jeralt, is this for me?

Then the monitor hummed to life, the words written there. When she clicked enter it vanished. Her heart sunk. The words were swallowed into oblivion.

Jeralt shook his head saying, "I feel like you're the sort to get hung up on wordcount and maybe even shitcount."

Puffing his chest, he continued. "This fella will store all your words up to like 10000K which is a big number so you gotta transfer it to your laptop before deleting and starting anew."

"My words didn't disappear?"

"Do words ever disappear, Eevee?" He asked. His tone was surprisingly tender.

"It can't be all for nothing," She replied. "Someone remembers. I remember."

He smiled at her response, and in his eyes, she saw her reflection.

She beamed back.