20 White and Gold
"Good morning, Roxanne,"
"Nante koto da, Yuki! Yabai!" Roxy hastily approaches me and looks me in the eye. She then scans every inch of my body before bursting into happy tears. "What happened to you? You look horrible."
My mouth curls downwards as soon as she brings my facial features into the conversation. I do not want everyone to know that I have slept three hours for the last six days, completing that damn short story of mine.
And today is the day of the announcement for the winners of the contest. If I need to be more specific about the schedule, it will be later this afternoon.
"You look like a pineapple, but without the shoots."
"Who do you think is responsible for this?" I mark my finger on my face while tilting my head, hoping that I could place the blame over to my friend for everyone to see.
(Nante koto da means "Oh my". Yabai means "Awful". It can mean anything positive or negative)
"You joined the competition!" Roxanne retorts and crosses her arms before going to her seat, grumbling inaudible words.
I tag along and flump my bottom on the wooden chair, feeling tired from last night. We stayed up late at night until 4 am when the sun shone, and now we both have to pay the price.
I still do not get why my best friend looks like a fresh cat, compared to me, who looks like an exhausted dog barking all day. I have nothing against dogs, but some pets appear to have more worn out faces than mine.
But there is one more person in the room that shares the exact sleepy face painted on my face. It is none other than Nickson who has started this all-out-war.
"Nickson, you look-,"
"Not a single word, Roxanne." Nickson interposes before she could even speak her tongue. He then collapses on the chair and places his familiar shoulder bag beside his feet, trying to take a quick nap.
However, he is an unlucky student and even attempts to sleep in the class.
The door abruptly opens with a not-so-young professor greeting our eyes. He is the general Science professor that I have seen before and met during the party last six days ago. If I can recall his name correctly, I think he calls himself Benjamin Tsai, another foreign teacher.
Sir Benjamin rushes to the middle and lays down a set of papers on his desk. I cannot discern the documents from afar, but I already have a vague idea of their contents.
"Pop-quiz, ladies and gentlemen!" Our school teacher announces, while shaking the table out of boredom.
The vexing groans of the class resound inside the room. But we know it is little for us to do anything against since the professor has already mentioned a test coming this week.
We soon distribute the test questionnaires to each student and immediately answer them once we get the paper. Everyone who has received one instantly lowers their heads and focuses on answering the problems; everyone except for a guy who has forgotten to bring his pen upon going to school.
"Nickson," I call out to him in a whispering manner while tapping the ends of his chair. "Psst, wake up."
Fortunately, the vibration coming from the foot is enough to arouse the drowsy boy off from his dream. Nickson rubs his eyes and peers at me, to which I respond by motioning my hands to look at his questionnaire.
"Here's a pen. Be sure to return it to me once everything is over." I secretly hand him my spare pen without disturbing my classmates already answering the exam.
"I see," Nick replies and takes the ballpoint pen away from my hand while feeling surprised at my sudden gesture of kindness. "Thank you".
I firmly nod in acknowledgement and resume answering the paper in front of me. The lessons are not that hard compared to the previous quiz games I play with Roxanne.
Those games scare me the most than answering these tests. It always helps me use my brain for once, even by playing all day long with my best friend.
Eventually, the bell on the wall clinks in our ears, dismissing all the classes in our school. Few students dash through the hall and enter inside the theatre room, knowing that there is an announcement of some sort, with the addition ceremony to open the school clubs. These selected individuals are planning to watch the commemoration. It is also the time for students to sign their names in the organisation they wish to join-since some clubs only cater to a limited number of students each year.
But for the two of us, Nickson and me, we want to know who won the contest. The winner will decide who will become president for tomorrow's election.
However, we are not excited to attend the celebration of the champion. I can feel it inside my guts that the both of us begging to come home and rest until our heart's content.
Much to my surprise, we discern our classmates sitting in the front row of the stadium. We want to ask them why, but one student in our section comes to us instead.
"We wish you luck, Nickson, Yuki!" The girl utters before sitting back in her chair, together with the rest of her group.
"Such a sweet girl," I mumble to myself while pumping up my fist on my chest to hype myself up with the competition.
Her friends at the forepart glance back and cheer us on with their fluffy pom-poms in their hands.
"Where do they even get those in Japan?" I grumble to myself, confused by the sudden appearance of cheerleaders.
But they have cheerleaders in various schools, and they also join in the international competitions. It is a recognised sport in Japan, and they even continued their dominance in Cheerleading for the fifth consecutive World Championship.
"Maybe I should join a club?" I mutter to myself, thinking to join a group soon.
Roxanne and I choose the seat nearest to the room, where we might go inside to grab our trophies and certificates upon entering the contest. I am confident enough to win such an unpopular competition.
I am not bragging, but I am a well-known author under the guidance of a company.
Nickson should also win the contest since he is also famous for his designs and stories of romance and fan art drawings. I have seen his work on his online platform, and I love every one of his works.
But if he would ever win this one, he must take the second prize. My pride would never allow such a thing that this thief of an artist, stealing my work and turning it into his adaptation.
I am over it, don't worry.
Time passes by quickly as we hear the speaker. She gets herself ready to announce the winners of the art or literature contest.
To our amazement, Ms. Ai stands tall on the podium, gets her paper, and pronounces the candidates.
All thirty of us take the steps and wait for Ms. Ai to finish calling out the names. The drum rolls coming from the speakers dangling on every side make the environment more entertaining for everyone.
Finally, after five minutes, Ms Ai is ready to disclose the winners of the contest.
"The bronze prize goes to Amanita Boudine!" A French girl that looks more Asian than Roxanne and me combined approaches Ms. Ai.
Roxanne leans her head and asks, "Is she in our class?"
I gently shake my head and point my finger at the adjacent seat where the students cheer her on. "I think she's on the other section, not ours."
"For the next winners…" Ms. Ai continues but stutters upon calling the silver and gold medalists of the competition.
Soon, the principal and sir Benjamin come up to the stage and have a brief talk with themselves. After a few seconds, the two return to their seats and listen to what Ms Ai is about to say.
"Sorry for the interruptions, but we do not have any second prizes." Our homeroom teacher reveals while holding onto a paper freshly given by the two men beforehand. "We have two winners, my dear students. Both of them will share the prizes since they won the match!"
I widen my eyes in shock, and so does Nickson upon hearing such a statement before us. We know for ourselves that we deserve the praise and hail as winners for this tournament. But winning the same trophy is a hard-to-swallow pill for an author and an artist.
"We present you, Nickson and Yuki! For their amazing short stories!"
The staff in charge flashes our works on the wall using a projector. The students at the audience grow silent as they peer in marvel at our literature behind us.
In an instant, the noise feels the room once more. Some students stand in ovation as they glue their eyes on the screen.
For the two of us, none of these matters anymore. We just want a good night's sleep after this. Am I right, Nickson?
