Get a book, read a book
The following is from the Memories for Storytelling series that I’m working on, where I develop short stories inspired by events in my life.
It was just another day in school, same routine and same clothes from yesterday. I swung open the door to my 5th grade classroom and saw what looked like an army of 11 year olds swarming around something like a bunch of angry carpenter bees. I rushed in to join the fun and ran as fast as I could, fearing I’d be left out. As I got closer, the “something” in question got smaller and squarer — “Oh man! Books?!” I yelled out in disgust and slumped down into my seat in frustration; ready to begin my day.
“I really can’t believe people get excited about that sort of stuff” I thought to myself as my brows unfurled. Part of the reason I didn’t like books was because they were annoying. They made me feel insecure. I knew for a fact that I was at a 3rd grader’s reading level and not once was I going to admit that to myself. My pride wouldn’t allow it, so I rejected the notion of anything book related — which was hard considering I was still in school. This thinking stuck until I met my best friend that same year, in that same classroom.
He was tall, funny and most importantly, he knew how to read — like really well. I didn’t like it. It made me jealous, him and his damn word magic. He was the most well read in my class and I was at the peak of my book revolution, so this was clearly not going to work out. Then one day I noticed he kept going back to this one particular book. “Jackpot”, I muttered to myself — I had found his weakness.
The book disappeared the next day. I wondered to myself sarcastically as to who had taken it and snickered silently as he investigated our little classroom. No one was allowed to take any of the books home, so logically it had to be there. He walked back and forth, unable to find his special book. After twenty minutes, he walked back to his seat with another book, a defeated look with his head down. A tiny part of me felt really bad — but the show must go on.
I pulled the book out slowly from underneath my chair, like a ninja unsheathing his sword. I placed it neatly on my desk and pretended to read it. He immediately caught wind of it and tried to get my attention while I played aloof — my nose deep into this boring book. I lowered it a bit and peeked out like a solider at war, sizing up my opponent. Our eyes met and I let my guard down. For the life of me, I could not help but reveal a mischievous smirk. His expression changed when he saw that. It went from one of innocence to someone with great ambition. “Oh…” I thought, this was not what I had expected.
The book disappeared again the next day, but this time I was the one wondering where it went. It wasn’t underneath my chair and it wasn’t with any of the other books. I searched frantically for it, fearing I’d lose what little power I had in the situation — I was winning, I had the upper hand. My gaze turned to him as he entered the classroom; his shoulders relaxed and chest out. As soon as he sat down, he turned towards me and slowly pulled the book out from his bag. He let out a half smile. The game was on and I wasn’t planning to lose. My entire pride was at stake, so I did what any other 5th grader would do that in situation — I told on him.
To my dismay, the teacher didn’t really seem to care all that much since he brought the book back. She was on his side I figured, the book mafia must have looked out for one another. Besides, this was only a temporary setback. He won a battle, not the war. He was given a warning, so I knew the book would stay in the classroom tonight. I watched him like a hawk, observing his every move. He knew this too, I could see the wheels turning in his head contemplating on what to do next as I gawked. He was like a thief who had scored his biggest hit to date and was trapped inside a cave, as if Indiana Jones never escaped the boulder chase.
The clock ticked and with each tick the end neared. Finally, he got up with his back as straight as an arrow; book in hand and made his final move. As he walked towards the bookshelf I positioned myself so I wouldn’t miss anything. Unfortunately, as I was behind him his body covered my view which I wasn’t too happy about. I figured I’d know the general vicinity of where it would be hidden and that would be enough. He stood still for a moment and walked back, I hawked him while keeping an eye out with my peripheral. Once he sat back down, my vision scrambled back to the shelf. Something was off and it made me feel uneasy. His body language had changed and it didn’t seem like he cared at all anymore.
To my surprise while I searched to find the book, it was there in plain sight staring right back at me. He must have given up and this was his attempt at waving the white flag. A rush of energy blanketed my body, I had won. It was such a brutal victory too, he hadn’t even tried. As the class cleared for the day, I grabbed the book and shoved it into my bag. This time I would take it home and keep it, he wouldn’t have the option of changing his mind — game over.
As the days followed, the victory didn’t feel quite like what I had imagined. He had found another book. That irritated me, I didn’t want to do this again. I could’t understand what was so special about them. They were boring, childish and packed with unnecessary big words, not quite sophisticated for my 5th grader taste. As I arrived home that day, I decided to go for it. I needed to know what was special about this kid’s favorite book and why he liked it so much.
I looked around and it was already dark outside. About 6 hours had passed since I had opened the book. Utterly confused, all I think of was how amazing it was, not at all childish and an easy read for once. I was overcome with joy, I really liked this book — I get why it was his favorite now. I had to speak to him and apologize for my behavior, such a fool I was. Feeling melancholic, I fell asleep with tension rooted in my gut.
I tapped him on the shoulder the next day and waited for him to turn around. As he did, I bowed my head, quickly reached into my bag and presented him back his favorite book. Five seconds passed, ten seconds…nothing. I looked up and he had already turned back around, uninterested in my offering. I tapped him again and he turned around with a puzzled look on his face. “I really liked the book! I’m really sorry about taking it from you” I blurted out, slightly loud. “Um, okay — I’m glad you did” he said in a sarcastic tone. I figured I was the one being weird or he must have still been salty about his crushing defeat. At least we knew each other now, I praised myself for always looking on the bright side— I was a changed man after-all.
I stood up to walk towards the bookshelf before day’s end and tripped mid-way into my journey, knocking my special book down. It’s cover flew off and as I reached down to recover it, I tried my best to reassemble the book to one piece. During this mishap, I noticed the cover title didn’t match the book title. Even more weird, there was a bright yellow sticker titled “3rd grade level” on the side of the book. As I paused to connect the dots in my head, my new friend came over to help and our eyes met once again — this time he revealed a smirk that he could not hide any longer.
