Slammed (Slammed #1)(20)

He crumples up my transfer form and chucks it toward the trash can. It misses by about two feet. I pick it up as I walk to the door and toss it in.

“I guess I’ll see you third period, Mr. Cooper.”

I see him frown out of my peripheral vision as I exit.

I feel somewhat relieved. I hated how we had left things yesterday. Even though I would do whatever it took to rectify the awkward situation we’re in, he still somehow finds a way to put me at ease.

“What happened to you yesterday?” Eddie says as we enter second period. “Get lost again?”

“Yeah, sorry about that. Issues with admin.”

“You should have texted,” she teases in a sarcastic tone. “I was worried about you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry dear."

“Dear? You tryin’ to steal my girl?” A guy I have yet to meet puts his arm around Eddie and kisses her on the cheek.

“Layken, this is Gavin,” she says. “Gavin, this is Layken, your competition."

Gavin has blonde hair almost identical to Eddies except in length. They could pass for brother and sister, although his eyes are a chestnut compared to her blues. He is wearing a black hoodie and jeans, and when he moves his arm from Eddie’s shoulder to shake my hand, I notice a tattoo of a heart on his wrist…the same as Eddie’s.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” he says as he extends his hand.

I eye him curiously, wondering what he could have possibly heard.

“Not really,” he admits, smiling. “I haven’t heard anything at all about you. That’s usually just what people say when they’re introduced.”

He turns toward Eddie and gives her another peck on the cheek. “I’ll see you next period Babe. I’ve got to get to class.”

I envy them.

Mr. Hanushek enters the room and announces there's a chapter test. I don’t object when he hands me a test and we spend the rest of the class period in silence.

***

As I follow Eddie through the crowd of students, my stomach is in knots. I’m already regretting not having switched to Russian Literature. How either of us thought this would help make things easier, I don’t know.

We arrive in Will’s class and he's holding the door open, greeting the students as they arrive.

“Mr. Cooper, you look a little better today. Need a mint?” Eddie says as she walks to her seat.

Javi walks in and glares at Will as he slides into his seat.

“Alright everyone,” Will says as he shuts the door behind him. “Good efforts on the test yesterday. Elements of Poetry is a pretty mundane section so I know you’re all glad to have it out of the way. I think you’ll find the performance section more interesting, which is what we'll focus on the rest of this semester.

“Performance Poetry resembles traditional poetry, but with an added element; the actual performance.”

“Performance?” Javi asks, disdained. “You mean like in that movie about the dead poets? Where they had to read crap in front of the whole class?”

“Not exactly,” Will says. “That’s just poetry.”

“He means slamming,” Gavin adds. “Like they do down at Club N9NE on Thursdays.”

“What’s slamming?” a girl inquires from the back of the room.

Gavin turns toward her, “It’s awesome! Eddie and I go sometimes. You have to see it to really get it,” he adds.

“That’s one form of it,” Will says. “Has anyone else ever been to a slam?”

A couple of other students raise their hand. I don’t.

"Mr. Cooper, show them. Do one of yours," Gavin says.

I can see the hesitation in Will's face. I know from experience he doesn’t like being put on the spot.

"I'll tell you what. We'll make a deal. If I do one of my pieces, everyone has to agree to go to at least one slam this semester at Club N9NE."

No one objects. I'd like to object, but that would require raising my hand and speaking. So, I don't object.

"No objections? Alright, then. I'll do a short one I wrote. Remember, slam poetry is about the poetry and the performance."

Will stands in the front of the room and faces the students. He shakes his arms out and stretches his neck left and right in an attempt to relax himself. When he clears his throat, it's not the kind of throat clearing people do when they're nervous; it's the kind they do right before they yell.

Expectations, evaluations, internal evasions

Fly out of me like puddles of blood from a wound

A fetus from the womb of a corpse in a tomb

Withered and strewn like red sheets on the bed

Of an immaculate room.

I can't breathe,

I can't win,

From this indelible position I'm in

It controls the only piece of my unfortunate soul

Left to fend for itself in this hollowed out hole

That I dug from within, like a prisoner in

An unlocked cell sitting in the deepest pits of hell

Unencumbered he's not in his sweltering spot

He could open the door 'cause he don't need a damn key

But then again,

Why would he?

Circumlocution is his revolution.

The silence in the room is deafening. No one speaks, no one moves, no one claps. We are in awe. I am in awe. How does he expect me to transition if he keeps doing things like this?