To Murder your Love

The Flying Ball

Amanda’s smug or Tifanny’s glasses-sight? That’s the question. I can feel the struck between them as something arousing. Don’t get me wrong, but any single one of them has a quality to be considered.

‘Well, don’t be indecisive, Yuda. Time’s ticking....’

I know, God-pretender, but I have to think of the consequences I could bring for selecting a missed-target, you see?

For the first, she is the most pretty ones and a model to boot, not to count that I have to be wise for rejecting her anyway. She follows me around, watching my games, giving me ‘lovey-dovey’ chocolates in the boldest way possible. From the first time I carried her to our school doctor in the past, She chose me as her first mate. Yes, I am trembling to the bone for her to be so pushy, but I am struggling for the choice, too, you see.

‘Hey, I heard that “mate” somewhere. Does it “Koala-ified” for you to say it, Yuda?’

What an awesome pun, God-pretender. You’re better at being one nowadays.

Tifanny, on the other hand, has something for me that I can’t ignore. In the future, even though she’s not like it for today, Tifanny would be one of a world-class celebrity our country has. Her nerdy-feature, the glasses, would be the trendsetter of entertainment publicity. I can’t really tell of how she would be in three years from now, otherwise, since she would be flying abroad for school. Her constant development might be started from there, perhaps. 

‘It’s not the usual you if there’s no fetish in there, If I may object.’

Okay, okay. I am taken more interest into her by the sole interest over the glasses. What now?

‘You’ve told me about that, for the “Chinese” part? I’ve remembered of how detailed you are in describing so.’

Hehe, yeah. I’m seeing her as a fit in physique. She’s so huggable...

Ahem, back to the serious part, I have concern on her passive-aggressive thing. She’s a total opposite to Amanda when it comes to being blunt. I am aware of how fatal would that be if I’m not doing anything against it.

She would be a killer before I learned anything from her past. 

---

In march, we have motivation day for the seventh-graders. Our school has invited several alumnis of our school to speak up on their jobs towards us. At times, the university students will be the person to take place on explaining stuffs we have to bring as in college, while also trying to telling their experience on being a junior-high schoolers as we does.

For me, it is really the most boring day ever. We have a full study hours to learn, yet our school puts us together for hearing the humble-bragging of the successful person out there, who were once being the students here. They always trying to connect the dot of their past to their selection of career, such as the first speaker on board we have in the morning, even though there's no actual correlation in both of them at the same time. 

Like for this marketing agent to be so sure of his math for being the pathway of success. 

“...I’ve been here as the least of my class. 7F, are you here? say ‘aye’ to us!”

“Aye..” We shout as loud as we can.

“I can’t hear you. Said it again!”

“Aye...”

Yes, this salesman is attempting to be dumb before us. Why do they have to repeat the question just for us to be busy on answering?

“...You have to be proud, since I was schooled by the most-killer-teacher imaginable. Where’s Mr. Herman?”

“....”

Ah, someone from the school’s staff informed him on the sad news. Yes, Mr. Herman was dying from diabetes, and He has shouted his name over his own bad feeling in front of us.

“Oh, deep condolences. In the past, he’s the one who puts discipline to us students. He taught us to be a better person...”

No, he was not. From the rumour, Mr. Herman was ruthless and loves to be physical over his students. The birds have told me, ahem, our Kevin has brought that to our nonsense chat three days ago. His brother was treated because of Mr. Herman’s direct punch to the guts, just a year prior to his death.

He spoke of it with passion and appreciation towards Mr. Herman’s passing, to the extent that he puts a little bit of bad slurs that I can’t tell much.

‘Yeah, that robot’s dead! sucks to be him, since he was so rusty, you know.’

Oh, dear lord, why do you have to remind me of that, God-pretender?

‘I just want to give you the examples of “Sin”, so I have to record it in your heart.’

Whatever you want to share, then, old man. I don’t wish to annoy the fun side of you anyway.

Back to the speech. I can’t listen much to the second because of the lovers two-blocks away from me. They cast their affection in public, not wanting to spend a few more of wait to not doing so. Tifanny looks on the once-blackheads exhibit of Hobart’s nose, seeing it like there’s no other to gaze into. The ogre, in the other side, half in prompting a kiss against her beautiful cheeks.

Ugh, he’s irritating me somehow, even though Amanda has her eyes set on me at all times.

Bima Renaldi, just a step behind the two, must be in discomfort by looking at the two of them in person. He pretends to overlook the peck-attempt, but happen to fail in anyway possible.

Finally, he gave up and opens his mouth for the protest, ”Hey, stop that! I’m trying to listen!” He whispered to the two of them.

“Well, who’s need your existence here, nerd?!” Hobart answered, and it’s quite louder than my friend over there.

Tifanny is just glancing at him in a blank face. She doesn’t tell much of the reason, but the intensity of their interaction are increasing by the surge of complaint from the back.

If there’s no teacher, they would definitely land a kiss on the spot. I’ll even bet for the chance of it to happen with Kevin, if he’s beside me this time around.

---

The next day, Tifanny and Hobart are holding hands to the canteen. It makes anyone wild, since the beast has nowhere in comparison to the beauty. No one of our seniors has even done that, including Marco Diabolo of 9F who were once a playmate of our school. Yeah, It is one of the peak of junior-high schoolers like us to see man and woman of our age to do this. The two of them maybe has mated each other for good, huh, for them to be so close.

Our teacher probably has heard of their lovey-dovey story, though, so it’s only for awhile of them to do it.

Today’s time for mother to lecture. She’s a disciplinary teacher, but also has her own school hours to make. In her schedule, we are mostly listening to movies about self-development and practicing the subject mentioned by group task an hour later. Yes, we’re currently wearing a headphone, and listening to her speech by the device she has on hand.

“....Krrskk...krrsskk....”

The headphone’s slightly dusty. I can’t hear a thing inside.

“Ah....ah... stop it.... don’t do it right here, Alex....”

No way, she’s kidding... This is sick! Here comes the flowing blood to the wood.

(Bzzt!)

“Sorry kids, wrong clip. Haha..” She blabbered, masking her nerve with a smile. Her hands are shaking by the mistake, and it’s in front of her dearest child.

I’m not disgusted, mom. It’s quite interesting, actually.

‘No, you’re not supposed to see that, child.’

You’re back again at pestering me, huh, God-pretender? I’ll never explode my bag before you, but I can’t control the arousal, can I?

(smooch)

Tifanny’s sneaking in the shadow, only to share a peck to the cheek for her partner. It’s petty, really, for her to acting stupid and dropping her eraser to Hobart’s seat. Why the trick’s so dumb for me, you say? That man is sitting in the last row of the right, and she’s just tailing me behind from the left.

It means she’s just throwing those, not merely ‘dropping’ them by her mistake, right.

Ah, the video streaming continues.

“...So, just a feet below your waist, you can see your pee-pee. It’s the main deposit of ‘c*m’ or in the latin word, ‘semen’. These microscopic features hold your DNA in each of their heads. Their goals is the eggs, which stored in woman’s vajayjay... ahem, woman’s vagina...”

I’m nearly wheezing by the recordings. That’s no different than your previous clip, mommy. I don’t know you’re such a voyeur on being one.

---

This is the day three of my documentary. From what I could review on the next chapter of their indecent relationship, they are on their way to practice an i*********e. Nah, just telling this out of whim, because they are cuddling before the toilet after school. Yes, another feat for the ugly bastard and a defeat to desperate-me.

Of today’s schedule, it’s PE class. It’s one of the rare occasion for me to showing off my skills from football. We’re in exercise to learn and practice volleyball’s basic serve. As the very beginning of our lesson, Mrs. Diana shoved a ball to display how it would be done.

“Here, you just have to put your energy on the bottom, and bam! Job’s done.” She spoke in high-tone of voice, mainly to avoid distortion from the ball’s bounce,”Now, who’s gonna be the one to try first?”

Being an ace defines one thing : I have to volunteer.

And she answers me in bland manner, contrary to my full-spirited sense,” Okay, Yuda. Now, since you’re a football player, you’ll have to do this correctly, okay?”

Hoho, she brought me into a challenge, huh? Duly noted.

Time to breathe..... I have to wipe off nervousness before doing something like this, or I’ll pass out from the pressure.

I have to plant my entire energy to the bottom side of the ball, from the latest I could remember of the game. I’ll start to do a trial for the ball beforehand.

(Pat!Pat!)

Yes, I’m knocking the bottom for ensuring a perfect hit.

“What are you waiting for, Mr. Goalkeeper? We’re not having much time left. You’ll never get a futsal game if you’re taken too long, ya dig.” Mrs. Diana challenged me once more, now with her smirk across the lips.

Damn it, just because Mr. Wiranto is your boyfriend, it doesn’t make me your ‘friend’, mate.

(Blast!)

In one hit, I drive the ball to our school’s third floor in succession. Lucky strike on me, since I could fly away the ball to overlap 5 meters of our school field’s chain-link fence.

Mrs. Diana scratched her head. She might be amazed, or not, depending on her reaction that I have awaited.

“Time to catch the ball, sloppy-hand. You’re great, but too overpowered.”

Haha, gotcha, Diana Wiranto. I hope your relationship would be long-lasting in this timeline, okay?