Chapter 2
799 Words
Today marks the exciting start of our intramurals! The festivities will kick off at 8 AM, and as I glance at the clock, it’s currently 7:20 AM. Our school has organized a t-shirt distribution for each grade level, with specific colors assigned to each:
- **Grade 7:** Green
- **Grade 8:** Red
- **Grade 9:** Purple
- **Grade 11:** Yellow
- **Grade 12:** Black
We will be wearing black t-shirts that feature a vibrant design, showcasing our school spirit. My classmate Grace and I decided it would be best to change into our t-shirts now to ensure we're prepared for the parade later. The parade is a highlight of the day, where we will show off our colors and gather as a community.
The second day of intramurals will focus on the color team competitions, adding an extra layer of excitement. For today, we have a variety of activities scheduled, including basketball games, interactive booths, volleyball matches, and other fun events. Each activity is designed to foster camaraderie among students and promote healthy competition.
After the parade concludes, we will participate in a ceremony to light candles, symbolizing unity and hope within our school community. It promises to be a day full of fun, teamwork, and lasting memories!
"I like our Intrams t-shirt color, but it feels a bit hot wearing this," I said to Grace as we stood in the comfort room, the faint sound of laughter and chatter filtering through the door. The unrelenting warmth of the midday sun made the fabric cling uncomfortably to my skin.
"True, but I actually prefer the purple one. What grade wears purple again?" she replied, adjusting her own shirt to free it from a wrinkle.
"I think it's Grade 9," I said, trying to recall the chaotic sea of colors we had seen just days before during the parade. After we finished changing into our t-shirts, we decided to head back to our classroom, where we had been tasked with forming long balloons for the day's festivities. My father had worked in a balloon shop before starting his own business, and I picked up a few tricks from him. I always enjoyed accompanying him to different events where he would expertly decorate with vibrant balloons.
As we stepped out of the comfort room, I suddenly bumped into someone, nearly losing my balance.
"Oops, ay!" I exclaimed, stepping back to steady myself.
"Sorry about that," we both said in unison.
"It's you again," the man said, a light chuckle escaping his lips. I squinted at him, trying to recall where I had seen him before. He appeared to be a college student, possibly from our school, but I couldn't place him.
"Do you know him?" Grace whispered, her curiosity piqued.
"No, I don't," I replied, shaking my head.
"I think he’s from maritime studies," Grace said, giving him a once-over.
"Definitely! Just look at his hair," I said, recalling how the teachers had mentioned that the college department would participate in our intramurals this year. His lack of hairstyle was a clear indication of his focus on presentation, something often associated with maritime students.
"And of course, he is maritime; that’s basically the only program we have here," I added, glancing back as we continued our walk, the excitement of the day bubbling within us.
"Wait," I said, my voice tinged with panic as the chaos unfolded around us. We were still piecing together our balloon creations in our minds, but the relentless calls of the college advisers echoed down the hall, urging everyone to gather outside for the impending parade. Anxiety surged through the room; despite the pressure, we managed to finish in time. Thankfully, my makeup held up under the stress—no smudged eyeliner or collapsed mascara. I had put in too much effort to let a little sweat ruin my look; I was determined to slay the day.
"Let's go outside," one of our classmates suggested, but we all hesitated, chorusing a reluctant "wait." We weren't finished yet, despite the urgency clamoring around us. Eventually, we mustered the courage to leave our messy classroom behind, our hands clutching colorful balloons that bobbed above us like our swirling emotions. Stepping into the corridor, I was met with the sight of maritime students spilling into the area, their confident chatter amplifying my unease. Caught off guard, I instinctively lowered my gaze to the floor, avoiding eye contact with those I didn’t know. Someone called my name from the crowd, but I couldn’t bring myself to look up; I barely recognized any faces from the college department—it felt intrusive.
The maritime students had always made me uncomfortable. I had heard unsettling rumors about some of them—cheating in relationships and engaging in inappropriate relationships with younger students.
- Writer
