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URÏ: A Poet, Rising: Amanda POV

last update Last Updated: 2020-11-26 08:09:19

Chideziri makes me go the Poetry club on Friday, after normal school classes. Little feats runs these minut clubs every two days of the month, social gathering time. These clubs allow for the sustainable development of the child's intelligence quotient and encourage creativity and self-reliance—at least that's what the club manifestoes say. 

  Chideziri is in the art club, because apparently, membership is compulsory. I told him that it would be nice if I joined the art club, too. I did not tell him that it would be nicer if we sat together at the back of the class and he ran his fingers over the M traced into my palm, like he often does. Either way, he said, "No. Absolutely not. You are only searching for an excuse yo sit next to me."

"Of course not." I said, grimacing. "I don't need a babysitter."

He laughed, pulled at my cheeks and said, "Says who?"

Then he walked me to Poetry club. My hands shook the entire way—like

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    I stay in the hallway, leaning against the wall, wondering if I did wrong being so pushy with the poetry club thing. Wondering if Amanda will absolutely hate it. When the door swings inwards, Amanda is the first person out of the room. She adjusts and readjusts her small pink bag on one shoulder, and doesn't see me."Hey." I say.I wave; which is completely unnecessary as she's right in front of me. She glances up and notices me standing there for the first time. The prelude to a frown is stamped on her lips, the lower pressed stiffly into the upper lip that is a darker, more lustrous shade of pink. It is the same look that ghosts her features when she's having a hard time figuring stuff out, like the next line in a poem or which word fits where, or in an Economics class—before she asks such a complex question that the rest of us zone out. The furrows between her thin brows smooths out swiftly and her face transforms.

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