Darryl
XXVIII
I punched again and again. I pounded the pillow with my furious blows.
Tomorrow was Friday. Or as it was more commonly known as here, Wrestling Day. Or Wrestday, for short.
As I’ve mentioned before, I’m not a fighter. But now here was the perfect opportunity for me to pound Sanjit’s smug smile into the floor! I’ll make him pay for what he did to Carlos and I. Mark my words.
I landed another blow on the pillow, before Carlos walked in. “Hi Darryl! Whatcha doing?”
“Eating chocolate.” I said, replying to one of Carlos’ favourite jokes.
“Where d’you get it?” he asked, a big smile on his face.
“My doggy dropped it.” He laughed so much that I had to laugh too, despite the stupidity of the lame joke. Carlos’ laugh was contagious.
“Darryl, look at my painting of my teacher! It’s all done!”
“Wow.” I said, as he held up a picture of his teacher. He had used the colour blue to create her face. Many different shades and tints of blue, gave way to the delicate features of her face. The long sloping nose. The big eyes. The curly hair. Carlos was brilliant! “So you’re going to give it to her tomorrow at school?” I asked.
“Uh-huh!” he said, nodding his head happily. “And then I’m going to watch your awards ceremony!”
“That would be great!” I tell him. “Are you going to cheer me on?”
“Yes!” he said. Furiously nodding his head and jumping around. “I will, I will, I will!”
“That’s good.” I say, ruffling his hair a bit. He shook his head, to get the tangled mop of curls back in place. He smiled a big, fat, goofy smile. “And then, you’ll get adopted and go to the beach for summer! Every single day!”
This made him go serious. “Only if you promise you’ll come too.”
I nodded. “I wouldn’t dream of missing it!” I lied.
“Yay!” he yelled, and started dancing around the room. He jumped on bunks and I laughed as I got off my own bunk to join him.
“Hey!” yelled a voice. ‘Stop making that racket!” We turned to see Michael Scott yell at us. Michael was six-feet tall, with muscles the size of oranges. He had black hair and brown eyes. He wore a tank top and jeans. All in all, he was one scary dude!
Carlos started whimpering and gave Michael the puppy eyes. He made his lip tremble. Carlos wasn’t only good at painting, he was good at all arts. Singing, acting and drawing included.
Michael’s eyes turned soft. “Oh, alright, continue, but be quiet!”
Carlos and I smiled at each other, and restarted our bouncing on the bunk game. Though a notch quieter. Michael smiled and shook his head, as he closed the door.
A few minutes later, Carlos got bored, so we decided to go watch TV. People were already watching it, but luckily Carlos’ trick also worked on them.
That’s why we were watching Spongebob until dinner was ready. We thankfully made our way to the table. Carlos sings well, but even he can’t make the Spongebob theme song sound good. It was impossible!
Today was Thursday, so we had a buffet to eat. I looked over the options carefully and finally decided on a chicken drumstick, some fried rice and some spicy sauce. Carlos copied everything I did. He even chose Sprite, though he hates it. I felt sorry for him, and swapped it for a Fanta. He smiled at me gratefully.
We sat down at our own private table. Sanjit, Matt and Jerry were sitting at their own table. Sanjit threw m some dirty looks. I returned the favour.
“You know, Darryl,” said Carlos. “mi abuela says that if you make a nasty face and the wind changes, you’ll be stuck like that forever!”
“Okay.” I said, distracted. “But, Carlos, there is no wind in here.”
“Oh.” he said, surprised. “I knew that.”
I smiled at him and tucked into my food. It was great. The spicy sauce was the best! Carlos followed my lead. Except the spice was too much for him. He began panting and desperately waved his hand in front of his mouth. “Drink, Carlos,” I told him. “Drink.”
He grabbed his glass and took a shaky drink. After a while his grip becomes solid. “Aah. That’s better!” He wiped his mouth, then took the chicken and dipped it in the spicy sauce. I rolled my eyes in humour as he began his panting-drinking-sighing-restart all over again. He did this for the rest of dinner. I laughed and eye-rolled the entire time.
After dinner, Carlos begs me for a story. I laugh and he drags me to his room.
I open the book The Ugly Duckling, clear my throat and begin.
“It was glorious summer weather in the country, and the golden corn, the green oats, and the haystacks piled up in the meadows looked lovely…”
It went like that for a while. Soon, as we reached the climax, Carlos’ eyes began to feel sleepy. I folded the top of the page, even though you’re not supposed to do that, and closed the book.
“Is it over?” Carlos asked.
“Yes, that’s enough for tonight,” I tell him. He doesn’t argue. “You have a big day tomorrow! Get some sleep, night!” I patted his head and stroked the curls away from his face. He gave me a sleepy smile.
“Noche, Darryl,” He yawns, stretched, then pulls the blanket over him. He curls up like a ball, and closes his eyes.
I smile at him, and leave his room. He had a room to himself. So lucky.
I sigh and climb into bed. I open my Lord of the Rings and continued from where I had stopped. I was almost done with the book.
The Men of Bree were brown-haired, broad, and rather short, cheerful and independent: they belonged to nobody but themselves; but they were more friendly and familiar with Hobbits, Dwarves, Elves, and other inhabitants of the world about them than was (or is) usual with Big People. According to their own tales they were the original inhabitants and were the descendants of the first Men that ever wandered into the West of the middle-world.
“GO TO BED! YOU GOOD FOR NOTHINGS!!!” yelled the meaner, Mr Browne. “NOW!!”
I folded my page and closed the book. I pulled the blanket over me. After a while I kicked it off of me. This heat was getting to me worse than anyone else. I struggled to find a comfortable position. I failed.
In the end, I just took my pillow and walked to Carlos’ room. He had loads of empty bunks.
I lay on an empty one and fell asleep.