45.
chapter forty-five:
economics vs English.
I prefer the
latter, of course.

All the happy cheer drained the minute Lysandre called out my name to answer his questions. "An abundance of resources is said to give rise to the problem of choice. What take do you have on it, Mister Ketchum?"

I narrowed my eyes at the empty notebook in front of me. It sounded like this man was targeting me for having escaped one of his hideous therapy sessions. I racked my brains and came up with a logical answer despite never having heard his lecture.

"What problem do we have when we've got choices? It's either this or that. The only thing you can do is select a product based on your style, culture, and preferences. I feel like having a treasure trove of resources is better than nothing. Choices are definitely worth more than impoverishment, sir."

The man looked taken aback before he regained his composure. "What if you've got all the money in the world? Your parents have enough to swim in gold, and you've been given a choice between two equally worthy cars. What would you choose?" The emphasis on parents didn't go unnoticed, but I clenched my jaw and gave him the same answer.

"As I said before, I would choose the one that's best to my liking, to my preference, and to my style, sir."

"What if you have got a whole load of resources, and you're a manufacturer? How will you choose what to trade?"

"Based on the economic margin I might get for a product," I answered as glimpses of my previous year's syllabus passed through my brain. "The end goal is earning money. Whichever product yields the most in that market and with the given competition, and can be prepared with whatever resources I have, will be the sane answer."

Lysandre looked furious. "You aren't getting my point, m'boy." I bit my lip, waiting for him to continue. It had been long since I was active in academics. Despite that, I shall not back down against this guy. "You're not understanding that the more you have, the more you're conflicted.

"Think of your worst social experience. You've got a huge crowd of acquaintances, be it friends or family." I felt red-hot anger boil at the smug voice of the man. "And you've broken down in front of everyone. Now, the more people you have, the more conflicted you are on confronting them about the incident."

"True," I said breathlessly, the next sentence half-formed in my mind. "But there's always a solution to conflict: identify your needs apart from your desires.

"According to economists, and basically anyone, your needs come first before your desires. You need certain acquaintances, such as your parents and close friends. You desire the company of others, merely for the count or, in selfish terms, for who they are. It doesn't matter what the latter think of you as long as you have the former by your side.

"Better put," I paused and wore a tiny smirk despite my head stinging. "You might wish to get a brand new flat or travel the world, but isn't shelter one of the primary needs of man? It is obvious that importance must be given to—"

I was cut short by Lysandre clicking his tongue. "You still don't get the point. I'm afraid you never will. Let's move on to the next question. Ah, Mister Oak."

I sat back down, grumpily, watching Gary clumsily stand up. A question was posed, and answers were given. Apparently, Lysandre was completely satisfied with what Gary had said, further proving my suspicions right; Lysandre was on my tail. In the brief interval, I simply took a tiny nap to clear my head of anger.

Professor Olympe took the next class and began explaining the roots of French. I didn't pay much attention to her.

Serena was laughing at something Shauna had said while pretending to write down whatever Professor Olympe was dictating. My mind reeled with dilemma when I felt something in my chest go askew. My heart skipped a beat seeing her smile, but then I nearly fainted from anticipation for Butterhead's letters. What was happening to me?

The last class for the day was Professor Sycamore's, and it was enjoyable. He had asked us to write a short story or poetry based on our imagination and finish it by the end of the hour. Seeing as composing poetry was one of my hobbies, I was done with two poems fairly quickly. The man was amused.

"Two completely contrasting poems. This is an art, Ash!" he applauded as his eyes scanned through my classwork over and over again. He then whispered, "Can I read this aloud to the entire class?"

I felt embarrassment cloud my cheeks and opened my mouth to protest. "But sir, they aren't that good—"

"Nonsense! This must be appreciated!" He gave me a warm smile, one that left my mind wanting for more words complimenting me.

"Okay, sir."

"Excellent!" Professor Sycamore clapped his hands to gain everyone's attention before walking up to the dais. "We have one of your classmates done with my tiny assignment. I'm going to read three of his poems before revealing who it is!"

The class cheered, and faint gossip broke out, speculating my identity. I wondered if they would show much enthusiasm if Professor Sycamore had already revealed my name.

"I want somebody to read it, mhm. Miss Yvonne?"

My heart skipped a beat when Serena was called in to read my poems. She would know it! My mind screamed. She would identify my handwriting and know one of them is about her!

"I want to be one with the wind, 
soaring high, escaping a restless mind. 
Each time I gently brush past you, 
I wish to remind you of how much you're loved. 
You brought me to this world, 
cruel or lovely, I've never been told. 
Nevertheless, I shall see and hear, 
everything life offers, yonder or near. 
I am one with the wind, 
always rustling by your anxious kind. 
All I feel when I'm with you, 
is boundless love you bestow."

I wanted to slam my head into the table when Serena's eyes widened at the paper. Professor Sycamore began, "This one's about the love of a mother. Look just how beautiful the presence of a kid has been compared to the wind around her.

"To a loving mother, her child is her source of oxygen. To a child, his or her mother is life. I feel this one should be put on our talents board. Who votes on it?"

My eyes widened when literally everyone, including Professor Sycamore and Serena, raised their hands. I felt sheepish to be receiving so much attention. "Brilliant! I'll have this pinned to the board. You may resume, Miss Yvonne."

"Where's the light if not from the Sun? 
Alles nerd fern, they said. 
She isn't on the top of my palm, but out there having fun. 
All that's near is far, they laid. 
Isn't she not on the earth? 
But what if she is right here, 
lying on my hearth 
in the form of a 
beautiful maiden who spreads smiles without a care? 
A touch of her simplicity 
awakens the dullest of ethnicity. 
She begins her day bright, 
She is plain old Optimism in my sight."

"Ah, yes. Let's talk about what we, people living in cities, clearly lack: optimism." Professor Sycamore then delved into an interpretation of my final poem, and I couldn't help but turn beet. I had written that with Serena in my mind. The personified optimism was the golden-haired girl.

I peered through my fake glasses at her; she was fervently staring at the poems. As if sensing my gaze, she lifted her head, and I quickly turned to Professor Sycamore. "-was a melancholic reminder of motherly love, while this is an upbeat one, enough to be given as part of children's portions! Now, any guesses who would have created these?" The man had a haughty, mischievous air around him as he scanned us.

The rest of the class was asking their friends, and the ones beside them. Misty, May, and Gary, however, had intentionally looked away and appeared to be confused to give me space. They knew I would freak out and would have already figured it was mine upon the first read.

I could feel my heartbeat quicken when I met Serena's eyes. They seemed unfocused, still looking at me with a strange wonder; as if she were in a trance. When Professor Sycamore cleared his throat, she flinched, blushed a little, and turned away.

The man gave me a grin of approval and called me up to the dais. With set jaws and a tight smile, I went to take my place beside her. She sent me a congratulatory smile, but I couldn't reciprocate the expression. It was nerve-wracking as it was. The next thing I knew, I was being applauded.