"I don't know what you want me to say, Harper, My art is colors, shapes, strokes. I show what I think and what I feel on something someone can see," Maya said feeling dejected at this latest F.
"We can see words on a page," the English teacher, Harper, encouraged.
"But I'm not good at words on a page, I never have been. I can do physical things, I can do color choices, I can make people understand what I want to say when they look at what I painted."
"Then why not paint the words? Use the words you are putting on canvas to say something but let how you sculpted them say more than what you wrote down? Plenty of artists make poetry part of their visual art style."
"Why are you being so hard on me about this? It's not like this one section will fail me and I'm doing just fine in the rest of your class. But me and poetry have just never...clicked. I can write normally but I don't have the rhythm or the vocabulary to make something that people find beautiful when they read it or hear it. It's why I'm not great at music either."
"Or dance," Farkle interjected before hiding under his desk. But Maya didn't even turn to acknowledge the remark.
Harper hesitated before trying her new approach. "I hear a lot of what you can't do, but what about what you might be able to do someday?"
"Why will I need to do it someday? If I don't want to be a poet, why is it important for me to be good at poetry?"
"It's not that I think you need to be good at it, I just think that you will once you get past 'I can't,' and start thinking 'I can.' I'm sure you weren't always the talented artist you are now, at some point you just did it. And knowing you, I don't think you created what you did because you thought you were good at it, you just did it because you had something to say and you let other people know it."
"But I'm good at it now, and I'm just going to get better at that."
"What art style are you best at?"
"Painting, pretty sure everyone knows that."
"What about realism, how are you at that?"
"I'm ok, I guess, I don't practice it much, it isn't really how I express what I feel."
"What about surrealism?"
"Like with the bendy shapes and people not knowing what you even made? I'm ok, but it usually just ends up being purple cats."
Riley smiled ear to ear and shot up her hand "That's me, the purple cat is me."
"So what is your absolute best style of painting, Maya?"
"Ms. Kossal says expressionism."
"And what is expressionism?"
"She says it's about using color and form to express emotion, not about representing the world as it is."
"And how did you choose that style?"
"I didn't, it's just the word for what I naturally do."
"Now we're on to something." Harper smacked her desk in satisfaction.
"What are we on to?" Maya asked.
"We need to find the kind of poetry that you already do when you're expressing yourself."
"But I don't express myself through poetry, we're still at square one."
"When are you at your most creative when you're expressing yourself with your words?"
"Ok that one's easy, making fun of Bucky Mc Boing Boing." She pointed and chuckled at Lucas as she said it, and Lucas buried his face in his hands.
"I don't like where this is going." Lucas said with dread.
"Give us an example."
"Well I give him a lot of nicknames on the spot. Ranger Rick, Ranger Roy, Huckleberry, Sundance, Cowboy, Lonestar, pretty much anything about him being from Texas usually."
"Well I'd have preferred something more...socially acceptable but I can work with it." Harper moved to the front of her desk and sat on its edge, pulled her foot up so she could grab her knee with her hands. "Ranger Rick, and Ranger Roy, Sundance, Lonestar and Cowboy. The Huckleberry you annoy, still shows you kindness you enjoy."
From behind his hands Lucas mumbled, "You're KILLING ME, Harper!"
"That's fine but I can't think that much up on the spot, it's just a word or two, I don't try to rhyme it, and it doesn't have rhythm."
"It doesn't have to be a lot, and it doesn't have to rhyme. Look at the haiku we studied two weeks ago.
"Yeah I know that kind of poetry. Haikus are easy. But sometimes they don't make sense. Refrigerator." Maya waved her hands in mockery at the familiar joke, the class laughed at Maya's reference.
"I express in forms. I sew these colors for you. So you can see me."
"You're not going to let this go, are you Harper?"
"Not until we find your talent for words."
"I don't have a talent for words, I'm only good at making fun of Lucas."
Harper cleared her throat and looked at Maya. "You talk down on him, even though its not right, but he'd still make you smile if he kissed you goodnight."
The class all stared at Maya and a loud "Ohhhhh!" escaped all of them.
"That's kind of not cool, Miss Burgess," Maya responded using Harper's last name for the first time since they met.
"Yeah, my name's Burgess, my challenge emerges. Til your words feel like urges, or I leave you wordless."
"Ex...excuse me?" Maya had no idea what was happening, but the class popped a cheer for their teacher.
"Come on, fire back, give my rhyming a whirl. Spit some fire, shout my way, or accept that F, Cowgirl."
Another "OHHH" from the class, but Lucas dropped his forehead to his desk. "Oh, she shouldn't have said that."
"Fine!" Maya slammed her desk and jumped up after that insinuating insult. "You're wasting our time... I'm not good at rhyme...My art isn't anything less just cause my words aren't…"
Riley's hand shot up again, "PRIME!"
"Not bad Maya. Your rhyming was fine. Your rhythm needs work. But that comes with time, so your youth is a perk. But I didn't start so you'd rag on yourself, I want you to put my words back on my shelf."
"That was a weak ending there, Harper."
"Then do better."
"Why are we doing this?"
"Rap battle." Harper smiled.
"But this is English, not music." Maya retorted.
"What's the difference? Take the beat away from rap and hip hop and all you have is poetry. Really, take the instruments away from any song with lyrics and all you're left with is people using words with rhythm to express a thought."
The bell rang, end of class. Everyone packed their book bags and got ready to go but Harper wasn't finished.
"What class are you headed to, Maya?"
"History, with Matthews. Why? You wanna keep me after class so you can keep making fun of me?" She tried to brush past her teacher.
"No, I want you to ask him about Viking poetry."
"What? What would Matthews know about poetry?"
"Just trust me. And Maya, please understand that I'm not trying to hurt you with my words. If you say your creativity is in making fun of someone, then I'm just trying to show you how you can use that to understand what I'm trying to teach you. I don't think poorly of you at all, and I think you're holding yourself back. You can't be bad at something you've never tried hard at. Though I really would prefer it if you didn't make fun of Lucas, and if you do learn what I'm teaching you, don't use it to hurt people's feelings, just use it to find a more constructive use of your words."
"Thanks, I understand. I know you wouldn't really say mean things like that to me for nothing. I'm sorry I got upset. I've gotta go."
Riley, Lucas, Zay, and Farkle were waiting outside History for her and they all went in together and took their seats.
Shortly after, Cory came into the room and put his phone into his coat pocket after giving the screen an approving nod. He wrote on the blackboard, Norway -850 CE
"Hey, Mr. Matthews," Maya raised her hand for once and he pointed to acknowledge her. "Harper said to ask you about Viking poetry."
"And I guess that's what we're doing today. So much for the Great Chicago Fire, I guess. Norway, the first millennium. You all know a little about Vikings. Vicious warriors who invaded other kingdoms and stole their money, land, and resources. What else do you know about them?"
Farkle's hand shot up, "Farkle time?"
"No, not Farkle time, just give us a tiny bit of what you know."
"They were a culture from the regions we now call Scandinavia encompassing nearly all modern nations bordering the North, Baltic, and Norwegian seas. Famous for their pagan religion influence on Christianity; unique artistic craftsmanship of jewelry, sailing vessels, weapons, statues, and architecture; and debatably the first Europeans to make landfall in North America."
"Good, you mentioned their impacts through art and culture more than their debatably exaggerated use of violence. And what do you know about their other arts?"
No one in class raised their hands until Zay slowly raised his.
"Mr. Babineaux, what do you have for us?"
"They wrote a lot of songs for when they were working, sailing, partying. They have a whole bunch of Gods that most of us know about, like Thor and Loki. We probably know at least the vague details of some of their stories. And their writing style had a lot of lines and angles that they made look cool in books and art they made, really, ya'll don't know any of this stuff? Come on, Farkle!"
"I mean I knew about Thor and Loki, and I've seen their runes in history books, but it's not like I know everything about everything...yet." Farkle rushed but almost seemed to be shorting out.
"Know anything about their poetry?" Cory asked.
"Does it have anything to do with rap battles or insulting people?" Maya asked.
Cory wrote on the board and read it aloud. "Flyting. The tradition of using one's words to defeat an opponent before ever raising a hand against them. Outwitting or intimidating an enemy to throw them off or get them to stand down altogether. And sometimes a battle of wits purely for the love of the art."
"Soooo like a rap battle?" Maya asked again.
"In a lot of ways, exactly. And sometimes people would take bets on a pair of poets over who would speak the most eloquently and with the superior style, and if someone hit the right nerve it might turn into a fist fight or duel to the death called a Holmgang, so they didn't battle with their words lightly."
"If they could just beat each other up, then why bother with all that extra effort to rap at each other?"
"It was part of their culture, they revered people who were clever in the moment with their words as much as they revered a carver, blacksmith, or even a painter." Cory pointed at Maya.
Lucas buried his face in his hands again, "I don't like where this is going."
"Ok, so how do you do this flyting thing?" Maya crossed her arms over her stomach but sat forward in her seat.
"Well, as far as I'm aware, it was considered rude to start flyting at someone if they hadn't agreed to it, the same way we would find it rude if you said something hurtful to someone else without being provoked or them saying it was ok. Like the names you call Lucas."
Lucas dropped his forehead to the desk again, "Oh, you shouldn't have said that."
Maya spun around in her chair. "Hey, Lucas!"
Head still on desk he answered, "I know what's about to happen and I know how to stop it, but we both know I'm not going to. What?"
"Do you agree to flyt with me?" she asked like a lioness in tall grass waiting to pounce.
"Maya, I need to warn you, you don't want to do this."
"Why, I already make fun of you every day, I might as well learn something while I'm doing it." Maya was bouncing a bit in her seat with excitement.
"Mr. Matthews, are you really going to let this happen?" Lucas complained finally raising his head from his desk.
"You mean because of that thing your people do in Texas?" Cory sat down in his chair and leaned back with his hands behind his head.
Zay leaned forward in his seat, "You don't mean-"
"Pappy Joe took me when I was little and I really got on his nerves when I started learning to do it. I still practice sometimes."
"What is it, Hopalong? I've never heard you recite poetry or say anything mean. They have some crazy word styling in Texas you're not telling us about?"
"Last chance, Maya." Lucas sat upright in his chair and stuck his hand out.
"Bring it!" Maya stood and knelt back down in her chair facing her opponent before shaking his hand.
"Well Maya, you issued the challenge, so you get to go first. Keep it within school rules and let's see what you've got," Corey announced as all eyes fell on Maya.
"Okay, um, You...I think...I got it. Yogi, gimme a beat!"
"But I don't know how to-" the small classmate protested.
"And I don't know how to flyt, just do something." Maya snapped back.
Yogi began a simple rhythmic drumming with his hands on his textbook.
"Ok. Ok. I'm trying to flyt, no idea what I'm doing...but for some reason Harper says its worth...pursuing. But at least I'm no yokel living in a new town, without me and Riley, you'd...probably drown?"
"Oh, good shot, you got me," Lucas said, holding a hand to his chest like he'd been shot. "I concede, can we move on now?"
"No, I think I'm getting this. Come on, give me something. You don't want me to fail English again do you?"
"Fine. "Your temper is short, your legs are too. I'm gonna regret this, Matthews, back to you!" Lucas flared by pointing his fingers at his teacher in the front of the room.
"Not so easy, Lonestar, I'm catching my stride. And that drowning I mentioned would come from a tide. Of CAWFEEE, and CHAWCLET, from New Yawkers like me. Bless your heart, Mr. Friar, I'm from NYC!"
The class erupted with a cheer.
"Your move, Boing." Maya smiled raising her arms like she'd 'dropped a bombshell'.
Lucas took a deep breath before an onslaught of rapid speech and pitch change:
Wellllllllllllll I got ONE little Maya talkin' like she learned something
TWO TWO bouts of flyting and only
TWO hesitations, or was it three countem three hesitations?
I think you're GETTIN' it, gonna get a C
Gonna get a B
Maybe gonna get an A on your next test
Gonna get an A here from Matthews
Gonna get a C maybe B maybe straight B's across the board
Lookin' at a ONE point oh
Can I get a ONE five, one seven five, one nine five, TWO point oh
Can you get a THREE
Get a Three five
Try this hard in other classes get a FOUR point oh once in your life
Make your mama proud, make us all proud
Maybe BE the Maya we know you can be!
How many here wanna see Maya be somebody?
That's ONE, Riley, course you're the first
TWO TWO friends of Maya, thank you Farkle
Can I get three, countem three people backing Maya up
I got three count em four four four FIVE and a six seven NINE
Zay raise your hand raise your hand I swear I will SMACK you I don't see your
THANK you, Mr. Babineaux, and now everyone else in the class catching on now
Thirteen thirteen, where's your hand Matthews where's your hand where's your
FOURTEEN people in the room wanna see what you're gonna be
What you're gonna do
And I think we. are. All. SOLLLLD on Maya finally putting in the work to live up to her potential!
The class sat in silence as they gradually put their hands back down once the moment was over.
"Oh, you mean THAT thing they do in Texas," Maya stared in disbelief at the barrage of carefully patterned and processed words before slowly turning around to sit straight forward again and stare blankly ahead.
"Maya, I'm sorry, but I tried to-" Lucas put his hand on her shoulder.
"Lucas, do you want to go out again?" Maya asked without responding to the touch or his apology.
"Wha-but we- why?" Lucas questioned trying to process any of what was happening.
"Because yokely dorky as that was," she crossed her arms over her stomach and sunk down low into her seat, "that was kinda hot…"