As they entered the bustling hall of the Youth Los Angeles Performing Arts Center, the air was thick with lively conversation and the vibrant energy of aspiring young poets.
"Camille, you mentioned this place was intimate. Just look at this crowd! It's quite the turnout. What happened to your description from yesterday?" Logan remarked, his eyes wide with surprise.
"That was before the participation list swelled yesterday. When you withdrew, more spots opened up. But honestly, you shouldn't be concerned; you're not even in it anymore. You're accustomed to large audiences, being part of a boyband and all," Camille replied with a playful smirk.
"I get that, but I never anticipated such a strong interest in poetry among teenagers," Logan admitted.
"To me, it's a substantial gathering," Camille responded. "Back in Connecticut, opportunities like this were scarce for self-expression. I often found solace in my journal, dreaming up beautiful verses. By fifth grade, showing an interest in poetry was deemed uncool and nerdy, and I faced my share of teasing. They called me the odd girl out. There weren't many peers who shared my passion. Thankfully, my creative writing teacher always urged me to persevere and to disregard the ignorance of those who mocked my love for writing."
"I had no clue you faced so much teasing for being creative, Camille. You've never mentioned it before. Why is that?" Logan asks, his brow furrowed in concern.
"I know you've dealt with a lot more bullying than I have. I didn't want to add to your worries. You told me your bullying began when you were just six. I only shared that mine started in fifth grade. I've moved on from my past bullies; they no longer occupy my thoughts because they don't matter to me anymore," Camille replies, her voice steady.
"Well, I can't completely erase Jett from my mind since we all live at the Palm Woods and attend Palm Woods School, but I haven't dwelled on the kids who were cruel to me back in Minnesota," Logan admits. "Good luck with your poetry reading."
"Thanks, Logan," Camille responds, preparing herself alongside the other participants.
"Come on, Logan! I spotted four empty seats in the front row so we can see Camille perform clearly," Kendall urges, excitement in his voice.
The poetry slam organizer steps confidently to the microphone, her voice resonating through the room. "Good evening everyone! Thank you for joining us for another exciting open mic night at this poetry slam. Let's give a warm welcome to our first reader of the evening, Camille Roberts!" With a gracious nod, she leaves the stage, allowing Camille to take her place at the microphone.
Camille takes a deep breath, her eyes scanning the audience before she smiles. "Thanks, Sarah. Good evening, everyone! My poem for tonight is titled 'Misty Morning Mystery.'" With passion igniting her words, she begins to read, her voice weaving a vivid tapestry of imagery and emotion. As she concludes, the audience responds with a gentle snapping of fingers, creating a unique rhythm of appreciation. However, Logan, James, Carlos, and Kendall exchange puzzled glances, unsure why the usual applause is absent.
After Camille steps down, Sarah returns to the stage, her voice warm and inviting. "Thank you, Camille, for that beautiful piece. Up next, let's welcome Nick!" The spotlight shifts to a younger teen with red hair and glasses, who approaches the microphone with visible trepidation. His hands tremble as he grips the paper, struggling to find his voice amidst the sea of expectant faces.
"Is he alright?" Carlos leans in, concern etched on his face.
"I think he has stage fright," Logan replies softly, his eyes fixed on Nick as he fidgets nervously, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on his shoulders. The atmosphere in the room shifts, filled with a mix of empathy and anticipation as everyone waits for Nick to find his courage.
"You can do it, Nick. You can do it," Camille whispers encouragingly from the side of the stage, her eyes filled with warmth and belief.
Her gentle support instills a surge of confidence in Nick, allowing him to step forward and share his poem with the audience, his voice steady and clear.
As the last poet finishes, the room hums with a low murmur of conversation, an air of camaraderie filling the space.
"Cami, you did great, but we're all a bit puzzled about something," Carlos remarks, leaning closer to Camille.
"What's that?" she replies, tilting her head with curiosity.
"Why did everyone snap instead of clapping after each reading?" Carlos inquires, his brow furrowed in confusion.
"That's just the tradition in poetry circles. Snapping is a way to show respect for the poet's emotional journey, and it's quieter, allowing the performance to resonate without interruption," Camille explains, her passion for poetry evident in her tone.
"Wow, that's interesting. I thought you would have known that already, Logan," James chimes in, a teasing smile on his face.
"Why would I have any knowledge of that? Poetry isn't my thing. I don't have any facts about this activity," Logan replies, shrugging slightly, a hint of defensiveness in his voice.
"He just means you have a treasure trove of random facts in that brilliant mind of yours. We assumed poetry would be one of those things," Kendall adds with a playful grin, nudging Logan lightly.
The group laughs, the earlier tension melting away as they continue to discuss the nuances of poetry and the unique ways people express appreciation for art.
"Well, I do know that professional poets traditionally wear dark turtleneck sweaters and a beret hat. They have a calm dialect and demeanor. They're usually peaceful people. All the information I just described is how poets are portrayed in movies and TV shows, which is why real-life poets look like them," Logan says, a hint of amusement in his voice as he gestures toward his own casual attire.
"That's right, Logan. See, you do know a bit about poetry," Camille replies, her eyes sparkling with pride for her boyfriend. She feels a warmth in her chest, knowing that Logan is starting to embrace his creative side.
Just then, Nick walks up to the group, his expression a mix of relief and anxiety. "Thanks for helping me out with my stage fright, Camille. My dad said that reading my poetry in front of an audience would help me with my shyness, but honestly, I think it made it worse," he admits, running a hand through his hair, clearly still shaken from the experience.
"Don't worry, Nick, you did great!" Camille reassures him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Keep practicing, and eventually, you won't have stage fright anymore. Besides, it was your first time doing it. There's nothing to feel ashamed of." Her words are meant to uplift him, and she hopes they convey the support he needs to continue pursuing his passion.
