Are auditoriums always cold? She wondered, fidgeting with her short jagged nails. Sitting in the last seat of the row gave her comfort. In a line full of her peers, she still felt alone. Her aunt and uncle were somewhere in the back. Lost in a sea of figures that all looked the same. It was dark enough inside a few teachers had out flashlights. The light still crept down through the highest windows, just not enough.
These were some of the longest minutes of her life. The boys next to her were trying “discretely” to take pictures, using a night vision function on their cell phone. A sly smile crept across her face; it was not too late to get disqualified. She adjusted her posture for the one-hundredth time. Normally, her trick was keeping busy. If you stay busy: time will fly. That is how she found herself in this competition. After this, she only had one year left where she could place.
It was funny, the first year she actually wanted to do this. Now, like anyone with a brain, she wanted out of this place. Why do all schools look like a prison? Here they all were. Waiting on old people In the middle of the prison coliseum. The woodshop was right next to the exit. The award could have been given there. She could be measuring or sanding right now, making time go faster.
Oh, Clark threw his flannel? Did someone take it? This would cause enough chaos to delay them for sure.
“Salem High.” Began the recording. Not a live person, not yet at least. Also, why did it take this long to start a recording? Her ears knew what came next; her mind wandered to the past two years.
The last two years she did not even place, nothing she made stood out. That was her mistake, this year she owned that. This year people already were talking about what she made.
Her freshman year she made a jewelry box. It was exquisite. No one was impressed with the girl that made a jewelry box. The sheer attention to detail would have won a contest based around precision craftsmanship. The winning contribution? That took maybe two days to make? A plaque about the class of 2017. It was about everyone as a whole, and that is why it won.
Now last year, Jacob should have won. That was awesome. The other guys copied what he did in their submission this year. He built a wooden engine stand that held a properly portioned wooden Chevy 350 engine. It looked so good it should be in a magazine. Her submission? A bench. In hindsight, she should have made a bench about the school and she may have stood a chance. Maybe if she made the back of the bench Marvel superheroes she would have won.
This year was her best shot to place. She was proud of what she made, and why she made it. The wooden creature had come to life and already had been pictured on Facebook and circulated. There was no stopping the spread of the word when the football team started posing with it.
She needed to get people talking. Really, there is one way to do it. Make something about a group of people and show it to them. Like in football, the team just signs a football or a jersey. She simply asked the football team to sign her creation. A wooden sculpture of the team mascot.
Old enough to know that this was a show based on fundraising for an otherwise small wood-shop that needed raw materials, she waited the twenty minutes where each entry was described. Big seemed to be this year’s theme. Only one crane was too long. Eighteen submissions in all. Seventeen met qualification guidelines, an improvement from last year.
Out of plywood board she crafted a mini Trojan horse. The base of the legs was still squared wood to give it stability. The four legs were sturdy. The body of the horse, as well as the head, had to be hollow. The trap door worked. Of course, basic plywood would not have had the lasting effect of painting it blue and white: the school colors.
Mr. Sanders went through each entry, spending about a minute describing the craftsman’s contributions. Huge, stunning, breathtaking, innovative, all words used to describe the submissions. Each student smiled with pride. Their teacher had a way of subtly making them feel better.
Life is better when you craft it.
“As always,” Mrs. Hubert the principle spoke up. “We reward and recognize the top five submissions. We don’t have medals. Just top five and a few prizes.”
Oh the prizes? Not much. Some cheap tool sets dressed up to look decent. Any hard work would chew the tools up.
This year she needed to place. The first year no one really even knew who she was. The second-year she was a part of the crowd, the sea of figures that all looks the same. This year she deserved to be on the board in the shop classes for another year. Truth? At this moment fifth and first were the same to her.
“In fifth place…” Mrs Hubert began. “With a scaled wooden model of the NASA challenger; Steven Vinton.” People clapped.
“In fourth place, with a stellar hand crafted bass guitar; Shane Winston” The applause became louder. Some of them shouted and cheered. Steve was about the funniest person you would ever meet. He was the crowd favorite and it showed.
“In third place and winner of the precision screwdriver set; Jacob Swanson.” The principle chuckled a little under her breath. “That huge functional sundial is breathtaking!”
“Second-place and the proud owner of a complete metric socket set; Phillip Dean.” Surprising no one not as many people cheered. Phillip was new to the school this year. “You pushed the envelope, but your civil war replica cannon is historically correct. Incredible attention to detail.”
“First place this year has one of the best contributions I have ever seen.” The crowd was silent. “This entry made us all proud of our school. It looks awesome, and it even functions properly! The winner of the deluxe toolset is…Mickey Crawford.” She was more surprised at the reaction of the crowd than the first-place finish. People clapped, cheered, and yelled. Micky felt numb. “Would the top three come onto the stage for your prizes? You can say a few words if you want to, you do not have to.”
Mickey knew what she wanted to say. Standing on the stage Mrs. Hubert offered Jacob the mic first. He accepted. “3rd place? Well I guess there is always next year.” The audience laughed along with the last year’s winner’s joke. Phillip declined the chance to speak. Mickey would have done the same for the past two years. This year she accepted the microphone.
“ I can’t see you but I know you are here.” She started. “Uncle Pete and aunt Mara, you taught me so much. Above all, you taught me that someone builds whatever they want in life.” She paused. “Whatever happens, I will always remember all of you cheering me on.” She paused again unsure if she would be able to get what she really wanted to say out. “Whoever needs to hear it, we all can do what we really want to. Just never stop.”
Everyone cheered. Mickey bolted off the stage, so fast she did not even take the toolset with her!
Never give up on life. Never give up on love.
That’s it, that’s all:
-Nathan Hall