“Okay,” Luka whispered to himself. “I’ll invent it.”
Again.
This was it. Not the day he broke his arm falling from a tree. Not the day he got lost in the mall. No—this Tuesday morning was worse. Because Professor Marinić didn’t just check homework. She smelled lies. She would point her crooked finger and say, “Izvadi bilježnicu. Prepričaj.”
“White Fang is born in the wild,” he said, slowly. “His father is a wolf, his mother is half-dog. The world is cold and cruel. He learns to fight or die. When Native Americans take him, he hates them. Then a white man named Weedon Scott buys him. Scott is kind, but White Fang doesn’t trust kindness. He only knows teeth and snow.” Prepricana Lektira Ovo Je Najstrasniji Dan U Mom Zivotu
Seven sentences. He counted them. Seven pathetic sentences for a three-hundred-page novel.
Luka stared at the blank page. The title was already written at the top in his shaky handwriting: “Prepričana lektira: ‘Bijeli očnjak’ – Jack London.”
That evening, he picked up White Fang for real. He read the first chapter. Then the second. By midnight, he had finished it. And for the first time all week, he wasn’t afraid. “Okay,” Luka whispered to himself
Luka kept going. He described the bulldog fight. The final scene where White Fang bites a killer named Beauty Smith and nearly dies. He spoke for five minutes. He didn’t know where the words came from. Maybe from the cover summary he’d skimmed online. Maybe from a movie he’d seen two years ago. Maybe from luck.
“Luka.”
“Well?” she said.
He collapsed into his chair. His shirt was soaked with sweat. Ana gave him a confused nod. Marko mouthed, “How?”
“Yes, Mom!” he lied. His throat tightened.
Luka slid down in his chair. Don’t look at me. Don’t look at me. Don’t— Not the day he broke his arm falling from a tree
Luka imagined the scene: his face red, mouth dry, while the class watched. Ana would smirk. Marko would whisper something. And the professor’s glasses would flash like two icy headlights.