how do you spell that again?

i remember getting a classmate into trouble back in sixth grade.

it was reading class, and the teacher was compiling a list of uncommon words on the blackboard. our class of forty had been divided into tens; four teams to fiercely compete for a hollow victory of providing the most number. dictionaries and thesauruses were not to be drawn out. we shouted out (turn by turn) the most inimitable and unrecognizable words we could pull for a sixth grader's vocabulary, then spelled them out impeccably like spelling bee champions. segregate from team one. bovine from team two. a staggering hypochondriac from team three. martinet from our very own. each team applauded smugly after displaying such unexpected sophistication for untidy boys with unshaven lips. of course, at that time, we weren't expected to know their definitions.

when a teammate's word list ran dry, the group conferred and passed on to him the syllables that were intermediate to our survival. word after word, we outperformed the others. (a team was eliminated once an inexistent word was given.) until finally there were only two teams left: team three and ours.

the speed of which the words accumulated would have put the US and the USSR's nuclear arms race to shame. we mentally scanned comic books, short stories and the rare novels we had read, squeezing out the words that would have us overtake the patotot untouched and victorious. we were putting syllables together then got quick consensus on the validity of our frankensteinish words. those we were confident with, we recited out. until finally, our minds began to buckle. one after another. and less of the team had anything more to contribute.

the obligation to represent the group relayed around as many times as an adolescent would involuntarily squeak in a conversation. and the baton was about to arrive at my seatmate's lap on the next turn. his name was ryan.

ryan was a known jester and troublemaker in class. he was chubby and pale. and he amusingly glared upwards every time he argued with anyone as if his opponent was always seven-feet tall.

ryan was becoming desperate. he searched us for answers. but everyone's eyes were cast down as if we expected new words to magically appear on our worn out, dusty, black greying leather shoes instead. he tugged on my oversized polo and hissed on my ear, asking for the least word we could fabricate that would sound ostensibly intelligent. still wanting us to win the competition, i gave him the first valid word that crossed my mind. when his turn was finally up, the teacher requested him for our entry. without much of a second thought, he confidently said, "Miss! PUKE. P-U-K-E. PUKE."

he was asked to stand at the corner of the room, while our team got eliminated.

(the two definitions of puke: english filipino)