Prepricana Lektira Ovo Je Najstrasniji Dan U Mom Zivotu | Trusted

The world stopped. He stood up. His knees felt like jelly. He opened his notebook, but the words blurred. He took a breath. Then another.

Professor Marinić walked in at exactly 8:50. She placed her leather bag on the desk. Adjusted her glasses. Then she smiled.

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.” Prepricana Lektira Ovo Je Najstrasniji Dan U Mom Zivotu

Twenty minutes. He hadn’t read a single page. Not one. The book lay beside him, a yellowed paperback with a wolf’s face on the cover. It had been sitting on his desk for three weeks, untouched, gathering dust and guilt.

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.

Seven sentences. He counted them. Seven pathetic sentences for a three-hundred-page novel. The world stopped

Luka stared at the blank page. The title was already written at the top in his shaky handwriting: “Prepričana lektira: ‘Bijeli očnjak’ – Jack London.”

“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.”

“Good morning, class. Today, we will discuss your written retellings. I will call on someone at random.” He opened his notebook, but the words blurred

On the bus, his heart pounded like a drum solo. Each bump in the road felt like a countdown. When he entered the classroom, the clock showed 8:47. Three minutes until doom.

“Okay,” Luka whispered to himself. “I’ll invent it.”

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.

“Well?” she said.

Luka slid down in his chair. Don’t look at me. Don’t look at me. Don’t—