"Kevin! I've told you five times to stop throwing paper!" Mr. Portillo yelled over the class to Kevin Mills, the largest and most stupid tenth grader I've ever met. Kevin stood in his seat to locate the teacher and sat back down before throwing another ball of paper.
I love this subject and class but hate every student in it; they annoy me so much, but I'm a good girl and don't complain. Often.
I've gone to the Guidance Counselor to see if they could switch me into another period, but there are only four periods a day and no free spaces any where else.
"Kevin, next time you throw a sheet of paper your outta here!" Mr. Portillo yelled again.
"But I didn't throw I piece of paper! I threw a ball of paper," Kevin said as he stood up to look at the teacher. The class erupted with laughter at his comment. I didn't find it very funny. Huh.
"Either way, Kevin, the substance you are throwing is a tree, therefore, paper," Mr. Portillo never made since. But I usually get it.
Not this time.
"Whatever, Old Man," Kevin said and sat back down in his seat. Mr. Portillo just shook his head and turned to talk to me.
"I don't know what I'm doing wrong, Falicity. I've been teaching for twenty long years and many of my students have really reached their goal in art," He stated. His disappointment was visible in his eyes.
"That's because they actually had goals. These people aren't here for your lessons. They're just here because nobody else wanted them," I retorted as I dipped me paint brush into the blue plastic cup filled with that color paint. "And besides, I wouldn't want these people on my reputation, anyways."
He shuffled a stack of papers that had badly drawn stick figures on them, "I swear this class is going to be the death of me."
• • •
I walked down the hallway, sighing to myself as I went over my mental checklist of what all I would have to do when I got home. It wasn't until I hit the door in front of me, did I notice I was staring at the floor. Ow. Note to self: Watch where you’re going. The impact from hitting the door caused me to bounce back and I stumbled to keep myself from landing on my butt. I've always had balance issues for as long as I could remember. As I stumbled backwards, I held my arms out like I was on a balance beam.
"Omigod! I'm so sorry!" I heard a soft voice say―she didn't sound sincere―along with footsteps coming my way. I sighed as I straightened up. It had to be her. Why her? Samantha Childs. She was your typical ribbon-in-the-hair cheerleader. Samantha had soft green eyes similar to mine but she had tan skin and dark-brown hair with highlights of blond and red, tied up in a pink ribbon with white polka-dots. Yep, she's just gorgeous. I raised my hand and stopped her before I could smell her dreadful perfume and I turned around; walking away without a word out of the school.
I turned the corner and walked past the seniors who were smoking a joint. I didn't look at any one of them and retrieved my mental checklist from the back of my mind. That day I had homework in trig. Oh well. I didn't do it. I had waited for the usual make up day the school does at the end of every quarter. When I got home, I had to take care of dishes. I payed my little sister to do it. She liked money. After I payed Gabby, I began working on a new sketch. Joy.
I walked down the road and around a couple of corners, taking some personal shortcuts through the trees and after a couple of moments, I recognized the old, broken gravel of my road and sighed. Spotting my house, I reached in my pants pocket and took out my key. I thought for a few seconds about whether the house would be unlocked. I dropped the key back in my pocket and walked the few strides it took to get from the road to the door. I turned the handle and the door opened; I was right: Gabby didn't lock the door behind her. I sighed and shook my head, closing the door behind me.
I ignored my yelling mother, walked straight to my room and dropped my messenger bag in front of my closet door. I had one―and only one―small dresser, big enough for two small drawers, and I picked up my sad imitation of an iPod―my brother calls it 'The Red Neck Cousin'―my MP3 player wasn't a lot but it held some of the best classical music, in my opinion. I scrolled down and click on Violin Concerto, for violin and orchestra in D major, Op. 35: Allegro moderato by Pyotr I'lyich Tchaivosky. Yeah, I know: Long title.
I stuffed my MP3 player in my pocket, pulled my hair out it's bun and left my room in one swift movement. I walked down the hall, and passed my yelling mother―I swear that's her occupation―and neither one of us looked at each other. I walked out the back door and left it open; walking to my studio.
I’m mean sure: Her real occupation isn't yelling but its close enough. My mother is a state defense attorney or something like. I never really thought about asking her questions about her job; it just never interested me. But she’s one to look at. My mother, when she was younger, like, ‘twenty-years-old’ younger, she used to be a model. I guess that’s how she got all of her money to go to law school. She had long, flowing chocolate colored hair and bright blue eyes; she was relatively tall, say 5’8’’ with the legs of a bikini model. She was making good money in the modeling business but left and she never wanted to tell me the reason, but said I’d find out eventually.
My step-dad on the other hand is 6’3’’ bartender and the local club, ‘Rave Martini’. And when I say ‘local’, I mean fifty miles away. He’s a hard core Italian that eats pasta four times a week and believes in the mallochio. The mallochio is a curse and several Italian men wear a corno to prevent the mallochio from hurting them and causing gossip. A corno is a tiny golden goat horn that several men wear around their neck on a thin chain or whatnot. Curtis won’t go anywhere with out it.
He’s seriously superstitious.
Sorry, I got carried away.
I'm glad my studio is sound proof, because my mother walked outside and sat on my sister's half pipe and began yelling on the wireless house phone. She was yelling about how there was some sort of mistrial and she was leaving to go to some place later today to go find some more evidence to present to the court.
I locked the door behind me because I didn't want Isaiyah, my older brother, walking in on me and causing me to accidentally ruin a sketch I might be working on.
Why would he be walking in on me, you ask? Well, my studio is split in three pieces: An art studio, a music studio, and a computer in the middle. Isaiyah works in the music studio; he plays flute. I work in the art studio. Together we share the computer: He uses it to write songs,
I use it to write novels.
I walked over to the counter and opened the drawers that say 'Rulers' and 'Manila Paper' and take one of each. Once I retrieved my instruments, I walked over to my long counter and sat in my stool. I reached over the table and noticed, while I'm grabbing my pencil, that I'm out of inking pens. Next time I go to the art supply store, I'll have to stock up on my materials.
I placed my ruler on the Manila paper parallel to the top and began to draw a line until a thought struck me: Real artist don't need rulers! They just take the beauty out it! I jumped off my stool and landed on the floor with a loud thud. I stumbled backwards a few feet until I caught my balance again. I walked over to the 'Rulers' drawer and placed the ruler in its previous place and walked over to my stool once again. Once I sit down I just sit there for a minute thinking.
My stomach rumbled and I continued to sit there for another minute or so until it rumbled again. I jumped off my stool and walked off to the deadbolt on my door and unlocked it. I casually strolled past my yelling mother―again―and into my kitchen. I reached for a cabinet and opened it to pull out a pack of Ramen noodles and set it on the counter. Hey, I'm still holding my pencil, I thought to myself. After I realized this revelation, I used it to open the package and tore off the orange wrapping―it's chicken flavor―I noticed my mother walking in the house and grabbed her shoes and bag just as I'm placing the noodles in the bowl.
"Where are you going?" I asked more out of boredom than curiosity.
"I have to drive outta town to pick up some evidence for a case tomorrow," she stated as she grabs the car keys off the counter, "I should be back around ten o'clock or so. Make sure everybody’s in the house by twilight," she walked off into her bedroom and gave Curtis, my step-dad, a kiss before she waved back at me and stepped out the door.
She didn't even say 'I love you'. Huh, oh well. She should be back later.
I poured water in the bowl and placed it in the microwave for five minutes.
Simultaneously, the microwave beeped and the front door opened; it's Isaiyah coming home from band practice.
"What's for dinner?" He asked me as he places his flute in his room.
"You’re cooking for yourself," I stated as I pulled out the bowl from the microwave using a blue pair of oven mitts, "Mom said she's going to be back around ten."
"I know; she's already told me. We better make sure Gabby's home before she is." Isaiyah walked out of the room and into the studio.
I ripped open the aluminum package of flavoring and poured it into my bowl and took a fork and stirred it up. I picked up the bowl and sat down on the couch, and savoured every bite.
I heard an unusually loud rustle sound in the front yard and walked over to peer out the window.
Why Gabriella was skateboarding with her friends on our driveway, I will never know. Our drive way's made with pebbles and cemented to make it look fancy. Every time I walk out there, I have to wear my nice fluffy slippers and get them dirty because the pebbles hurt my feet and my step-dad won't by me anything useful.
She began to annoy me with the rustling sounds. I walked to the door and opened it and yelled out, "Gabby, if you have to skate, can't you do it on your half-pipe? That's why dad bought it for you."
Every single one of her friends turned to look at me and checked me out. Jerks.
"No, I don't have to!" She screams back, doing something called an Ollie. One her friends with dyed black hair smiled and got off his skate board and began to walked towards the front door but I just close it and walked back over to the table and began to eat again.
Not even a moment later I heard the front door open and Gabby yelling, "If you go in there I'll never be your friend, ever again!"
Apparently, whoever was at the door paused and thought for a moment because the door never closed and there wasn't any sound at all, not even the monotonous rustle of moving skateboards.
"That's fine with me." I heard a deep voice say.
Who ever it was dropped their skate board in front of the door and then he walked around the corner of the foyer and I turned around to see the boy with black hair. He was tall, maybe 5' 11", with pale, deep blue eyes and he walked in with that same creepy smile he had before.
He looked too old to be hanging around my thirteen-year-old sister.
"Hey," He said as he sat in the chair next to me. I turned to stare at him for a couple of seconds and then continued to eat again. "I'm Kyle and your Falicity, correct?" He asked. When he said my name I turned to stare at him and I guess the answer must have been written on my forehead because he said, "That's what I thought. Gabby really underestimated your beauty."
Okay, now the guy was really starting to scare me. Gabriella never talked about me as far as I knew. I finished my food in record time and stood up to clean my bowl but then Kyle stood up and took the bowl and fork from my hands and he washed it himself and stuck it in the drainer. I stood there like an idiot with my jaw hanging. It wasn't my fault my jaw was hanging, I just wasn't used to people doing things like that for me.
He must've noticed because when he turned around he smiled a large white shiny―sexy―smile and laughed, "You look so cute when you're red like that. 'Minds me of a cheery."
I reached my hand up to my cheek and felt the heat ventilate away from my body like a heater in the middle of an ice-cold winter. Tiny wisp of hair fell in my face as I turned to go to my studio.
I was three feet outside when I felt a tight grip on my elbow. Attempting to yank my elbow away, I turned to see it was Kyle grabbing my arm, "Let go of me," I stated, staring into his deep blue eyes. "Now," I said more fiercely. Now his face was going red. I had to strain myself from smiling, when he caved in. His face was blood shot, from anger? Disappointment?
He took a couple steps back and I turned to fully look at him. His hands were balled up into fist and looked like he was about to pop a vein in his forehead and when I saw that I couldn't help but to giggle.
Some how, that calmed him and his body loosened and a soft smile appeared. What was this guy? Bipolar? He's mad one minute then all smiley the next. Now that stopped my giggling.
"Your laugh is so cute," He commented with a slight twinkle in his eye. And for the first time, I finally caught on to the reason for his attitude.
He loves me.
Wow.
By this time, I was officially creeped out. I ran to the studio and twisted on the knob but Isaiyah locked it. Not good. I turned around and seen him heading towards me yelling, "Wait! Why are you running?!"
That was a good question.
I didn't know why I was running. I guess the shock of my newly discovered hypothesis scared me a little. I've never really been loved by anyone besides my family before and then that's when it began to feel awkward for me.
When Kyle noticed I stopped running, he skidded to a halt a couple feet ahead of me and sort of stared at me.
At that moment, I think it began to feel awkward for the both of us. I stood there and stared at the ground and he scratched the back of his neck.
"So, I guess... I was wondering if you, ya' know, had a boyfriend?" His face began to turn red again but I don't think it was from anger or disappointment this time.
"Uh, how old are you, exactly?" I think I said that a bit too fiercely than needed because he took an unexpected step back that surprised the both of us.
Well, maybe just me, but it was still unexpected. I noticed him think for a minute before he stuttered his age, "Fo-fourteen."
Jeesh, this kid was huge to be a year younger older than my sister.
"No, I don't have a boyfriend," I stated. His face lit up like a tiny five-year-old boy on Christmas day. I couldn't believe that I was about to break his heart, but what to do be done, well, had to be done.
"And, I'm not really looking for a boyfriend, if you catch my drift," And I hoped he did. By the look on his face he did. His face was twisted and it would hurt anybody to look at him.
His deep eyes seemed to get deeper by the moment and then turned hollow. His skin went pale his eyes turned red as if he was trying to hold back tears.
He nodded and turned around; he might've been too afraid that if he spoke his voice would've cracked or gone up an octave. I shrugged it off and began to bang on the door to the studio and all I could do was hope he would hear me in our sound proof building.
After I banged on the door a couple more time I got the gist that he wasn't going to answer it and walked back inside to find something else to eat.
I sat at my table and ate a bowl of cereal quietly; stared off into space, mind cluttered from everything that happened.
• • •
I lay in my twin sized bed in my room and thought for a moment about Kyle. This must be the thirtieth time today that I've thought about him. I wish he would just get out of my mind already. I don't even know what so special about him anyways. He's just your ordinary fourteen-year-old. That's nothing special.
I turned around under my covers to lay on my side when I heard a knock on my bathroom door. "What?" I yelled through the door.
Gabby slid the door open and popped her head through the space. "I wanted to know what you were doing to my friend. He came out crying, you know."
Okay, for starters, yes you did read correctly. She was in my bathroom, but she was also in her bathroom. Therefore the bathroom has two doors: one to my room and one to her room. So the bathroom connects her room to my room.
I shrugged and squeezed my over sized horse closer to my chest. "I thought he wasn't your friend; it's not issue to me on whether he came out cryin' or not. That just tells me he's a big baby that can't handle the truth."
"What truth?"
"The truth I didn't want a boyfriend."
"What?"
"He wanted to be my boyfriend."
"What!?"
"He loved me."
"WHAT!?"
"Calm down!" I said, sitting up in my bed.
"No!" she shouted as she slammed the door wide open, "I wanted him to be my boyfriend!"
"What?"
"I liked him."
"How much?"
"A lot."
"Wow," I said, "And you said he wasn't you friend anymore, I guess you just fucked up." I guess I shouldn't have said fucked up because she began to cry and I was always a sucker for her tears. I got out of bed and wrapped her in my arms.
"It's okay. I'm sorry I used such vulgar language." She didn't accept my apology because she ripped her self out of my arms and ran to her room crying.
It wasn't until then that a truck off drowsiness ran over me. I closed the door and walked back to my bed and held my horse tight against me chest and sat there silently as I felt the tears run down my ice-cold cheeks.
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