the voices that heal

Chapter 7: You... you stole my (he)art!

Art, by definition, is a form of expression for people who don't have the vocabulary for poetry. That's what my mom says. She also says that she doesn't have a drinking problem. Taking this into consideration, I don't know if I'm suited for this class. I am a very poetic soul you see. I hope this doesn't hinder my creative expression paintwise.

The class goes silent.

"Errr, thank you for that... umm... how do I say this... informative introduction Ms Y/L/N, but could you kindly take your seat now?" The art teacher is staring me down with their painstakingly blue eyes. I want to tell them they look like Elijah Wood, but I fear that would be too inappropriate. Instead, I sigh dramatically before plunking myself down onto the nearest free seat.

I lean back onto the table behind me, keen to show my utter disinterest in this class. A few minutes pass before I hear a small voice sourcing from the table in question.

  "Your hair."

  I exhale with annoyance. I had been getting comments about my hair all day and by now it was just getting unoriginal.

  "If you're going to tell me I have mud water in my hair, then I don't want to hear it", I say, not turning around.

  "But... your hair-", the voice protests.

"I said I don't want to-" I whip my head around, and my hair slaps into my face. I feel an oddly wet sensation trickling down my cheek. I lick my lips and my eyes widen.

"This... this is paint!" I screech. There is a strong chemical taste in my mouth and I have to spit out the paint into the water jar that the owner of the voice was using. I glare up at the owner in disgust. He has a sort of bewildered expression and his brown eyes widen in confusion as I raise my voice. "Why didn't you tell me I have paint in my hair?"

"I tried, but-"

"NO BUTS!" The whole class turns but I am too clouded by my rage to care. The paint boy seems to care though, and he shrinks down a little, as if he's trying to hide from the eyes of the class. Pathetic. I'm just about to hurl an insult when I hear the brisk sound of footsteps approach from behind.

  "Miss Y/L/N", the teacher snaps. I freeze before slowly turning to them, my eyes as wide and innocent as I can manage. I'm even able to produce a single tear which rolls sorrowfully down my cheek. The teacher looks a little shaken by this and coughs uncomfortably. They quickly turn their attention to the boy, who still appears confused about the whole situation.

"Simon", the Art teacher sighs, "Anything to say for yourself?" Simon looks to me for support, but I cross my eyes and stick out my tongue (a little trick I picked up earlier). His eyes droop in despair when he realizes he's on his own.

"Sorry", he mumbles in an even smaller voice than before. The teacher looks satisfied and nods before leaving us. I turn around to make a final comment, but am stopped in my tracks when I notice his torn expression as he grips his paintbrush tightly. An unnameable feeling washes over me, seeing him in such a pitiful state. I bring my hand to my chest and feel an unsteady thump under my sweater. What is this feeling? Did he just...

"You... you stole my heart!" I gasp.

  "I stole your... art?" He asks, his eyes darting around the room nervously, as if he thinks I'm about to create another scene. I give him a strange look before laughing and leaning back again. My hair squelches in the paint, but I couldn't care. Maybe now people will think my hair is a fashion statement, rather than a mud water disaster.

"Don't even worry about it", I say with nonchalance, waving my hand dismissively. My heart has returned to its normal pace by now. The rest of the lesson goes by in a flash. We were paired up to paint portraits of each other. I painted Simon. SQEEEE! Technically I wasn't paired up with him, but once my partner saw what I had come up with I don't think they minded.

  For once, I'm actually sorry to hear the bell ring, bringing my time in Simon's presence to an end. At the end of class I wait outside the door to the classroom for him to arrive. When he sees me he ducks and tries to scurry away but I call him to a halt. He turns with a pained expression as I skip to his side.

  "Hey", I say, rubbing the back of my neck, "I'm sorry about earlier. I wasn't being myself. This whole 'new girl' thing is stressing me out, especially since I was hoping to be inconspicuous this year... which to be honest isn't working out tremendously well."

  Simon raises his eyebrow slightly but eventually nods slowly.

  "Ok", he says without expression before running off to his next class. I sigh, and collapse against a locker as I watch him maneuver desperately through the crowd.

  Such is the fleeting nature of love.