Free Fall

: Chapter 3 : He's my table mate in Physics.

(Unedited)

"That looks like a sketch," Christian remarks rhetorically as he stands beside me in my locker. I hadn't noticed my sketchbook was sitting open since it was visible inside. Upon hearing Christian's comment, I quickly closed my locker. His mocking tone assured me, "Your secret is safe," he added as he adjusted his messenger bag and placed his left leg on the secure locker opposite mine, portraying a Peeta Mellark aesthetic as a few drama students headed for classes talking to each other.

"We should get to class", I tell him, taking no interest in the sketch conversation any longer. How he considered what I had skewed together at two am a sketch was beyond me, and that was the farthest I could stretch my brain artistically, unlike Simon. "Mr Olsten isn't a fan of late students," I mentioned as I headed in the direction of his classroom.

"Wouldn't blame him. I don't know any teacher that is," Christian calls out as he catches up to me. "Can we hang out later?" he said, reminding me that I was supposed to be doing physics. In response, I said nothing. He asked me to hang out with him, and I stood there like a fool.

I tried to form my words as they formed. "Yeah," I managed to finish what I was trying to say to begin with. Was I sure I wasn't attracted to him? It was not inevitable; I would let genetics determine that for me. Scientists believe that attraction is a function of what is happening in our brains and nerves, mainly our brains. The same can be said about sexual attraction, contrary to popular belief distinct from the natural interest. For example, it isn't always about looks, but it can also be about what someone wants and needs. Everyone is different, so everyone has their characteristics towards attraction.

As we enter the classroom, he says, "Bring your Physics book. We'll do some studying together," which makes me wonder why he wants to study while we hang out. I mean, who does homework while hanging out? He added, "We're Physics partners. It shouldn't be awkward," as Mr Olsten walked into the room and walked straight towards the whiteboard. He was right; it shouldn't seem awkward after all the texts and the ride home.

I sketched notes on Quantum Physics as he scribbled notes. It was the first time I had found myself doing so; I wondered if it was worth it? The velocity dynamics looked like I had tried to draw something in Latin. If I could draw for notes, wouldn't I draw for art class?

While Simon is still working on his zebra canvas, I walk towards my easel stand, where I know I would have no idea what to do. Granted, I did not want to join an art school society, but I had to pass my class somehow. He adds hues of pinks, yellows, and blues with colour on every stroke, adding up to a cohesive statement. His devotion became intimidating as he just took a moment to push some of his dense hair out of his face and then continued writing.

"The colours you're adding in; what do they represent?" I asked, apparently more interested in Simon's painting than in creating my mess. Maybe Simon could think of inspiration for my no-good art.

"It reflects the community of LGBTQIA students here at Ember River," Simon tells me proudly as he shows off his work. While he says it, I am slightly anxious. Did he know that I was part of the zebra canvas? What should I say? "We have LGBTQIA meetings every Tuesday at lunch," Simon tells me. How could Simon be so open and honest about himself while I struggled so much to be exactly that? "I identify somewhere on the rainbow spectrum, and I still have trouble putting my finger on where it fits," Simon adds proudly with a small smile of pride. He seems happy to discuss the group and how he stood out.

"Your art looks neat. "There are so many art schools that will gladly accept you," I tell him. What will shape me to create something I need to finish? Time lingers into the end of class, and I still have a blank canvas. Picking up my bag, I head for the exit.