Unnoticeable

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

After that strange encounter, I took more notice of Mason in art. Before that, I had been floundering around in my own lack of artistic prowess, paying attention solely to how my hand just wouldn't allow the pencil to make the shades and shapes I wanted. I hadn't really looked at other people's work. So when I took a sneaky glance at Mason' sketch, I was almost dumbfounded. It made sense why he actually liked art because he was pretty darn good at it. Even our art teacher, Mr Robertson acknowledged this with his rather sophisticated and rare praise that came in the form of a hand at his goateed chin and the nodding of the head that reminded me of those bobble dogs on tacky people's dashboards. In his hum-drum voice, he suggested to Mason,

"You should enter the Diviner's Competition." He hardly made this recommendation to just anyone. So when he said it, most of us in the room paused our pencils and stared vacantly at Mason. But Mason, in his own indifferent way, just kept sketching as if Mr Robertson, as if the entire class just wasn't there. His blue-eyed gaze was so focused, so swallowed up by creating something on his page. Mr Robertson produced a faint, yet rather slighted, 'hmph' before strolling away to screw up his face and shake his head at someone else's lousy attempt at sketching the arrangement of cut up fruit and withering plants on the centre table. However, as the bell rang, and the class packed up and trickled out of the art room, Mason lingered. So did I. Not out of curiosity or anything shady, but just because I was a mess and hadn't quite mastered the art of organising my shit in a timely fashion so that I could slip to and from classes without being a minute late.

"I'll think about it," Mason muttered with a furrowed brow at his sketch before eying Mr Robertson who was scuttling about with one end of his olive-green scarf nearly dragging on the linoleum.

"Oh!" The lanky art teacher smiled. "That's good," he nodded. And then he didn't know what else to say to Mason Lyle.

"Keep it," Mason shrugged. It seemed that he was too lazy to tuck the A3 sketch of still life into his art folder. Or perhaps he just didn't give a damn about it. I didn't quite understand. If I had produced anything even half as good as that, I'd be absolutely glowing with myself. I'd probably pin it on my bedroom wall as evidence that I could actually make something intriguing and beautiful. No. Actually, my mum would probably claim it and gloat to her friends about my talent. This is what I'd imagine she'd be like, if I had any admirable talents. But I don't. I mean, not in her eyes at least. I read a lot. Personally, I find it admirable. But then again, I'm pretty sure I'm the only person I know who thinks that.

I watched Mason stride out of the French doors of the art room. Mr Robertson paused at Mason's abandoned easel, glazing his eyes over the sketch. He tutted to himself. And then he prattled to me.

"You know what's frustrating?" I didn't know if he wanted an answer, so I just stared blankly at him because I sensed he was going to answer it anyway. And he did. "The fact that a person like that can probably still even do better and thinks nothing of it." He had me there. I had to agree. I nodded thoughtfully. "This is probably mediocre for him," he waved a hand at the sketch, dismissing it himself before slinking into his small office to do whatever an art teacher did when he had lunch. I stared at the abandoned sketch. I looked at the darkening curves where the leaves became more wrinkled. I looked at the sharp details of the citrus fruit; their skin, their juice follicles. With a simple pencil, he even managed to capture shine. I felt daring. I felt brazen. I left the art room with Mason Lyle's sketch in my art folio, feeling crazy as if I had robbed a bank. And I wasn't exactly sure why I felt so maddened by the act. He had abandoned it. Even Mr Robertson didn't want it. Was it still considered stealing if the thing you stole was something nobody else wanted?