Lasting Hope .5

Hazel

I moved cautiously around the hallway of Tiffany Selene High School, avoiding Madeline's cliché. It's Friday and I just wasn't in the mood to deal with her again. My head aches from just thinking about her. A small smile finds its way to my face as I spot my homeroom. Last class of the day, which means only a couple hours from being able to chillax. Thats chilling and relaxing. People argue ts the same thing, but no. Relaxing is not being stressed out, but not necessarily doing nothing. Chilling is hanging out doing basically nothing, but maybe you're stressed because you haven't done your homework yet.

I frowned as I stepped inside the classroom, because there was only one seat left, and it was next to the-whole-world-revolves-around-me Madeline. I stiffly walked to the desk, narrowly missing tripping over her Gucci heels. Very maturely, I stuck out my tongue at her glaring stormy gray eyes. I shifted my chair as far away from her as possible, but her suffocating floral perfume still reached my nostrils. I waved my hand over my nose, like I smelled something bad, to which she harrumphed at me. I glanced at my teacher to catch her looking at me sympathetically, before focusing her attention to the rest of my class.

"Class, I'm aware to having heard that there are rumors flying around about a new student. I'm here to put a stop to those rumors." Mrs. Owlette had us all on the edge of our seats. Yes, the idea of someone coming to our isolated town was quite outrages. The rule seemed to be that you were born here, grew up, and probably lived here until your death. It was a pretty compact town, with just about everything you need. There wasn't any reason for anyone to move here. Mrs. Owlette's silver grey eyes found mine, then moved on to the rest of the class during her pause for dramatic effects.

"The rumor is...true. His name is Dylan Angelo, and he is coming to class on Monday. He's moving here with his aunt to get away from the tragedy that has happened. Both of his parents died in a car crash. So please be nice to him, and I think it would be better to not mention this to him at all. I'll be passing out paper so you can make him a welcome card. Finish up in the next thirty minutes of class or else it'll be homework." She finished her speech, and pushed her circle glasses up her long thin nose.

I pushed a lock of curly cinnamon hair from my face, and sympathized with the boy. At least he knew his parents, I thought. I've been adopted, and my birth mother never bothered to fill out anything but my first name. I had an amazing mother though, so I don't really mind. I just wish that I knew more about myself, my biological family, my heritage.... A blank piece of paper fell in front of me, and I just stared at it, dumbfounded. What do you make someone you never met before?

My pen moved across the page as I decided to start with a welcome sign. I wrote a tiny paragraph saying how happy I was for him to join our school and small community. How should I end it? From was just too plain. Your friend, was maybe too hopeful. I guess sincerely will have to do. I looked up to the clock, and saw the little hand between the four and five, and the big one on the nine. Four forty-five, fifteen minutes to go. I bit my lip, wondering whether I should draw my specialty :angels. I'm a loner, and everyone can tell. So my art is my escape. Angels becoming my metaphor for the reality I want to leave. I'm always by myself. I have no one to tell secrets to, hang out, or even wave. Madeline has made sure of that ever since we've been young. She's got everyone convinced theres something wrong with me. Being the mayors daughter, everyone's scared to go against her. I mean, unless of course I'm too weird to be seen with...

I decided to go ahead and draw them. Two angels holding the welcome sign. It felt appropriate. His parents died, angels were a signal of heaven. They were kind and helpful, hopefully what he'd find in me. His last name was Angelo. Their feathery white wings made with my color pencils seemed so real, I almost wanted to keep it for myself and make him another one. These were the best ones I've ever drawn. I felt my lips splitting into a grin. A sense of calmness came over me. Causally, I let my eyes wander beside me... and snorted. I mean no offense, but those are some of the worst drawings of sports cars and sports balls I've ever seen. I bet an elementary kid could have drawn better.

My snort was met with a "Shut up!" hiss escaping from her luscious pink lips. She looked down to my own paper. Her eyes widened. My drawing was good enough to impress her royal highness. Suddenly, a line appeared across my page. "There. Now it's perfect, witch."

She saw my pale ivory skin turn red. Snickering, thinking it was from shame she flipped her caramel brown locks and turned away. But I wasn't ashamed or embarrassed. I was burning with hatred. Who the heck does she think she is! Drawing on my paper! Something flickered at the corner of my eye. My eyes widening, I started to put the small fire out. There. Nothing more than scorched paper. Since it was small, I ripped it out. No more evidence of the things I sometimes make happen. Ripped paper is so much easier to explain than burned paper.

I let my violet eyes wander around the room, making sure that no one had seen the ordeal. Good, no one has. And yes, you heard right. I was a freak with purple eyes. The doctors said there was nothing wrong with me. I had in fact, better vision than the average person. My eyes were supposed to be a deep blue, but had miraculously mutated to violet. I had what the doctors enjoyed calling Alexandria's Genesis. The weird phenomenon. Yes, this is why I couldn't get a tan, the wonderful reason why I don't have to shave, waste my money on pads since I'm fertile but no periods, kind of over towering, and the unfortunate reason why I get bullied by her royal highness.

Self consciously, I turn in my welcome card. I'm about to turn away, when my teacher grasps my forearm. " Hazel, this...this beautiful. So thoughtful and creative of you. But what happened to the paper?" She asked.

"Well, you see... I kind of marked the page when I was putting away my colored pencils.... And I kind of ripped the edge as I was turning the page...." My voice flattered as the look she gave me was of disbelief. She dismissed me with a look of disappointment. I tuned the world out as I read my book and waited for the bell.

*******

The grass tickled my ankles as I walked home. Normally, I would've walked on the sidewalks, but they were fixing them, so the pavement was still wet. Well, naturally I would've rode on the bus considering that my manor is half an hour on foot from school. But no way in hell am I riding with her royal highness again. Ugh. I can still feel the warm chocolate mile soaking through my uniforms. I wonder what else she would have done to me....

The sweet smell of roses hit me as I walked down street. I envy Mr. Rogers green thumb. He can get his roses smelling so sweet and addicting. Making sure no one was looking, I picked the reddest one. I inhaled its rich fragrance. A sigh escaped my lips. And thats when a missile hit my arm.

I went down, clutching my arm in surprise. I lifted my palm, and wasn't surprised to see nothing at all. Not a red spot, not a bruise, nor was it tender. A pale hand lowered itself in front of my eyes, as someone cleared their throat. Oh, I must've missed them as I inspected myself. Nobody has ever lowered their hand for me before... I placed my hand in theirs, keeping my eyes down, so they wouldn't pull it away when they noticed my eyes. My hands fit so beautifully in theirs. They pulled me up with such ease, I could've convince myself I was no lighter than a feather. I lifted my eyes up to theirs to thank them formally, when my breath got stuck in my throat as I lost myself in those aqua eyes of his....