The Beacon -Paul Lahote 2-

Chapter 6

Mavis packs her brushes in the art room the following morning, happily setting them aside. Art wasn't her favorite class because she wasn't good at it. Mavis wasn't gifted in the art department, sadly. She wished she was. "Hey," someone tapped her on the shoulder. "You forgot this."

She spun around, coming face to face with Abigail. "Oh, hey," Mavis takes the brush from her. "Thank you. I think Mrs. Dudley would kill me if I lost another one of her brushes."

Putting the missing brush in the bag, she set it in her assigned space. "I've lost a few of her brushes." Abigail stood by her side, "she's scary, that one. Short and old, but scary."

Mavis chuckles, shaking her head. "I can agree with that."

"Have you read the assigned reading in English," Abigail changes the conversation with ease.

"Not yet."

"Bit of a snoozer if you ask me. I thought The Scarlet Letter was boring. This is three times worse." Mavis taps her lip, feeling a smile appear. Abigail points at her. "Don't tell me you liked that book."

"I might have." Mavis loved all the books she read. "I'm a reader. I can't help it. I go through at least two books a week."

That shocks the girl, "how?"

"I have a lot of downtime," she shrugs. They're standing in the art room together, the rest of the class waiting for the bell to ring. They had Chemistry together next and had only started talking the previous day. Mavis wished she had spoken to the girl sooner. "I like your art project, by the way. Very creative." Mavis went for a traditional painting. It was easy.

"Thank you," she seemed proud of her work. "I got into Ringling College of Art and design."

"Wow, that's amazing." Mavis stares at her art project. It had different strings going all over the board. Different colors and designs, as well. "What's your art project about?"

"Memories," Abigail explains with a fond smile. "The green represents the earth we live on. The blue strings go from place to place. They represent all the places I've lived." The board was covered in blue string. "Family issues. My parents moved a lot. I always felt as if we were running from something." Mavis could understand that. "The yellow strings represent the road trips I took. They were happier."

"What are the black spots?"

"That," Abigail points at the bottom right corner. "Is where I was born, and that." She points at the left side. "Is where the story ends. Right here in Forks."

"The story ends," Mavis questions. "What do you mean?"

"That's as far as I've come," Abigail doesn't think much of it. "There isn't any more story to tell."

Mavis raised her hand, fingers gliding over the strings. She loved the art even more now that she knew the story. Suddenly, the bell rings. Mavis jumps, her fingers pulling the string by accident. Instantly, voices fill her ears—faint murmurs and whispers.

"Did you hear that," Mavis whispers.

"Hear what?" Mavis leans closers, pulling the string again. "Come on. We are going to be late for Chemistry."

The whispers reappeared, several different voices repeating different words. "Bridgeport," Mavis repeats one of the words she hears. "You didn't-" she turns to Abigail, but the girl is nowhere to be seen. "Abigail?" The one-minute bell rings, and Mavis grabs her bag. She assumes the girl left to get to their next class, not wanting to be late.

The hall is nearly empty. Everyone had already gotten to their next class. Mavis rushed down the hall, hurriedly getting into her next class without being late. Mr. Johnson, her teacher, was sitting at his desk. Abigail was nowhere to be found. The blonde rushed to her new spot, the one beside her new friend. Mavis assumed she had stopped by the bathroom or had to go to her locker. She made a mental note to apologize for making her late.