Pricked

6. Questions

Chapter 6: Questions

That night, I layed in bed, unsure about what to think about the events of today. A gorgeous boy -man, more like- had some sort of interest in me. Probably he wanted to make me the laughing stock of the school. Then there was Rhyssa the untouchable, and yet he teases her. Of course there was also that weird cheerleader. I snorted, a laugh escaping from my chest- what an idiot. I laughed quietly in my bed, dismissing the thoughts that were chasing each other through my brain; Only to finally drift off into a restless sleep characterized by the nightmares the constantly plagued me.

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I arrived at school to be greeted by my friends. It was still so strange for me to have people that genuinely seemed to like me being there. Walking into the art room second period gave way to the sight of Rhyssa, seemingly fine now, standing in her usual spot. She and Derek seemed to have purposefully left an open easel between them for me.

Unfortunately, art only requires the use of ones hands, not one’s mouth, (unless you’re holding the paintbrush in your mouth) which meant that Derek had the opportunity to talk and ask me questions. It started out simple enough: “How do you like it here?”

“Fine.”

“Are your friends nice to you?”

“Yes.”

“How’s your school-work going? Fine?” I pursed my lips as he laughed under his breath. Apparently he didn’t like my generic answers to his questions, so he decided to start asking questions that required slightly more thought.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue.” It was only right after I had said it that I realized I had a specific blue in mind, and that rich blue happened to be continuously glancing up at me as he worked.

“What are you parents like?” I suppose it was a harmless enough question. For someone like me though, the question was anything but. I didn’t like lying, certainly not to this man in front of me, but I just couldn’t tell him the truth either. He would look at me differently, and I wouldn’t be able to stand that. I liked the way he looked at me now.

“Are you the only one that get’s to ask questions, or am I aloud to ask some too?” He made an open gesture with his hand, inviting me to ask whatever question I wanted.

I sighed, slightly frustrated. I didn’t know what I wanted to ask him, I just hadn’t wanted his line of questioning to continue. So I asked him the exact same question that I had been trying to avoid, “What are you’re parents like?” He smiled at me humorously.

“They’d like you,” he said, “They’d find you adorable.” A slight blush rose, unbidden, to my cheeks, and for some odd reason I was relieved that he thought we’d get along. “My mom is a good cook and she keeps herself on her toes. She’s always moving around and doing something. She doesn’t really like sitting in one place for long. But when she’s out- she’s gone. You can’t wake her up for anything.

“As for my dad... he’s more relaxed I guess you could say. He balances  her out. He’s really relaxed and laid back- but he’s also productive and good at what he does.”

Which of course brought on my next question: “ What does he do?”

“Uhh,” he seemed to have trouble coming up with an answer. “He’s sort of like the vice-president of a company down here.”

“Except that he’s not?”

“Umm.. Yeah. Next question?” Hmmm, looks like he isn’t all answers either.