Tinkering Hearts

Chapter One

Zaelia

What the ef is this?

Hm... it's just like how that lady described though, 'Shady but it should give a good message'.

No way! It looks as if you threw a bunch of dark stuff in it.

Uh-huh, but you know the drill. I've sprinkled too much love into this. So, this piece is one of my favs now.

How you always say that.

Exactly.

Dropping my paintbrush in the jar, I search up 'Fake Scenarios' playlists on my Spotify and hit play. Mm, this matches the mood. Perfect.

I look up at what I had created a couple of minutes ago. An illustration of a sad woman with a bird attached to her head. The shades of blue fade to grey and black from the bird to the woman with tears flowing down her face. It shows how much an animal and a sad person are alike in their emotions.

I spray some varnish on the painting and listen to my playlist while I wait for it to dry. Music always depicts my mood, which most of the time is... I don't even know. It depends I guess. A part of me always wants to distract myself to rainbow-ish things, like just a while ago. But hey! I can't help it. Plus I don't want my life to seem like a unicorn puked on it, so no.

When my masterpiece is dry, I slowly wrap it in parchment paper and slip it into one of my huge, homemade, paper bags. Getting carried away with my joy, I twirl around pretending I'm in that scene playing in the background from the playlist and then stub my toe, crashing into my acrylics.

Grunting at my clumsiness, I stand back up. After making myself paint-free, I close my laptop, grab my bracelet and head downstairs, pulling my brunette caramel-highlighted hair into a loose topknot. I was utterly running late. Mrs. Larry, for whom this painting is asked me strictly to hand in my work at sharp 4:00 pm.

I check my watch.
3:34 pm? ...

AHHHHHH!!!

"Zaelia! Are you going somewhere? Don't forget your jac—"

Too late. I am already outside. Chills go through me. I'm wearing knee-length, navy blue pants and a full-sleeved, plain maroon T-shirt. Nobody gets to question my fashion sense. I turn back around and go inside to fetch my jacket.

Late. Late. LATE.

As I open the front door once again, a cool breeze whips through me. I'm pretty sure I got a brain freeze. It's the month of February, and Seattle has become a refrigerator.

OK. Who am I?

It's 3:55 pm and I'm running. I do believe that introductions are boring but... 

I'm Zaelia Agenda, a regular 16-year-old with a non-identical twin sister and an older brother who can be a bit of a pain in the ass sometimes. I am a young artist and I love reading romance novels. Perhaps that's all you need to know, and also that I like almonds dipped in Nutella. Bizzare, but trust me, it's a great treat.

I turn towards a door, according to the address given by Mrs. Larry, and come to an abrupt stop. A Christmas wreath is still hung up on the door. I glance down at my watch... 3:59 pm.

Nailed it!

I wait till it hits four, just for fun, and then knock. No idea why the hell they don't have a doorbell.

Within seconds, a middle-aged lady pops up by the door. When Mrs. Larry sees me, she opens the door wide and gives me a huge grin. I smile and greet her.

"Oh, dear! There's no need to be so formal. Please come inside," says Mrs. Larry, motioning behind her.

"Oh, no, no. Thank you so much, but I'm kinda in a hurry." OK, I am entirely lying. "Here's the painting you asked for."

She takes the paper bag from my hand and keeps it somewhere behind the door, which I guess should be on a table. She doesn't open it.

"Thank you so much, dear. It was so nice of you to find time and make this effort."

"Oh, no Mrs. Larry. It's my pleasure!"

C'mon Zee, do some more sugar-coating and get your work done.

Shut up.

"So... what's the painting for?"

"Hm? It's for Gerard, my son. He is turning ten tomorrow," she chuckles, "And I guess he is growing to like art."

I sigh internally. So much for a ten-year-old.

"Oh? That's so nice! Art is very imaginative and fun to go with as a hobby. It's a good option for a career as well." Why isn't she paying already?

"Yes, dear. Very much," she laughs.

An awkward pause engulfs the conversation.

"About the payment—" we both start at the same time.

"You can go first," I smile.

"Alright, I'll be paying you online, dear. Is it fine with you?"

"Oh yes, yes. Of course! Of course..." I sigh in relief.

At least she remembers it. I mean, most of my customers always find ways to ditch payment. I feel awful to keep on asking for it, so I eventually stop bothering. It's a huge loss though.

Mrs. Larry and I exchange PayPal details and I hit the road again.

I wonder if she, or Gerard, will like the painting. Considering how nonchalantly she kept it somewhere, I am worried.

I look at my wrist. 4:10 pm. OK, one more detail. I am a time lady. I can't help but look at my watch from time to time and create a quick timetable of things in my head. It keeps my schedule organized. And doing things at a specific time feels like an adventure to me. Kinda.

Starbucks should be open at this hour. It might be just the perfect caffeine fix I'm looking for. I smile happily, shoving my hands into my jacket pockets and fantasizing about a bone-healing drink. Any cafe can undo me. It's literally the solulu to anything! It obviously cannot beat a library or bookstore though, mind that. 

I skip the rest of my way and soon spot my comfort place in sight, glistening as always.

. * ● ¸ .

A/N: This book was written way before the genocide. I, in no way, support the companies associated with it. Please look past the mentions if you find any and forgive me. Thank you for understanding.