I Drew You Once in Art Class

Eight

Frank got out of the school as fast as possible.

He didn't particularly want to go home yet; he'd have to deal with his mom. He might as well do his lake drawing now. He sat not too far from the school, sitting by the banks so he could capture the forest as well. There was a guy sitting across the lake, someone Frank vaguely remembered from art class when he'd needed a pencil. He was in the way of Frank's drawing, but he decided to just draw it as if the boy wasn't there.

He did not draw it as if the boy wasn't there.

The lake came to life on the page, whites and blacks among shaded grays. The reeds, the grass peeking over the water, the not-quite-dead-yet trees tickling the penciled sky. And a guy with short hair, penciled carefully and precisely. He held his sketchbook, his pencil in action, deep in concentration. Frank had barely noticed that he was drawing the kid. When he took a minute to examine his work, he noticed the figure, sketched carefully and accurately, mirroring the actual scene in front of him. Looking up to compare his drawing, he noticed the dude across the lake was looking at him, quickly returning his glance back to his sketchbook upon noticing Frank's attention. The boy leaned closer to his page, as though he were sketching something small. Could he be drawing Frank? Frank's eyes were wide with curiosity as he tried to figure out what he was doing, when suddenly, the boy stood up, tucking his sketchbook under his arm.