Fraying Corners

the devil is in the details

Dear Diary,

Class never seems to go this slow, but at least it's forth period. I'm writing this while we watch a movie in science, something to do with the rainforest. The documentary is older than my mum; I wonder how many species that I watch in grainy footage still exist.

Anyways,

My birthday is next week, a Friday, which sucks. But Mum and Dad said I can take the day off. I asked the girls, and only Beth says she'll take a day off to spend with me. It's a Friday, probably a slog of a day with nothing to do. Scratch that; I just remembered I have an English book report due. Bleh.

Back to science. We're actually not just watching a documentary, but also, wait for it, a worksheet. Gasp. Truth is, Miss Jacee is off sick, something about divorce or something. I didn't even know she was married.

I sort of miss her, only a little, though. The sub keeps talking with the girls at the front, and something about him makes my skin crawl. But who cares, right? Still, I make a note to keep my skin or clothes from touching him when I give him my worksheet.

Talk laters,

Jenny.

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Jenny Lucci has a lot of classes with at least someone from her friend group, but has the most with Mel Jackson. But there are two that there's no one she really talks to: science and art. Art is the worst, though, because with science, there's a type of dread that clings to the air, pens against paper but also clenching teeth and tapping feet.

Art is harder to be alone in; she can't turn off her feelings like she does in science, can't just pretend to be happy with her work. With art, it always feels like something is missing, no matter how nice a painting, how lovely a clay sculpture, it's as if someone else created it. On her way to class, she thinks of the piece she is working on now. The halls are lit by the shining sun. When she walks from the air-conditioned space to behind the school where makeshift classrooms are held in shipping containers, she feels a bit more at ease.

The containers are five in number, all once bright colors, but now more dull. They were installed five years ago and hold the woodworking and art classes. In the summer, sometimes it gets a bit too hot inside, but the trees they planted a while back are finally tall enough to provide shade. A cool breeze sweeps through the trees and catches at her hair that she pulled loose from her bun. It shines golden in the breeze.

Science was on the other side of the school, so she's almost late to class. The teacher, Mr. Jay, doesn't bother with saying anything besides her last name. She smiles as her face reddens, going to sit at the end of the tall benches, covered in former students' scratches with razors and splashed with paint. She has to inch behind tall stools and apologizes as she accidentally brushes against another student.

The air is warm but almost pleasant. Sometimes Jenny overdresses, though. Her jeans are fine, but the sweater overbalances it. Before sitting down, she pulls the green, slightly itchy material over her head. She places it beside her saddlebag and sits down.

The lights are dimmed, as always, and the projector is uneven against the artwork tacked to the wall. Though there is a different type of dread that comes with this class, an unease with her own person she has never experienced with anything else, it still feels more at home than anywhere else in the school.

She turns over to place her bag on the back of her chair and comes face to face with green eyes and spiked black hair. Something skips in her chest, and she smiles back at Mike Wilson. When she turns around, she can hardly concentrate on the presentation her hangover art teacher threw together. In her art book, she adds green roses to her drawing, and in her diary, she can't think of anything to write, but in the margins, she overlaps the lines with inked eyes.