Museums

1.3

I know that most of the kids hang out at SoHo Square after school, so I veer my course away from there. I usually take my coffee from Foxcroft and Ginger. It's slightly further from home, but it's away from the bustle.

The sidewalk is stained with traces of the people who've walked it. A glob of gum has smeared itself on the pavement. Whoever chewed it must have missed the trashcan only three feet away. I wonder if they even noticed. People pass me. Sometimes our shoulders barely brush. Everyone is so diverse.

I watch them all day. My mind rushes through stereotypes finding one to fit people. It's an automatic response. I hate it. I hate it because I know when they look at me they choose something to label me as.

My feet are aching by the time I get to the shop. Being a New Yorker should have made me used to walking everywhere. Still, the arches of my feet never cease to scream with soreness.

Light chatter fills the atmosphere. The building almost radiates this feeling of openness. With white painted walls and the smell of freshly ground coffee it feels trustworthy and clean. I've been here thousands of times but when I walk in I always feel this sort of relief. Assurance of coffee and fresh pastries bring me to the barista.

"One fresh muffin and a Frappuccino, please." I hand her cash before she disappears into the back room. Her blonde hair is tied back into a loose bun.

When she returns she holds my steaming cup. "Have a great day." She smiles. I watch her eyes meet mine sympathetically. She must have noticed the weariness in my stance. I'm sick of being tired. I'm sick of living in my bed. Honestly I'm just sick of living at all.

I sip at my Frap while I find a seat. There's an empty booth at the corner of the shop. I take it before anyone else notices my presence. Getting a boot is my favorite. I can turn my back to the front desk and still not have to face any of the other people. Sure, I look lonely sitting by myself, but no one ever comes and sits down. I can chill here for hours and still be content.

Before I even finish my muffin a preppy looking chick has entered Foxcroft and Ginger. Her presence destroys my serenity. The way she flips her blonde ponytail screams of sorority girl. She heads from table to table handing customer's fliers. Soon I'm nursing a small hope that she skips past my safe-haven of a booth.

"Hey!" Her shrill voice blasts my left eardrum. "You look like someone who'd appreciate good art, am I right?"

Right. Art is my life. I've painted since I was in preschool. Art shows are what I live for. I not about to let her know that she's found my weakness.

"Yeah, I guess."

She grins brightly. The innocence in her smile only reminds me of false intentions. Ugh. Girls like her are the reason I dread going to college.

"Well! I think you'd totally love coming to the art show tonight. My boyfriend, Clint, is going to be featured in it and he's so amazing at drawing. There's going to be a portrait that he drew of me on display. It's the main attraction. You should seriously consider coming." She spits the offer at me with a jab of enthusiasm. It drains me just watching her. How can one person holster so much energy?

"Yeah. I'll think about it." I lull. I'm definitely going. There's no doubt about it.

"Kay thanks!" She bubbles as she waves goodbye.

I glance down at the paper that she handed me trying not to look to eager. The show starts after dark which means I'll have to bring my pepper spray just in case. Mom made that my only rule in staying with Shay. If I go out at night I have to have a weapon. Shay promised her that nothing would happen to me but she insisted that I wasn't safe here. Honestly I believed that. The grime on the streets really shines when the moon reflects it. Shady people take refuge in the dark. That's not for me. I'd rather stay at home behind locked doors than be raped or murdered. That's just me though. Chanelle used to say that she would do anything for a good time, even if that meant going into the darker parts of New York. She liked adventure.

Her words echo in my head with their painful sting, "You don't know how to have fun Shi. That's why people stopped hanging around you." It was the last thing she said to me.

I take a determined swig of my Frappuccino. Tonight I'll go out and have an adventure. Chanelle has to be wrong. Besides, art is worth the risk of leaving my bed. Art, real authentic art, is worth risking anything.