willow
The next day at school, Slade picked up Willow once again.
"Why are you so quiet?" He asked with his eyes on the road, breaking the silence. She faced him and exhaled loudly.
"Oh no... were you at that bridge again?"
Willow's eyes widened, "How'd you know?"
"You have this glazed look in your eye. As if you just walked out of a funeral."
Willow stayed quiet. The car stopped. It was parked. Willow tried to open the door, but Slade locked the doors and turned towards her.
"Willow," Slade said sternly as if he was an authority. Willow glared back at him stubbornly.
"I am here for you, you know that? We're best friends for goodness's sake."
Willow's frown turned into a smirk. She punched Slade in the arm playfully, "You wish." She manually unlocked her side of the car and hopped out of the vehicle. Slade ran over to her side of the car and tackled her in a hug.
"We good, best friend?"
"We good, best friend." Willow confirmed.
Slade and Willow walked into the school with one arm over each other's shoulders. Once they walked through the doors, Slade had to head off to first period.
The bell rang. Once Studio Art came around, she walked in the door quietly and sat in her assigned spot right by her easel.
"Okay, class!" The teacher loudly announced to the class, "We are going to be starting our acrylic paintings today. Now there..." His voice blurred off and her mind no longer focused on his voice, rather the painting that she was trying to fix in front of her. There were too many dark colors. Purples and blues.
She suddenly heard shouting coming from across the room. The scoot of the plastic chair against the flooring caught the attention of practically everyone in the class. "No! You don't get it! I'm right and you're completely wrong!"
And I kid you not, he flipped the chair and walked out of the classroom. Just like that.
Willow stared at the people who sat by him before he walked out. They were whispering something about who ruled China when or whatever. Seemed pointless yet he completely flipped out. She shrugged.
<><><>
Willow huffed a breath out. Later on in the class, she got quite a big headache. The teacher's voice was a pounding drum in her head. Her head started spinning, like she was going to pass out. She asked to go get a drink of water, but she just stood out in the hallway pacing around frantically while pushing her fingers through her hair.
"What's wrong with you? You can't even sit in class anymore? How do you expect to survive this year if you don't even have enough courage to go to school?" She muttered to herself.
A voice broke her out of thought, "You talk to yourself too?"
She looked up, not knowing there was another human being in the hallway. It was a boy sitting up against the cement wall. She didn't know how to respond.
He started to talk again, "You know that painting you're working on? You need to use the slightest bit of yellow and orange to even out the darks. White just makes it a mess."
Still wide-eyed she stared back at him, "Well shit."
The teacher then opened the door to the classroom and peered out at her, "You alright, Willow?" She nodded and headed back to her seat. She laughed to herself. Literally all you could say was "Well shit"? Very smooth.
<><><>
The bell rang, signaling the end of class.
Willow speedily packed up her things in her back pack quickly and tried to get out of the classroom. She wanted to catch up with that guy that was sitting in the hallway. She spotted him. He was headed to his locker which wasn't far from her own. She plucked up the courage to approach the boy and walked up to him.
"Hey!" she casually said as she stood by his locker.
He peeked his head out of his locker and looked up with his brown hair in his eyes, "Uh... hey..." he said trying to move his hair out of his face.
Willow cleared her throat, "I was that person in the hall earlier."
"Um sorry?" he asked.
"That was you, right?"
He sighed loudly, "Sorry, I didn't catch your name."
"Willow."
His eyes widened.
"What? What's wrong?"
"Nothing... it's just... that was my mom's name."
d
YOU ARE READING
the art of chasing the stars
Teen Fiction"Doesn't it seem like dark events have always followed us? Ever since we were both little, we were fated to be riddled by the darkness that morphed us into the shells we are today." He thought for a second, still looking up, "You can't have the g...
