Daylight

Brooklin's POV

Well. This is awkward.

 Out of all the seats he could have chosen, he decides to make it even more awkward than it already is, and he sits right across from me.

 I really don’t care that much though. I wouldn’t care if I was alone either. This class isn’t a social hour. It’s serious. Well, it is to me at least.

 He tries to make conversation, but I don’t really put in much effort back to him. Why is he even talking to me anyways? I’m just the weird girl that he smacked in the face with a door. If I were him, I’d stay away from me. 

 And the fact that he is so interested in my sketches....is just weird. Can’t he respect my artistic privacy? I crumpled up that piece of paper because I didn’t want anybody to see it. It was such a stupid picture. I don’t even know how my brain came up with it.

 Our art teacher, Mr. Hansen is pretty cool, I guess. But he spends most of this hour just going on and on about what is to come this semester. And the word I would use to describe everything he says would be "hell."

 But it’ll be a pleasurably hellish experience. I’m willing to go through anything for this class. Nothing has ever meant so much to me at this school.

 Nothing.

 So when the last school bell of the day rings, I am actually a bit saddened.

 But at least I am able to leave the room before Jace tries to start another conversation with me. I bolt out of the room and make my way through the crowded halls. Of course, more people stare, but my main goal right now is not to impress people...it's to get to my car.

 And once I do that, I am off without a second glance at anything or anyone. It’s time to meet with concrete and steel.

 Everyday during the summer, I would take a trip out to Chaston’s only bridge on the very outskirts of town. Not very many people travel along the road that it is on, so I feel so free from everyone. I’ve even managed to make it into the water underneath it a few times.

 So I go there today. Not to the water, I mean. But to the bridge.

 I simply park my car on the side of the road just before the bridge itself.

 Step by step, I walk on the pedestrian side of it all. It’s made of old wood, but it still feels secure. Sometimes I sit on the railing and sketch. Other days I will simply just watch the river flow and think (probably more than I should). But today, I try something new.

 I lie down on the wooden planks and simply stay still. Every part of me soaks in the rest of today’s sunshine. My light as snow skin tingles when those rays touch me. The warmth. The pleasure.

 The procrastination.

 I should be home, doing whatever my mother tells me to, but I don’t want to be there. Right now, all I want is for me and the sun to share this afternoon together....in peace.

**********

 Surprise, surprise. Today I’m at school early again. This time I needed to get away from my mom beating me up about my “ridiculously over processed” hair. She really didn’t seem to appreciate it when I pointed out the fact that she goes to the salon at least once a week. She claims that she has to go so often because she is “older.” Whatever, mom. You just love to throw your precious money around for your own vanity.

 I don’t want to get started on ranting about her though...because I could go on for days. So, I drop every thought I have of her and this time, I head to the art room. I don’t want to have another excursion with Jace and a slamming door in the library again.

 Like I expected, there is no one in here. I walk into the complete darkness of the room. Once I turn on the overhead lights, I head over to the main storage closet where they keep all the student’s portfolios and works for AP art.

 I quickly find my school sketchbook in the midst of rows and rows of shelves, and I pull it out. Since it is only the second day of school, it is completely empty. I’ve only really held it once since they were passed out to us. I prefer my own from home, but of course, that is where I left it this morning. I was halfway to school before I figured that out. I’m not going to lie, I ran a stop sign when I came to that realization.

 My sketches are my everything.

 I drop the book on one of the large, paint splattered tables in the middle of the room. My favorite drawing pencil is stuffed carefully into the front pocket of my backpack. Once I grab it, I kick my feet up onto the table and lean back into my chair. It’s the most comfortable position I can find at seven-thirty in the morning.

 I know I will only have a little while before students gradually start strolling in and out of the room for various reasons, so I take advantage of the time and make my very first starting line. I’m not sure what it will end up becoming, but I jump into it without any bit of hesitation.

 My pencil is soon furiously moving about the page. Thin lines become thick lines, and light lines become darker and before I realize it, I have the start of something unexpected.

 It’s the hand of someone who is hiding. And that is all you see. Her fingers are slightly curled as she drops the ragged word “freedom” from her hand. She's letting go of it...even though it is all she wants.

 I am just about to start shading near each finger when I hear the door open for the first time since sitting here.

 In walks Olesia Gellar. Her short, curly blonde hair bounces when she walks in. She’s the typical “pretty one.” Perfectly skinny. Perfect smile. Perfect personality. People love, yet hate her at the same time.

 We lock eyes for a brief moment, then she quickly turns away and walks to the storage closet. I see her looking throughout the shelves as if she is trying to find a particular one. Once she does, she pulls out a folder from her messenger bag, then she slides it carefully into a slot.

 We’re the only two people in here, and since we’re polar opposite, it’s pretty awkward. But after she finishes what she came to do, I return to my sketch and ignore her.

 She walks past me as she heads to exit, and I can just feel her judging my combat boots and distressed jeans. The grip on her messenger back tightens as she strides away.

 Okay?

 Once she is completely out of the room, I mumble to myself, “It’s okay. I don’t bite.” Then, I roll my eyes and close my sketchbook. I might as well get out of here before more students come through.