Making Art With The Bad Boy

Chapter Four

I woke up late the next day, same as always. No matter how much sleep I got, I was always tired. After throwing my phone across the room, sleeping for an extra five minutes, jolting awake to check on my phone, and then crawling towards the bathroom, I was finally dressed and prepared for another boring school day. 

I grabbed a granola bar before running the distance to my bus stop, which was conveniently placed across the street from my house. My house was surrounded by hedges and we didn't have many neighbors, but the ones we knew were all elderly anyway and never got out much. The cemetery was further down the other side of the bus stop and hidden behind a pile of trees. Luckily, there weren't many graves at Footfield Cemetery so the creepiness factor was around neutral. My mom worked there sometimes, when she wasn't doing real estate, to help grow flowers and make the place look less disturbing. I overheard her talking to my dad once about how some flowers she planted on a grave disappeared the next day. One minute, there were roses and lilies engulfing the tombstone, and the next, they were all ripped out, like the corpse had yanked the flowers from their roots, dragging them down with it. I think the stone was under the name E.J.J. The person under the stone had died when I was young apparently, but of course we weren't here to see it. We used to live around an hour away from our current house and the only cemetery we were familiar with was the National Rochester Cemetery. 

I was panting in the bus shelter, waiting for my bus to arrive, while I watched my breath exhale in a wispy fog. The whole neighborhood was foggy today, like a giant had smoked a cigarette and blown the smoke into our faces, the white air encompassing everything. I couldn't see much beyond a short distance and I hoped my bus wouldn't drive past me. As I eyed any upcoming headlights, I heard leaves rustling behind me, like someone was crunching the ground with their feet. I didn't bother turning around, I figured it was Arthur, the cemetery's serviceman, and kept my eyes on the fog. 

Someone snickered behind me and I froze, recognizing the sound. 

"Well, if it isn't Miss Bearer of Bad News herself." Noah Jackson stood on my right, his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyes cold and reserved while his mouth was curled into a smirk. Our breaths came out in matching wisps and I exhaled heavily, unbalancing our synchronized breathing. 

"You again." I scoffed, rolling my eyes, "Don't you have a car?"

"No winter tires." He joked. 

"Ha, ha. How amusing." I replied monotonously. 

"What's your problem, GG?" He didn't ask it rudely, choosing instead to frame it like an innuendo. 

"Currently? You." 

"Ouch." He replied, placing a bare hand on his jacket chest, "I'm hurt." 

"I'm sure you are." I replied annoyed, standing on my tiptoes to better see beyond the fog. 

"I know you don't really hate me, Georgia." He shook his head at me with a sarcastically kind smile, his face resembling that of a villain mocking a trapped hero. 

"I guess you don't know much then." I retorted, flicking my head away from him, enough to jostle my hair. He was wearing the same leather jacket as yesterday, but with a navy blue hoodie peaking out from underneath. He had his sleeves curled around his fingers, just like I did. 

I was expecting his witty remark when the bus suddenly popped up, the two headlights like orange eyes emerging from the white darkness. I relaxed and exited the shelter, getting out my card in the progress. I saw Noah mimic me and I crossed my arms, glaring up at him. He copied my exact position, right down to the glare, but his smile gave him away and I rolled my eyes, stepping onto the open bus door. 

I took my seat at the back and Noah took his across the same aisle, so that we both occupied a window. I plugged in my earbuds and turned my face away from him, determined to ignore his existence. He didn't bother me after that and the bus drove us onward, towards the place commonly known as hell on Earth. Or school for short.

When we arrived, I got up to exit the doors, expecting Noah to be behind me, but he was still in his seat, ignoring the school in front of us. I left then, annoyed at his lack of responsibility, and entered the school not knowing -or caring- where Noah was headed off to.  

Thursday morning had begun (almost) as usual and continued to be like every other day. That is, before second period arrived. I had art second period and my class was mostly filled with people of middle status, like me. Middle status meaning they weren't "losers", but they weren't popular either. I was fairly content with my classmates. They left me alone and I left them alone and to me, that seemed a good enough relationship. After settling into my seat however, Ms. Elcon brought to our attention that we would have a new student in the class. I didn't think much of it considering the newbies were usually quiet, but this particular student set my teeth on edge as soon as his artfully-crafted head of hair entered the art studio. 

Out of all the students in Rochester High, why was it that I got stuck with Noah. Jackson?

And worst of all, the only seat available just so happened to be next to me. Terrific! If I knew I was going to live in a cliche book, I would've asked for a refund. I'd've rather preferred being in a horror novel! 

Although, considering my current situation, maybe I was already in one.