The True Bad Boy and Good Girl Story

Chapter 4

"He's your boyfriend?!" I practically yelled. Alexis looked at me strangely,

"What? No! I said he was my boyfriend." She responded, emphasizing the word 'was'. "You know as in ex-boyfriend, like we used to date. Then again you are a lesbo so you might not know anything about dating boys..." She continued, trailing off at the end.

"Oh.." I responded, blushing. Gods, I'm so stupid!

"Yeah," Alexis said, staring out into space,"I mean we dated but it wasn't serious so I'm not upset that you like him or anything like that. You should dead go after him if you wanna. He'd help you get out of that shell you in. But I wouldn't suggest you date him."

"Shell? What shell? And what do you mean by you wouldn't suggest I date him?" I badgered Alexis. She sighed." You are very isolated if you haven't noticed. Like I don't know how to describe it but it's kinda like you're  locked up inside and won't make a key." I only looked at her about to argue her statement but then I thought about it and couldn't deny the fact that she was right. Deciding to let it go, just as the bell that signaled lunch was over rang I asked her,"What were you saying about Devin then?"

We stepped over the broken Essie nail polish that had hardened into the white floor. Along with most of the students, we threw the reminder of our lunch away and headed to our lockers. Alexis's locker was on the third floor while mine, like the majority of my classes, was on the second. Most of the electives- or extracurricular activities were on the fourth (and final) floor. Yoga, music, dance, photography, art...They were all up there. Alexis didn't even seem bothered about being late to class because she continued to stay with me by my locker while I got my last period books.

"He'd open your mind up to the world, but he's a bad influence to be honest." She said and I assumed she was answering my question about Devin. "He lives in my neighborhood. I could totally introduce you to him if you want." She continued looking at me as she leaned against the locker beside mine. Now you know that caught my attention.

"You could? Like you would do that for me" I asked incredulously and she laughed.

"It's not that big of a deal. Plus, you're a big girl." I smiled and walked towards my favorite class or the day, Art. I parted ways with Alexis and entered the see through room. My art teacher, Ms. Reece and most of the students were already there since the late bell for class would ring shortly so I hurried to my regular seat. One of my favorite things about Art is that it was set up in a way that gave us so much access to tools. It was a small class of about fourteen students so that easily allowed lots of space. Our easels, along with blank canvases, were set up in rows of about four in each. Such few Canvases in each row allowed benches to be placed to the side of us. These benches included open spaces to store our supplies underneath while the top of the benches were to be used for us to create art in forms of drawings, clay, and more. The room's walls were glass so people could see right in and we could look out more importantly. Classical music often played softly in the background or if we needed to zone out, Ms. Reece usually let us put on our headphones.

Ms. Reece jumped into her lesson. Usually she would give us a theme, we would depict it in any form of art we could, write a short background on it, and then share with the class.

"Okay class so today I want you to depict something that shows something facing a struggle, particularly something that you personally struggle with." She said, connecting her paint brush with her hand in a tapping motion as she did so. I waited for her to continue into a deeper details but she didn't. Everyone else started so they wouldn't run out of time but I sat there staring at my blank canvas. I knew that we technically only had 25 minutes to create a piece out of the 45 minute class since the rest of the time went to writing a backstory and sharing. Something I struggle with... I had an idea. I got to painting, using mixtures of yellows, browns, green, black, and red. My charcoal pencil moved swiftly against the canvas creating the outline that I needed. I grabbed the other utensils that I needed and did the same thing. THIS is what I love about painting. The adrenaline. The rush to create something beautiful. Something that screams it's own story. Something that has no needs for words because it takes the story right out your lips. You can always tell your piece is good if you barely have anything to say for the background story. I barely noticed when the timer went off but luckily I was basically finished since my painting's background was mostly made up of the white canvas. I placed the black ink pen down, closed the black ink bottle, and got to working on my backstory.