The Boy Who Returned// ON HOLD FOR LIKE THE NEXT 10 CENTURIES SORRY BOUT IT

The Boy Who Returned~ Chapter Four

Detention had barely started, and I felt like five hours had already passed. Mr. Johannson had left the room for the moment, and Kyle had moved back to his spot across the room and had his chin propped up in his hands, staring out the window. Unable to stop myself, I quietly took out my sketchbook and set pencil to paper. I spent a good ten minutes lost in my thoughts, letting my hand do all the work, until I finally found that my hand had stopped and I was looking down at a side profile of Kyle. I had sketched all the contours of his face, yet instead of drawing out his prominent cheekbones and chiseled features, I had softened the abrupt angles. Examining his eyes, I found that instead of sharp and full of mischievous light as they had been ever since I had first seen him, they were warm and soft. I had drawn the face of a dreamer.

"That's really good." Too late, I tried to slam my sketchbook closed. A roughly calloused hand slipped in between the pages. I felt heat rush to my cheeks and refused to look up.

"I was just messing around. I don't know why it came out like that." I muttered, feeling tongue tied as Kyle picked my sketchbook up and started flipping through my drawings, treating each page the same as if it were made of glass.

"These are really good." He repeated, stopping at a close-up drawing of a two pairs of toddler hands- one of them pushing a dandelion ring up onto the ring finger of the other. He paused, his forehead crinkling, before moving on.

He can't look at that. I thought panicked. That's Sky and I's past, I can't let anyone intrude on it.

Finally gathering the courage to look up, I snatched the book away from him. "Sorry for drawing you." I said icily. "I don't know what overcame me, but this is definitely not you." I ripped the sketch of him out from my sketchbook and shoved it at him. "Here, you can keep this. Or throw it away. Or recycle it, you could save a tree." I turned away, my face passive.

"You should be an artist." Kyle persisted, leaning down so that his brown eyes were level with mine. "You could be really famous, like that Picasso guy. Or DaVinci. I don't know many famous artists but I've heard that they're pretty good and you're pretty good so if you're all pretty good then that means you're as good as them."

"Thanks," I said, hotly. "But that isn't going to happen because this stupid detention has ruined my chances of meeting Spencer Steinfield, the only guy around who could possibly help me become a better artist." I tried not to let it show on my face that being compared to Pablo Picasso or Leonardo DaVinci, possibly the most talented artists of all time, had meant a lot to me.

Kyle tilted his head to the side. "There will always be a next time. At least that's what all the wise people say."

I snorted in an unlady-like manner. "Well then they're not very wise, because there won't be another chance to meet Spencer in the future."

"What time does Spencer leave from...?"

"He leaves at 7 from my parents' 20th anniversary party, which I am also missing out on. It's 6:30 right now and detention ends in 15 minutes. By then it would be too late." I sighed.

Kyle chuckled. "Hasn't anyone ever told you that it's never too late for anything? If you don't have time, then make time." And with that, he yanked me up to my feet by my wrist and took off running.

"Hey!" I yelled, trying doggedly to keep up with him, my breaths coming in short pants. I had barely managed to grab onto my backpack before getting my arm dislocated from its socket as Kyle dragged me out of the classroom. "Where are we going? We are going to get in so much trouble!" I moaned, thinking of the consequences when Mr. Johannson came back to an empty classroom.

We emerged into the nearly empty school parking lot and I blinked, startled by how bright the day still was. "No time for that!" Kyle said, pulling me to an enormous black Hummer(can you say luckiest man alive?) and fumbling with keys in his pocket.