You Can Run To Me

Five

It was hell for Natalie to wait an entire seven days for her next art class. Every spare moment – not that she had many of those, mind you – her fingers would itch to be back in that room with him. The drawing of him, that is. But now, finally, her wait was over. It was time for another hour in the art room.

That Psychology class was the last she was late to for a rather long time. Overcompensating for it, she now arrived early for all her classes; including this enrichment. She glanced at her watch impatiently, but given time's linear fashion, only a minute had passed since the minute ago she had last looked at it. The art teacher's door was firmly shut, and Natalie could just about hear the students' chatter inside. How they could be so unfocused as to be talking escaped her entirely.

The seconds ticked by until there was a sudden surge of noise, indicating the end of the lesson. Natalie crept to one side as the doors swung open and people flooded out into the corridors, spilling out in all directions. The instant there was an opening Natalie crept in behind them, claiming an easel and flinging her bag down beside - gently, though, so as not to break any pencil leads.

The teacher, stood at the center of the room, blinked at Natalie in surprise. Not that her students weren't enthusiastic about art, but few arrived so early. That was fine by her, as she usually liked to have a couple of minutes to prepare her mind for another onslaught of art.

"Um... Hello there," ventured the teacher.

Natalie looked up, almost surprised to be spoken to, and saw the art professor looking back. She had a pencil in her hand that she had just taken out of her bag, and she slowly lowered it onto the easel. She still didn't know the woman's name.

"Hello?" repeated the woman, looking a little concerned now, "I'm afraid I don't quite remember your name."

"Oh," she exhaled, "it's Natalie."

The teacher nodded perfunctorily, then paused, thinking. She was certain she remembered seeing that name somewhere. She moved to the drawers of artwork at the side of the room and sifted through them deftly. It wasn't long before she spotted the signature on one, and a familiar half-finished face.

"Natalie Birman, right?" she asked.

Natalie nodded, and drifted towards her to take the page. As she reached out her hand to take it, the teacher pulled back slightly. Natalie looked up at her, taken aback. Why wouldn't she give it over?

"Sorry, I just really like it," explained the teacher sheepishly, handing her the piece. "Pencil is your favorite medium, no?"

Natalie smiled, "yes, Miss."

"Delia. Call me Delia. Never ever call me 'Miss' again, though. It reminds me how single I am."

Natalie laughed politely, and finally got her sketch off her. She walked back towards the easel, but slowed to a halt as Delia called across to her.

"Who is he?"

Natalie was thrown again. What was she going to say? The truth; that he was a complete stranger she had glimpsed across the room? After all, she hadn't even seen his face, only the back of his head. Everything she'd put down onto that page was only a guess. A hopeful guess. But this Delia was looking for a proper answer. There was no way she'd understand, so Natalie would have to lie.

"My neighbor back home. We used to be friends. Just... friends."

"Are you sure?" asked Delia, seeming a little suspicious, "because I got the impression that this was someone pretty intimate with you. That's just the vibe I got off it, you know."

Natalie brushed the woman off, saying that it must be because the piece wasn't finished. To be fair, it wasn't, but that wasn't the right reason. She wondered why she had chosen to draw that boy last week. She hadn't thought about it since that day - her first day here - and it gnawed at her a little now.