Blue Skies

Chapter 6 [Calumn]

Chapter 6 [Calumn]

“Oh, hello Annie.”

Ever since we walked home together, we began to talk more than ever and walking home now became a usual routine. I wasn’t against it or anything, but Annie was a perfectionist, and I was not. She was also – as I’ve recently come to conclusion with – a wishful romantic. We had talked for over a month now, and my hopeful feeling that she was actually going to be the one who wrote the poems was slowly fading.

“I just wanted to say good morning. You look really nice today.”

“Thanks. I’m only wearing a t-shirt that says ‘Originality is NOT Dead’ though.”

I also wore this today because I had some nagging in the back of my head that I wanted to prove to her that I was in fact, an original, and I did not tend to “follow the crowd” or “obey all the rules” as she did. I was feeling pretty sick of that type of attitude, but I didn’t want to be the jerk of this scene so I didn’t say anything for once. I was just tired, and I kind of just wanted to wait until this whole “thing” faded away. And I’m also completely drenched from the heavy storm outside right now. It was pouring, and going to school in a rainstorm was not putting me in a happy mood.

“You still look amazing.” She then proceeded to pull me into a hug by wrapping her arms around my neck, resulting in me getting very surprised and jumping back, which she obviously took offensively.

“Sorry Annie, I uh, got to hurry up and go to class. I’ll uhm, see you around.”

I didn’t turn back to look at her once more, because I knew that all I would’ve been able to see was the hurt facial expression of heartbreak and regret on Annie’s face, and I didn’t need anything more than the horrible growing rainclouds to start my Wednesdays.

=  =  =  =  =  =

I sat quietly in art class for once, completely freezing from the rain. I would much appreciate it if somebody didn’t turn the AC down to such a low temperature. My eyelids were growing droopy and so were my classmates’, mainly because the room was so dim and dull due to the gray clouds outside. And also because of Mrs. Wilbur’s consistent droning about “un-credited genius” artists. Rain tapped on the windows and I closed my eyes for a minute to just focus on the pitter patter of the raindrops.

“Calumn Farrell! First you speak up without permission, and now when you’re finally quiet, you choose this time to fall asleep?! Shame on you! These artists deserve much greater recognition than that! I will have nobody else sleeping while I present this slide, do you hear? The next person who falls asleep or mutters a word is getting THREE detentions!”

My body must be playing tricks with me, or maybe it was just the universe picking on me, but then I sneezed. Not one of those cute girly sneezes, but those really loud booming ones that sound like a cross between sneezing and hacking your lungs up.

“DETEEEENNNTIONNNNNN! Farrell, here’s your detention slip!”

“But Mrs. Wilbur, he just sneezed.”

I turned my head  abruptly at the direction of who’s voice it came from, and if I had not seen her mouth moving along with those words and eyes as fierce as storm staring at Mrs. Wilbur, I would not have believed ever, that Abelia Vinson of all people, just stood up for me.

“Well then, I JUST gave you a detention to join him, then maybe you can tell him to learn to keep his mouth shut. Now, I don’t want ANY more interruptions what-so-ever, you al understand?”

Reluctant nodding was shifted around the room as Mrs. Wilbur scanned the students then proceeded to turn back to her presentation. I however, was still perplexed and curious to why Abelia had stood up for me, or said anything in public above a whisper really. But Abelia beat me to it and turned to me to speak before I had a chance.

“Thank you.”

“Thank you? Why are you thanking me? You’re the one who spoke up for me! I should be thanking you! You know, I’m still in shock – you never talk really, yet here you are defending me, someone whom you’ve just met., and you even got a detention from it. I should be the thankful one.”

“Thank you,” she insisted, with no change whatsoever to her pervious facial expression, which I guess was determination.

“Why?”

She didn’t answer me, or even look my way. Instead, she reached into her own backpack and pulled out an old vintage-looking leather bound notebook. Quietly and gently, she flipped through the pages until she stopped and went back a few pages, pushing the notebook over to me. I slid it over to my side of the desk and looked at it; messy blue inked handwriting littering the pages.

“I can’t read this!”

Rolling her eyes at me, she took her notebook back and underlined something, then shifted it back over to me. There was a single line circled, which read in smudged blue ink,

“I’m going to buy a gun and start a war, if you can tell me something worth fighting for.”

I blinked twice, my gaze leaving the paper and continuing to stare at her. The quote explained not much to me, so I was just going to keep staring at her until she realizes that I need more than this to understand what was going on in her head when she defended me.

“You ever wondered why I didn’t speak to people? Or I just didn’t speak period? Have you ever just stopped and thought, maybe I just don’t have anything to say.”

“How can you not have anything to say? You talked to me, and I could tell that you surely have more in your head than dust bunnies and blank notes. You have a whole perspective to yourself, but you choose not to reveal it.”

I had replied with more of a statement than a question, but I still hinted my curiosity of “why” she didn’t talk.

“Maybe I just don’t have anybody to listen.”

Her hair fell back into her eyes as she took back her notebook and continued scribbling in it with her blue ink pen, and I knew that I was not getting another response to clarify what she had just told me. The sun illuminated her hair through the huge windows of the art room, and I just watched her expression intensify as she wrote more. She stuck her tongue out a little from the corner of her mouth, with her eyebrows knitted and pen still in constant motion. Her sad statement was still lingering at the back of my mind, but I couldn’t help but smile a little bit at how fast she’d switched her focus. She was lost in her own mind, really.

The bell suddenly rang, and I realized that after the whole “detention” situation and our little exchange of her notebook as well as how I had been just staring at her, time had passed quite a bit. She abruptly closed her notebook in one single flip, and proceeded to cap her pen. I had caught her eye for a moment as she looked my way, but she never said anything to it. I opened my mouth to speak, to say anything to shift from this silence, but once again she beat me to it.

“See you in detention.”