The Weight of The Moon

Chapter Five

“Go on, tell me!”

I peered over to my left, to be greeted by my best friend, Peyton, who was staring up at me, her large eyes eager. She was laid out on the grass in the brilliant sunshine, with her square-rimmed sunglasses holding back her long blonde locks, and her baggy Pierce the Veil shirt rolled up, allowing her flat stomach to tan, along with her long, bare legs.

I attempted to reply with a noise that sounded somewhat like a, ‘Huh?’, but probably ended up sounding like a surprised camel.

This received a slight giggle and a jubilant nudge in the ribs from Peyton. “The guy you’ve been thinking of all day!” She exclaimed, as if it were the most obvious answer ever.

I knitted my eyebrows in suspicion. I hadn’t mentioned Marlie, so how did she know? 

She laughed. “I can tell. I’m a genius.” She answered my expression smugly. 

I sighed, in defeat. I considered acting dumbfounded, and pretending that I had no idea what she was referring to, but after a silent debate within my head, I realized that Peyton would only figure out the truth anyway. “I met a guy at the bookstore last night...”

Before I could finish, Peyton held up her left palm, to silence me, and, due to her despot ways, my sentence trailed off into a silence. “Let me tell you the rest. He’s really hot; nice guy; seems interested; likes the same books; wants to meet you again; and likes your shoes? Am I right, or am I right?” She asked, egotistically. 

Even after spending years upon years in the girl’s company, she still managed to surprise me. 

“You’re right.” I mumbled.

Peyton punched the air above her, in a cringe-worthy celebration. While she was at it, she sat up and helped herself to the crusts I’d torn from my sandwich, a petty tradition we’d always had. Crusts will make your hair go curly, our mothers had told us, growing up, and whilst I tolerated my envied, naturally straight hair, Peyton had never been content with hers. Maybe it was thanks to that old mother’s tale, or maybe it was just down to good old nature, but her hair seemed to be becoming slightly wavier. Or maybe it was Peyton’s trusty curling irons…

“So when do you next meet him?” She asked, with a mouthful of half-chewed sandwich crusts. Gross.

“Tonight, at the bookstore.” I figured it was probably best to include that it was at the bookstore. That way, I could be certain that Peyton wouldn’t make an unexpected appearance. She’d always hated that place; it was way too quiet for her liking, even with Mr. Kirsch’s record collection on repeat in the background. 

“Oh my gosh!! What are you going to wear?!” Peyton squealed a little too loudly, and appeared to shake in excitement. 

I shrugged. I hadn’t given it much thought. “Shirt and jeans?”

Peyton curled her upper lip upwards in disgust. “Nuh uh hunny, do you want to send him running?”

I would have been offended, if I wasn’t so amused by her… sassiness?

“I’m meeting him at the bookstore, not a red carpet premiere, Pey!” As if that mattered, what with Peyton’s maverick ways. 

“You’re wearing a blouse at least.” 

I rolled my eyes, but backed down. A blouse seemed pretty sensible. And with that, the horrific sound of the school bell chimed. I stood up, very reluctantly, but Peyton laid back down on the grass, sticking out her pet lip.

“Don’t make me go to class, Sel…” She moaned, obtusely.

I grabbed her hand, and pulled her up, before she insisted that I check that her back was free from grass stains. It took a while to assure the stubborn girl that she looked fine, and after which, we went our separate ways to our final lesson of the day, mine being art.

Art had always been a favourite lesson for me. It came naturally to me. There was something soothing, I found, in the sound of pencils flying across a page, and something totally numinous about the way a drawing is gradually built up and built up until it eventually becomes a masterpiece, without even having to think about it.

I entered the classroom, to be informed that, that day, I was allowed to create whatever I wanted, whether it be a drawing, a painting, or even a sculpture. As long as it fit the theme, the theme being peace. 

Firstly, I grabbed a large piece of paper from the supplies shelf, and took it over to my favourite desk, the lonely one in the corner, by the window. Next, I seized my coloured pencils set from my bag. I didn’t trust the school’s own pencils to do a better job than my own. 

I could hear my peers chatting loudly behind me, and my teacher trying to gain class control, but I ignored any sound other than the wall clock ticking in the background. It was relaxing. Staring out of the window, I picked up my pencils, and let my hands lead them across the page, as I allowed my mind to wander. And of course, it wandered towards Marlie.

He kept gratuitously walking into my mind, no matter how much I protested. Sometimes it seemed as if my mind had a mind of its own. It kept thinking of how attractive Marlie was, and how I couldn’t wait to see him. It kept replaying the events that occurred at the bookstore last night, and how I could have appeared much more interesting. And it kept wondering how that night was going to go, and how I could impress him. Well, at least my mind’s mind was good for one thing; drawing. 

At the end of the lesson I glanced downwards towards my drawing, for the first time, and I smiled, proud of my work. I’d drawn the first floor of the bookstore. I’d drawn it from my own point of view, from my usual position on my favourite sofa. In the drawing, I could see the table in front of me, complete with a mug of coffee and a large pile of books. In the background of the drawing, was the coffee counter, along with other sofas, and the grand staircase. It looked almost as if I could jump into the drawing, and I’d be sat there, in the bookstore. And it fit the theme; peace.

As I placed my pencils back in my bag, getting ready to leave the class, I glanced once more at my drawing, and I noticed something that I hadn’t noticed earlier. 

Under the table, as if their owner was sat beside me, were a pair of beat up sneakers that seemed unbelievably familiar. 

Marlie’s shoes.

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OK so I realised that the last part's a little confusing... Umm, basically, I meant that she'd unknowingly drawn his shoes in the picture, not that he was actually there in the art class with her. Sorry for the confusion :)