sore thumb

a copper mane and clicking heels

The depressing scent of casual smokers and an evening winter flurry burned my nose in the tired town. Nothing surprised her about the dreary morning, everything was as it had been for weeks from the first peck of the chilled season; adults begrudgingly shoveling snow while their spunky toddlers frolicked like it was the best thing to ever happen to them. Shop workers smoked and did the same. She just kept on walking, occasionally slipping a bit on the buried ice.

Opening the studio doors, the warmth embraced her. Her shoulders relaxed to its touch and proceeded inside. Making her way to the designated classroom; she was studying painting, she caught a glimpse of someone she'd never seen before. It was a weakly populated school in the first place, she'd seen everyone. Not that she talked to many of them. But this one stuck out like a sore thumb. He sported a beautifully soft or just thin from a complete bleaching copper mullet, polished red boots, oddly patterned tights, and a loose blouse that made his lanky frame look even lankier. He really was a sight to be seen, didn't he know it had been an angry blizzard all month? Was he just arrogant? She jerked her head away and kept stomping down the tacky carpeted hallway. She secretly hoped he'd be in one of her classes, someone like him needed more investigating. Squeak! The door resisted a bit like it always did, which made her cringe.

She shuffled to a seat farthest from anyone, she just didn't like the noise, and the worst part was she had a knack for eavesdropping. You'd think it would be exciting to hear all the gossip, but it was just repetitive and annoying. Besides, most of the kids in her class laughed like a donkey getting sedated. She rested her head on her bicep and closed her eyes, waiting for the bell to ding. After a few minutes, she was jolted out of her space to the sound of the monotone ding. She instantly saw him. Red boots, frayed copper mullet. He was beautiful with his pale fair skin, not an impurity to be seen. No wonder he was already surrounded by the nosy teens. Like ants to a discarded apple core in a park. She didn't expect even a glance from him. She was so plain, so unappealing. A large hand ran through frizzy short hair and ruffled it; she sighed. The droning sound of an irritated teacher just became another buzz in her thoughts. She just couldn't stop staring at this boy, this sore thumb. Flopping out  a well-used sketch book, she skimmed to a blank page and began to 'sketch' this frayed, social butterfly. It was too soon when the bell rang for next period. Irritated and with a buzzing head, she stuffed her supplies back into her black tote and stomped back out into the hallway, heading to figure drawing class. She didn't dread figure drawing, but the fact that she couldn't finish the portrait bugged her; she knew the feeling would linger until she could finish it the next day. She could still spot his snow white frame turning the corner behind her.

Figure drawing class floated by her like a paper boat down a stream, and before she knew it, she was stomping like she always did to the student cafeteria. Would he come here? How many people would come here just for him, how many people are thinking the same thing I am? Who on earth is he? Sitting down, she munched on an apple and scanned the lunch room, searching for the sore thumb. Finally, she saw him, laughing while entertaining a rather large crowd for his first day. He carried a laughably childish metal lunch box, the remaining paint chips creating a scrambled image of colors she could not comprehend. In the other hand, a guitar case swung in the rhythm of his steps. She wondered if she would get the chance to hear him play. Embarrassingly, his gaze rotated and our eyes caught, Elmer's glue stuck. It's something that happened to, I suppose everyone. When your heart stops and your face reddens while you both are stuck in an awkward paradox of time until one of you decides, 'oops, sorry' and leaves the silent bubble. I tore away, slouching considerably to make myself invisible again. I hid in my frizzy curtains of dark brown hair, all the while still trying to peek at his awe-inducing presence. Until he started walking in my direction.  'oh god, abort, abort' my stomach jumped to my chest and I jolted back to staring intently at the table. To my dismay, those damn leather boots seemed to quiet the whole lunch room, leaving the anticipation in the sound of its heels. The clicks and squeaks crawled into my spine and shattered it when I felt the gut-wrenching lurch of someone sitting down next to me on the tables bench. the hollow voice of the large guitar case flopping behind. "hello," he spoke. Oh god. His voice was like running your fingertips through an untouched pool of water. It was so gentle and neat to the senses. I couldn't bare to reply. I noticed how his eyebrows creased in disappointment. It broke my heart. "ha well, I can respect that." His gaze drifted to the table " I just didn't want you to just be, you know, huddled here all by yourself. Seemed a bit dreary is all" chuckles danced through his voice. his lungs drew in breathes from his soft outburst and sighed heavily. a hand rest on his knee, elbow pointed to the wall. he looked as if he were in a photo shoot, running out of interesting poses. "wait, i saw you in the hallway this morning didn't i?" she boiled in his casual gaze. "Yes, yes i absolutely did. I could tell from how tall you are, lord, you tower over me!" even the words that glided off his tongue sounded parallel to his absolutely liquifying smirk.

"I don't think I caught your name," his voice waltzed in and out of my head, sending my stomach in knots. "uh, Quincy." I forced out. "my name is um, Quincy." My face felt like it would just burst from the blood that rushed to my cheeks, making it unbearably hot. I only hoped he wouldn't notice. "Quincy huh? That's a wonderful name, it feels sharp on my tongue I love it.' This had to be routine, he did this with everyone, this is just a drill. I Just keep telling myself that. "My names David by the way. I live down the road,"

he leaned to the side, meeting my eyes through the dark untameable curtains to flash me that smile. That smile that's melted the bones of so many, broken so many hearts. I had to say something, it was an impulse, a sickly addiction.  "so, when did you decide to uh, move here? You are new right?" I gazed up at him, nipping at remains of my measly apple. His smile widened, and I couldn't help but grin a bit to see that he didn't find me an annoying mute. "I moved here a week earlier, bad time to be moving it seems. It's either you can't drive down her cause the roads are frozen or you can't because of the Christmas rush!" his conversation was that of an old wise veteran, sucked dry of interest and thought throughout his years. and yet, in his effort, he made me laugh. It was painfully true, you couldn't get anywhere this time of year.

We sat there, exchanging small stories and laughing at our inconveniences until we were dismissed to the rest of our school day. "I'll see you tomorrow?" he asked expectantly, gathering his bags and such off the crumby floor. "ye-yeah, sure," stammering like an idiot I gave him the best-lopsided grin I could, and he smiled back. His teeth were sharp, like a dog's. "tomorrow. Farewell, Quinn," he signed off to me. Then he poured back into the bland posse, only his wonderfully flowing mane remained to reached above the heads of others. A sore thumb.