There are many things I could write about, although I wouldn't know how to word any of it. So when my English Lit. teacher told me to write about what makes up my persona, I knew I would screw up. Her words, " I am quite sure that you all have things that make up your personality and/or lifestyle. For example, what you like to do, say, or where you like to go. Whatever makes you, well, yourself- write it down. You have until the end of class."
So here I am still sitting here. Nothing on my paper and it isn't because I'm not creative it's because I'm not...well 'implying myself'. That's what all my teachers say. I love writing, but I have no clue how to actually put all of my thoughts together and put them on a piece of paper. I tap the led end of my #2 pencil on my notebook paper. After a few minutes of tapping away at my paper, I look down and it's covered in tiny dots and line looking creations.
Pretty soon I am drawing on my paper instead of writing. I mean seriously, she doesn't care about what makes up our personalities and there is only five minutes left of class anyway. I am definately not a Picaso, but I do have a couple Fine Arts college scouts looking at my sketches and paintings. I am suppose to be writing about me, and I am just not with words- with art.
My drawing is of a frowning girl on a swing set. All of the other kids are smiling and playing. This drawing is my life. The way it's always been- lonely. Mrs. Allen walks around examining our work. When she gets to me she scoffs. " Ms. James stay after class, please." She says taking my drawing and going back to her seat. She doesn't like me, then again, no teacher does.
The bell rings and I stay seated while everyone else files out of the door. When everyones gone I walk up to Mrs. Allen. She looks up at me with an annoyed look. " Why is it that every time I give you a writing assignment I end up with another drawing or a bank piece of paper? It really isn't that hard. I know your a very smart girl, but you just don't-"
" I don't imply myself." I finish for her, looking at the floor tiles. She sighs and says, "Your failing my class and almost all of the others. If you do not bring your grades up, I will be forced to cut all of your extra-caricular activities." My eyes widen. "You can't! I won't be able to go to my art classes! Then, I won't be able to go to a Fine Arts college."
I can tell she hates me by the way she's trying not to smile. She rolls her eyes and says, " I have talked with your art teacher and the principle. They agreed to get you a tutor. You will meet at either of your houses or in the library on Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and/or Saturday or Sunday. That's all you may leave now." When she finishes her 'speech' more students are already coming into her classroom.
I walk out of her classroom and straight to my locker. Putting up my Literature book I grab my sketchpad and charcoal pencils, then I walk to the lunchroom. I never really eat at school so I draw instead. I skip the lunchline and sit down at a booth. I start drawing a willow tree, they have always been my favorite trees. I take my time making the long strokes of the branches downward.
I got carried away with my masterpiece that I didn't notice someone sit in front of me. I look up and jump in my seat. He laughes, " I'm so sorry I didn't mean to scare you-" He waits for my name. " Delilah James." I put my hand out over the table to shake his hand. " I am Dark, Zeke Dark." He says, shaking my hand. I already knew who he is, the school's player and jock. " That I am guessing is why I am tutoring you isn't it?" Zeke points to my drawings. "Wait! Your tutoring me?" I say raising an eyebrow.
" Well, Mrs. Allen told me I was. She said and I quote 'She draws too much and never does her work.' Lucky for you, you weren't stuck with a geek and you get to look at all of this." Zeke says. He put his hands on the back of his head and flexed his muscles. I scoff and roll my eye. I would have rather been stuck with a 'geek' as he put it.
