Screaming. Giggling. Kissing. Chaos. Those four words are how I would describe my 7th period art class. Some students were sitting on each others laps, painting hearts, stars and various words on their friends faces. Some were sitting in the corner gossiping. And some were straight-up making out! Clay molded into balls the size of baseballs were thrown accross the room. The only question I couldn't seem to answer was, where is the teacher? It was already eight minutes into class, and there was no sign of her. I doodled in my art notebook until she came.
"Sorry, about that, guys!" She says, out of breath, but smiling. Hair out of place, blouse untucked, and I noticed there were still drawings on the white board from last year... this woman is not what you call organized.
"So, this year we will go over famous, classic artists such as Leonardo Da Vinci, Donatello, and Brunelleschi. But don't think there won't be fun and games! Art is only fun if you make it fun. This year you will learn the basics of drawing, painting, carving, and watercolor. Yet you will still learn about classic artists and their paintings!" She seemed genuinly enthusiastic, therefore I could tell she already had a nack for the arts. Despite her tardiness and disorganization, I liked her. She had a ceratain...vibe, you could say. Then she handed out stickers with your names on them and instructed us to put them in the top, right-hand corner of our art sketch-books. No syllabus was handed out. However, that wasn't unexpected.
Josh hadn't even crossed my mind this period. This was odd, considering he sat across from me -- yay! -- but yet I had noticed him looking up at me every few minutes from my peripheral vision. I hear a slight rip of paper, but ignore it. A few seconds later I feel a piece of paper sliding my way. Malarie, leaned over and whispered-
"Who's it from?"
"Who else?" I whispered back. The note read, Phoebe, are you doing anything after school? Wow. I looked up to see if he was watching me, and sure enough, he was. So instead I rolled my eyes on the inside. I wrote back on the other side. No, what kind of place were you thinking? Hoping that doesn't sound needy or forward. He pushes it back. Steinbeck Park, if you're up for it. I like parks, so I reply. I'll be there. Let's meet by my locker after school. He doesn't need to write back. Instead, he looks up and winks at me. Right as I looked back to my paper, the bell rang for last period. Biology. Wow, what a way to end the day. Let's hope the biology teacher is more merciful than Mr. Short 'n' Pudgy.
YOU ARE READING
The Story of Us
Teen FictionA story of a girl named Phoebe, who just started high school, and who is learning the ups and down of high school. And her best friend Malarie is with her through it all.
