Not Worth It

Four

The rest of the class felt painfully slow, but it was uneventful. I would occasionally turn my head to look for James and every time I did, he was already staring at me. This only added to my growing uneasiness. What could he possibly want with me after school? And in the art room? I had a passion for art, but I kept it a secret so there was no way he could possibly know about it.

I thought back to what Charlie said about him at lunch, and just as I was wondering whether or not I should meet him, the bell rang and cut my thought short. I closed my, still blank, notebook and gathered the rest of my things. It only took me a moment, but by the time I was done, James and Nick were both nowhere in sight.  

I sighed and pulled out my crumpled schedule once again. I had AP Literature next. Hopefully that would't be too bad. I trudged along the hallway, keeping my eyes glued to the floor. 

The rest of the day dragged along slowly. My stomach felt like a ball of nerves, constantly twisting and turning. All I could think about was James. How when he looked at me with his dark eyes, it felt like he was seeing straight into my soul, and how his dark hair curled slightly where it hit the collar of his shirt. 

My heart was racing as I counted down until the last few minutes of the day. I was all packed up and ready to go. My muscles were tense, waiting to spring the second the bell rang. Each tick of the clock resounded loudly in my head, and when the bell rang the noise felt like it was piercing my skull. I ignored the pain and rushed out the door. School ended at 2:15, and I wanted to be early to my meeting with James. 

I pushed through the masses of people headed out of the building; the art wing was at the opposite end of the building as the exit. I veered to the left and stopped in one of the lesser used bathrooms. It was empty, thank God. I tossed my backpack to the floor and headed to the mirror. My makeup was still mostly intact, and my curly hair was only a little frizzy. I took a deep breath to help calm my nerves. I was ready to go. I stooped to pick up my backpack and in doing so, my sleeve shifted up my arm a little, exposing my still fresh cuts. I did them last night before bed, so the edges were still rimmed with pink and they were only just beginning to heal. I pulled my sleeve down over my hand and headed out the door. 

When I got to the art wing, I panicked because I realized he hadn't told me which room specifically to meet him in. I quickly checked my phone to see if I had any more messages from him, but I didn't. I looked around for any clues as to his whereabouts and noticed that only one of the doors was open. I decided that might be my best bet. 

I lingered in the doorway before entering, his back was facing me and it looked like he was painting. I couldn't quite make out exactly what it was he was painting, but I decided to wait another few moments before alerting him to my presence. 

His right arm hung at his side, but his left arm moved back and forth across the canvas gracefully. With each movement, his shirt tightened across his back, revealing an lean and sinewy build. I watched him until I felt a little bit too creepy standing there just staring at him. I took one step and entered into the room. 

The moment my foot touched the ground, he spun around slowly, with a sly look on his face. I looked up at the clock in the corner of the room, it was 2:32, technically I was late, but he seemed not to mind too much. 

"How long were you standing there?" He questioned me with the sly look still smeared across his face. I felt my face flush with heat, but responded quickly. 

"Not long, why did you want to meet me here?" 

"I wanted to show you something." He then stepped to the side and revealed what he had been working on. I inhaled sharply, it was beautiful. 

"You don't have to seem so surprised," he responded coyly. I took several steps closer to get a better look, it truly was a masterpiece. 

"Where did you come up with this?" I questioned. 

"I had a dream." He responded simply. I tore my eyes from the painting and turned them to him. He was already looking at me with his dark eyes, but something seemed different about them compared to this morning. There was a tint of red starting at his pupil, and as I continued to stare at him, it continued to grow outward. 

I took a quick step back, but he countered by taking a step closer to me. 

"Don't be scared," he whispered.