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Chapter 19: R for Ruined

Months and seasons have passed, grades were given, hope was handed out by the handfuls; but nothing, no one was prepared for the dreadful truth to come-even though everyone knew it was bound to happen at some point- and no one could even comprehend the amount of broken hearts that'd soon be crumbled. Mostly because no one knew about my world that was slowly falling apart, my weird quirky life, and the many small hearts that I had to replace with the broken ones. So then again, while everyone was living largely and happily, I was stuck with an empty soul by the end of year; having been broken down piece by piece from the previous months.

***

Month 1: September

School was fine; if you could even call it that. Mr. Atchison, my ridiculously short advanced english teacher, was always on my ass, and I guess that you could say that giving me detention was his favorite past-time.

Art was stupid; besides the fact that Kody was in it. We sat together Tuseday afternoon, stool to stool, canvas to canvas, realizing then how bad of an artist Kody actually was. Not that I was any better, but the way he was sketching in French made me believe he was one of those artists. I thought wrong.

"Well," I say to him, still focused on my painting of a tree, my voice being drowned by other conversations around the room, "I always thought of you as one of those emotional artists you know? Like in those cheesy romance books?"

He gives me a glance, then focuses back to his canvas with a slight smile. "Oh really?"

"Yeah, but I guess I thought wrong..." I smirk, while he scoffs next to me, gripping his chest in mock hurt.

"You hurt me Gable, you hurt me." He shakes his head laughing, and continues stroking the blue-toned canvas with a wet paintbrush.

"Just one question..."

"Shoot." He says.

"If you're so-bad at drawing, then why are you always sketching in French?"

"The same reason you bite your lip."

I raise my eyebrows, surprised that he had already taken notice of my habits. "And why is that?"

"Well, because you're nervous. I draw in French because I do not want to get called on. I guess it helps with my nerves..." He runs a shaky hand through his blonde hair that stood up perfectly in every which way, blowing empty air out of frustration.

I pull my stool closer to his, hiding both of our bodies from the teacher while behind his canvas. "Hey, hey, hey. What's up?"

"The sky." He mumbles.

I bite my lip. "Well, there obviously is something wrong. So when you're ready, you can always tell me."

I bring my screechy stool back to my canvas and began painting emotionless strokes, only thinking of what Kody's big problem is.

After long moments of silence, sensing Kody squirming next to me, I hear him gulp. "Fine," He whispers. "Just promise not to tell anyone, ok?"

I raise my eyebrows. "Seriously, do I look like I'm in grade school to you? I promise Kody."

He rolls his eyes, his golden eyebrows furrowed in concentration. "Well, I kind of have dyslexia."

Is that why he's worried of being called on? Worried of having to read in front of the class? "Oh." I whisper. "Well, if you ever need any help with anything-"

"I'm fine." He angrily whispers. He pushes his stool back and stalks out of the room with all eyes trailing after him. The art teacher, Mrs. Boyer didn't even attempt to say anything as the door slammed shut behind him.