Confidently Lost

1! - Bernie

The hallway is like a fish tank, and the students are like fish. They all look like they can't blink because that means they might miss something that happens, heaven forbid they can't talk and gossip about anything right after that 'anything' happens. Their gill-like mouths constantly flap open and closed like they have a need for oxygen. I mean, they probably do regarding the fact that they talk a few words more than their lung capacity and only stop when they are interrupted. It's so freaking annoying. The way that they blabber about nothing important, yet find that specific subject the most important thing to blabber about.

I fiddle with the straps of my backpack that is decorated with perverted looking suns and moons staring back at you. Personally, I think the backpack adds to the aesthetic of my personality; somewhat normal, but when you look close enough you are surprised and thrown into thoughts of 'why' and 'should I look any deeper'. I enter the classroom and toss my bag on the chair in front of me so I can rest my feet there when I get tired during class which is usually right when the teacher starts to talk. When I am just about to start to doodle my creations on the surface of the desk, a hand descends in from of my face and clutches the pencil that was about to violate the shiny, untouched canvas before me. "Can I help you?" I question politely. I glance up and meet the gaze of a familiar boy, he has a stern look of his face which seems to fit him. His lips are pursed and his jaw is clenched slightly enough to show the sharpness of his profile, the thick, but well trimmed eyebrows perched above his eyes knit together in thought, this boy is clearly thinking about how to scold me. "Don't draw on the desk, it vandalizing the property of the school." He states firmly, almost with no emotion as if he has done it a million times. The long and thick fingers proceed to pluck the pen from my iron grip.
"Well excuse me, you're vandalizing my flow of creativity," I snap, reaching for and successfully snatching back the utensil that was unexpectedly taken away.
"You're going to get a detention for it and that will show on your school record. I just don't want to see you setting yourself up for failure." He commented, calmly taking off his glasses and cleaning them on his shirt.
"Why does it even matter to you, goggle boy?" I halt my planned string of curses to see our teacher entering the room and setting up the lesson plan, "now go sit down smart ass. You don't want to miss anything. It might affect your college applications" I grumbled sarcastically and lean farther back into my seat.
"Shoot," he whispers under his breath and scurries to his desk located in the front row. Where he proceeds to take out all of the needed materials for this class even though he knows we aren't using them today.
As the teacher reads through the attendance I drown out the monotone voices that announce 'here' over and over again. Except, for when I hear the familiar deep voice following the name "Damian Briggs". He bellows a "Present," and even raises his hand. I burn a hole in the back of his head with my stare, daring him to turn around and look back. He needs to know that I already despise his whole being just after that short encounter. Ms.Riley continues down the list of students and gets to my name and she doesn't glance up to see my hand go up or listen to hear my voice. Which I don't mind, she just marks me as present because she doesn't want to fill in an excuse if I was absent. By this time I'm already done with half of my dragon with floral patterned scales. Each scale is meticulously drawn as a flower, vines protrude randomly, cascading down the monsters back creating some form of a mane. My beast of flora has a round and soft snout. I try my best to weaken the sharpness of the eyes, but they still are dark and black. The eyes of the creature are dead and lifeless and when I try to add a sparkle to them my dragon ends up looking scared. Well, I'll just give up on that one and begin my dragon of fauna.  Now this dragon has a fierce jaw and ragged teeth. The scales are replaced with feathers and the limbs are long with hooked claws at the end. The face supports an angry expression, yet the eyes are calm. I finish both flying reptiles, and study them. In the end I give up because I can not understand the perplexity of the eyes in each illustration.

Class soon ends and the students funnel out the door. Just as I am about to leave the room I catch Damian grabbing paper towels and cleaners. He shuffles over to the desk I sat in and was about to spray it when he stopped. Damian placed the towels and cleaner on a chair and traced the outline of one of the creatures. He then moved into the other, furrowing his brows in deep concentration. The boys lips part and a scoff of astonishment slips from his throat. He reaches for the objects he took out to clean my 'mess'. Deciding that this is the perfect time to leave I turn on my heel and exit the room.

I never saw him clean it, and my stomach felt queasy. I almost wanted to turn around and peek pack into the room to see if my art was still there. But I didn't, I kept walking convincing myself he did. If I'm being honest, I hope he didn't erase it. I hope he wanted to keep it there as a symbol of defiance for both of us.