A Golden Locket

Peter- Suggested Pencil Murder

Third and fourth period were almost non-existent. Meeting up with William in second year French, I proceeded to tell him every excruciating detail of what had gone on in only two periods.

First we talked about the lab partner shit, then all of the freshmen making me late, meeting up with Levi, and how we had to sit with him at lunch. At this point we were caught by the French Teacher, whose name I can’t pronounce and were yelled at in a language that I don’t understand, even though I have taken a full year in it. After a while I dropped the bomb about what happened with Alice and Chris in Gym. He was shocked.

“A volleyball?”

“Yea, right at the top of my spinal cord.” I mumbled, instinctively rubbing the area where I was hit. “It’s gonna bruise bad.”

I lean forward so he can see it, before he can say more; we are yelled at once again. This teacher is really going to hate me.

Trying to salvage what’s left of my French dignity, I stay silent for the rest of the class. Bon Voyage easy A.

Finally it’s time for art class, I walk in and get set up at an easel. This class was going to be a piece of cake. I’ve been drawing, and painting, and coloring, pretty much since I came out of the womb.

Many people have said I have a great natural talent. I don’t disagree with them. It’s like the curves and strokes just come out, I don’t even think about it. As I was unpacking my paints and brushes, I heard the squeak of the stool beside me. I looked up to see who my new neighbor would be and immediately regret it.

Christiana Bradford was slouched over a sketchbook at the station beside me. Her chestnut hair cascaded around her face, just enough so that I couldn’t get a good look, but there was no doubt. She sat in a light minty dress, which I’ll have to admit looked great on her. She has curves in all of the right places, hard to believe she’s never been able to keep a boyfriend.

I have to keep in mind; she did hit me in the back of the head with a volley ball this morning.

The instructions on the board were clear; begin sketching a mural that describes you in every way. Mrs. Haven stood at the front of the class, only to make a few announcements about the project.

“I want to know everything about you from this one piece of art. This should be special; it symbolizes you, and only you. I have had most of you for at least one year, and in this piece of art more than any other I should be able to look at and say, ‘Yes, that’s his alright.’” And with that she sat at her own easel.

Over the two years I’ve had Mrs. Haven I’ve learned that she liked to do an art project along with her students. She says it “keeps her muse fresh.”

Turning my attention back to Christiana I noticed she had already started sketching on her final canvas. She must be really confident in her art.

Before I look away, she catches me staring. She shoots me a look that says “I hit you with a volleyball already today, don’t make me stab you with this pencil.”

I go back to my own work; the class couldn’t have gone by faster.