SAPPHIC

1|TEENAGE FEVER.

I know no religion like the black of her hair dancing against the back of her chair. In the back of the class- between the old, metal cart that held a big back TV on it that has collected a thick amount of dust like a blanket and the heater that sounded like it had Bronchitis or some respiratory infection the way it whistled and shouted- that's where I sat. Sighing quietly as Mr. Grier dragged on and on about something completely off-topic from the scribble of notes across the white board we were to be writing down in our notebooks. All that moved were his lips since Lana Del Rey had been serenading my ears like I was the lover who hurt her. Shoveling my trembling fingers through my bluntly chopped hair that whispered right above my collarbones-it was usually always a disheveled mess hanging in front of my face like a velvet curtain. 

From the back I saw everything. One of those things. Or person, rather, was Dylon Skai Willis. She was beauty and grace and had no problem punching you in the face. Dylon cooly slouched sideways, directly in the front of the room. She kept the attention of her small group of friends Kian and Monroe. Even though she'd been well-known for her blunt and cut-throat personality she didn't keep too many friends around. Watching as she made Monroe laugh before leaning over her desk to say something close to her ear, Monroe was the kind of girl who just looked cool without even trying hard. Olive toned skin-she'd been from some country in the Middle East. Her eyes were like liquid copper and lips like the inside of a rose but Dylon, oh Dylon she was a sight for sore eyes. She was so damn charming it could make a good man turn bad. Her dark eyes slit and low meeting mine momentarily, my heart raced as she laughs like God. 

By everyone raising out of their seats I figured that meant the class was over. Pushing my things back into my bag and slinging it over my shoulder before sauntering through the uneven rows of desks, I'd been the last out of the class. Keeping my head low like always until I felt a faint tap on the side of my arm. All of the blood in my body rushing directly to my cinnamon cheeks as the Goddess herself gave me a swarm of butterflies, "Oh." I whispered softly as she smiled innocently, but it was so damn sexy that it made my teeth capture my lip firmly.

"Tyron(Ty-Ren), right?" She shoved her hands into the pockets of her gray hoodie that'd been underneath the olive parka, leaning against the locker with her hip sticking out. Dylon blew a big bubble with her gum, narrowing her eyes directly on me. Fiddling with the over-sized sleeves of my worn out flannel as she sized me up and down. I simply nodded while watching the crowd in the halls die down. "What's your next period?"

"Um....Ad-advanced Art with Can-Cantwell." Pushing my hair behind my ear anxiously as her eyes bored into me like she could mentally break me down. 

"Well, how about you skip with me? Monroe and Kian left me high and dry." Dylon began walking off and I wasn't an idiot so I rushed behind her to meet up with the long strides of her long legs. Only seventeen but walks the hallways so mean. It wasn't my first time speaking to Dylon but I wouldn't call us being peers exactly friends. She asked me for a pencil once and said "excuse me" another time but nothing much else. Did she have pity for me? The quiet, awkward girl with no friends she decided to talk to. 

"You ever skip before?" Dylon glanced over her shoulder, smiling small down at me. My eyes scanned over her wispy lashes, deep eyes and the thickness of her eyebrows. I often would skip my gym class or ditch lunch to sit in the library or on the top of one of the stairwells. Out of instinct my eyes dropped to Dylon' swaying hips and the way her ass looked in her black jeans. I didn't even realize her holding open a door behind her for me to walk through. At the front of an empty room was a man, who looked like he spent his time downtown and going to art museums. A thick beard as if every month was No-Shave November and wiry-brim glasses that sat on the bridge of his crooked nose. Clothes so worn it looked like he picked it from the donation bins of the Salvation Army. His eyes skimmed some old book. I've never seen this room before it had old computers and TVs like the ones in the back of the classrooms. Large, cloudy windows that vaguely gave a view of outside, it was quiet and empty. Chairs on top of old tables and a projector playing a John F. Kennedy documentary that was mainly focused on conspiracies. The few students that filled the much too big classroom that looked more like some dining hall with tables and chairs. Scanning over the tops of the heads to count thirteen students. Awkwardly standing near the windows where wind whistled into the room making goosebumps form underneath the thin flannel.