Tomorrow, Gloria would leave. Lucy, Gloria, and I went to the art museum. We were planning on exploring the whole museum, but ended up getting sucked into a little area and started sewing. At the school Lucy and I used to go to, they taught everybody how to sew. Gloria never learned how to, but figured out how pretty quickly. Gloria did even better than we did. We stayed there for a long time. At one point, two high school girls came to our table and started sewing and talking to each other. I tried to join in a few times but then stopped and just listened to them.
"Oh my god! Mr. Taylor is does such hard projects, I bought three packs of pink paper for his class," said the one next to me, wearing a white dress and had black hair.
"Oh my god, totally! Christina was crying because she didn't have any pink paper, I ended up painting my paper pink! I still got a ninety-five on the project," said the one across from me with dark skin and pink hair. She was wearing a black dress and make up.
"I got an a hundred," shouted the black haired one. They both giggled.
"Mr. Taylor, like, hates me! Maybe it's because I use to many bathroom passes and take, like, twenty minutes in there! Like-," the pink haired one shouted, spitting in my face a tiny bit. They both giggled again.
"I think he actually likes me, I don't know why! Like, all my other teachers hate me"!
"Yeah, I think Mr. Khatri likes me. Actually, he hates me, he's just too chicken to throw me out of band. I don't even play. He's just like, 'play louder'. I'm not even playing"! I got mad this time. I was in the school band, I was a percussionist. I wasn't as good as the other percussionists, but I really tried. I don't say anything, but I kept listening.
The two girls continued talking about things like school.
"Oh my god, I think it's time to go," says the pink haired one.
"Yeah, wait, I thought you were making cat," the black haired girl says, confused. I look over to see the pink haired one holding a little fabric with a bunch of yellow stitches scattered everywhere.
"I don't know what I made! What did you make"?
"An 'L'," the black haired one says, "should I leave it here"?
"Why an 'L'"?
"I don't know"!
"Well, you always looked like a Maria or a Lynda"!
"Yeah, but none of those start with 'L'," the black haired one says.
YOU ARE READING
Museum
Short StoryA short story about being in school that takes place out of school.
