The Silent One ✔

Chapter Eleven

Towards the end of lunch is when they all begin to get restless. Ned is flipping his drink bottle onto the table whilst Jenny watches Kelsey with Chris in envy, and Blake keeps talking to me.

"Thompson is throwing a party this weekend" Ned announces with a grin. "Who's in?"

Everyone just shoots him bored looks as Kelsey grins "you know Sam used to throw great parties, when's Sam getting back by the way?" She questions.

The entire group freeze, including Ned to my surprise. I can tell by their faces that Sam whoever he is, is a touchy subject. I'm guessing that Kelsey knew that, and was either careless or just liked aggravating them.

"He's scheduled to be released soon," Blake says hesitantly.

Released?

"Anyway," Ned claps his hands together in order to change the subject "whose up for the Thompson party?"

"No" they all shake their heads.

"What, it'll be fun" Ned insists.

"That's what you say every time" Jenny rolls her eyes.

"Come one we have to go" Ned cries "we are the most popular people at this washed up school"

"That's an overstatement," Chris tells him.

"We're not going," Jenny says with a dangerous gaze.

"There will be booze" Ned smiles.

"I'm listening," Kelsey says.

Jenny sighs in disappointment, as she already suspects that she will be forced to attend.

Suddenly the bell goes, resulting in the group splitting up. Blake and I walked down the hallway together as the others walked in the opposite direction.

For the first time since I've met him, Blake didn't have a smile on his face.

"You okay?" I forced myself to ask him.

Blake nodded slowly "yeah...I'm sorry you had to see that" he sighed, referring to Kelsey asking about their friend.

"Who is he?" I question, folding my arms. "...Sorry, you don't have to tell me if you don't want"

I forget that I'm no longer in an environment where someone asks you something, you are forced to answer. And if you didn't, your face would get kicked in. I figure whoever their friend is, must be important to them all, why else would they go quite and uncomfortable when Kelsey said his name?

"Samuel Wood" Blake starts "he's a friend of ours who was arrested for possession of Cocaine...he got sixteen...seventeen months"

Sixteen months? I got thirty, so I guess I win.

"Oh I'm sorry," I tell him "when is he coming back?"

Immediately I regret asking. I guess I don't know what questions are inappropriate to ask. The last thirty months the only person I really spoke to was my friend Sage when she visited and my cellmate Diane.

"God I don't know," he says honestly "a few months maybe"

If he's anything like the rest of them then I guess we'll get along okay.

"Well, I guess I look forward to meeting him" I half smile.

"Don't say that" he shakes his head.

I furrow my brows in confusion. That's weird. Why wouldn't he want me to say that? Unless Blake and Sam don't get along? It wouldn't surprise me if they don't, Blake is clean cut compared to someone put away for possession of cocaine.

"Why?" I question.

"Sam's my friend... We've known each other for years..." he trails off. "But where ever he is...whatever he does, trouble seems to follow" Blake explains as we stop in front of the art room.

Kinda like me. I guess we'll get along pretty damn great.

"This is my stop" I nod.

"Bye," he smiles as I enter the art room.

A part of me prays that they never find out about my past. Afterall, if they can be so cold towards a friend of theirs after he got arrested, how would they treat me, someone they just met? I sure as hell won't risk it.

"Evangeline" a voice calls. I shoot my head up to find my art teacher sitting behind her desk. "I just wanted to ask about your final piece" she smiles warmly.

I met Ms Walsh yesterday where she told me that I had to come up with a concept for my major piece. I emailed her late last night asking for her thoughts.

The concept is an oil on canvas painting of Marilyn Monroe drowning in dying red roses. I haven't started yet, all I have is this concept that Ms Walsh needs to approve.

"Sure" I nodded cautiously as approaching her side.

Ms Walsh smiles widely "I love it"

"Really?" I raise both brows in surprise.

"Oh yeah I love a darker theme," she tells me "and the fact that you're using Marilyn Monroe is truly breathtaking, she's a Hollywood icon who was considered the sexiest woman of all time...you know I'm curious as to why you chose her?"

I blink. I was not expecting that question.

"Well she had everything...beauty, status, wealth, men...but to her, she was always that girl who bounced around between foster homes...living with her own demons...and the overwhelming fear of being alone" I explain.

"So the roses are symbols for her demons?" Ms Walsh questions.

"No, the dying roses are a symbol of her seemingly perfect reputation and life that starts to decay" I correct.

Ms Walsh smiles. "Nice work, Evangeline"

I nod slowly before walking back to my desk. That was the most I have spoken since I saw Sage last. Maybe staying in this town won't be as bad afterall.

***

When school is finally over I find my grandfathers SUV parked at the kerb. I've been walking to and from school since I started at Riverside high. What is he doing here? When I jump into the backseat of the car, I find my grandpa in the drivers seat and my grandma in the passenger seat.

"Is something wrong? What are you both doing here?" I ask in concern while buckling my seatbelt.

"Your grandmother made you something and she insisted that it couldn't wait till you got home" I feel my grandfather rolling his eyes as he drives off from the kerb.

I furrow my brows "really?"

My grandma turns her head to face me. Her hair is curled and she's wearing a bright smile.

"I made this for you" she slowly passes me a small canvas.

I look down to find a painting of my mum with us kids. Trisha, Jason and me — young and innocent; before my mum died. I look up at my grandma who is still facing me with a wide smile.

"You painted this?" I widen my eyes, my heart fluttering.

She nods her head with excitement as I look back down at the small canvas. My grandma is an artist too. I didn't know she could paint. For the first time in my life, I feel something for the woman in front of me. I never knew that someone I barely know could give me something so special. I carry a part of her with me every day.