“And so, there is several rumors floating around all over the world that Edvard Munch’s The Scream is going to be put on the market for auction. It is not entirely sure yet, but….” I groaned mentally. Why was my art teacher telling us this? We were studying some dude, Pecan? No. Picasso? Yea, something Picasso. I thought he had done that painting, not Edvard Munch.
Who names their kid Edvard? I mean, seriously, what kind of person does that? Even if he was born and died a long time ago, Edvard still doesn’t sound like a common name. Edward is, couldn’t they just name him Edward? It would be a lot easier than Edvard. I feel bad for the guy, having to live with his parent’s mistake.
“Mr. Blankner, if you have something bad to say then why don’t you go say it some where that you won’t disturb others from learning the arts?” I pressed my lips firmly together as my classmates laughed at Ms. Dison’s comment.
Why do I have to be here? Art is my least favorite subject with the worst teacher in the school. Ms. Dison. She hates my guts because I hate art. I’m more of a jock than an artist, heck I’m one hundred sixty percent that I am not an artist. I don’t know if I am good at art because I never have and never will try it out. General music or even health would be way better than art.
“Well, Ms. Dison,” I slurred her name in a thick, anticipating tone, “I personally believe that I am speaking for half of the class when I say this, but your teaching skills have disabled me to hate the arts.” I snapped back at her, hiding my fists under the black, drawn on table.
I watched as her mouth dropped open and I swear I thought I saw steam come out of her ears My art teacher’s face was a bright red and her brown eyes looked like they were about to explode. Did I say something wrong? I only told her the truth, plus some.
“Anthony Blankner! Get your butt-” She started to say but suddenly, the fire alarm rang. It was piercing my ears and as I stood up, I felt as if my ears were about to give up from the high pitched, blood curling sound. Terror rose in the room the sprinklers from above us started to pour. I couldn’t help but laugh at the girls-and one or two boys-that were screaming something about their hair, their clothes, or their makeup.
Daniel, my best friend, punched my arm and I heard him exclaim, “Anthony, looks like you got out of trouble! Again! How the hell do you do that…?” His voice trailed off as Ms. Dison was screaming at the class to follow out into the hallway. Many people were running, pushing others behind them so they could get outside first. And I thought that in these situations you were supposed to stay calm, not panic, but I guess that's the way of the world; to panic.
Daniel and I started walking to the door at a fast pace, unfortunately, were the last ones out as the smoke started to burn our eyes. I squinted and I looked back inside the classroom, just in case I forgot something important. Instead, I saw a girl. She was sticking her head in a book, feet up on the table, not even noticing the fire. Ok, that is weird. As my friend tried to get my attention, I snapped at him.
“Hey dude! Cut it out will ya? No, just go. I will be right out. Don’t come back looking for me.” I don’t know why I said that, maybe my temper got the best of me, but I don’t know. I had this weird aura that I needed to save this girl. Call my crazy, going into a classroom, risking my life to save some girl that is an idiot, asking for a death sentence practically.
He just threw his hands up and spun on his heel. I coughed, clearing the smoke from my lungs. “Hey!” I shouted, my voice cracked as I felt the heat from the fire down the long hall way. The girl still didn’t look up, good book, I guess.
