Drawn Into Love

Chapter Four

I said that this chapter was going to be out much sooner... Well, I was very wrong. At least it's an update?

Emily

My day was going perfectly fine. Well not amazing, since Ms. Parsons called me out twice, and the soulmate thoughts, but normal enough.

But then he ran into me.

I was walking through the halls, almost in the stairwell, when a boy around my age comes barreling out of nowhere.

I stumbled forward, right into an unsupervised painters tray, filled with bright fire-engine red paint. I lift my right leg, now with the shoe dripping in paint, and spin around, some of the paint from my shoe splattering on the tiled floor.

"Hey, watch it!" I threaten, my eyes full of hate. He glances over at me, then he looks over my head at two boys, presumably the same age as us, racing down the stairs, smirking and sticking their tounges out at him.

He turns back to me, and strangely zones off for a second, a confused look on his face, but quickly snaps out of it, regaining his original demeanour. It was odd, but I decided to let it slide because I had more important matters to deal with. Hint: The paint on my shoe.

"Okay, calm down, calm down," he says half-heartedly, still watching the two boys run down the stairs.

One of them, the shorter one with curly blond hair, yells, "We'll leave without you!" But the only thing the boy standing in front of me does is sticks his tongue out at him.

They are immature, I thought, looking at their child-like behaviour. If they didn't look like sophomores, they probably would have been mistaken for 8 year-olds.

I snapped out of my observation when I say him step to the side of me and say, "If you would excuse me, I kind of have somewhere I need to be-"

"Hold on," I said, cutting him off. I had an idea, yes it might be a little childish, but it would clear up the bad rap I had with Ms. Parsons.

"If I were to turn you into the teachers for running in the halls, it would clear up the bad rap I have with Ms. Parsons," I repeat out loud, crossing my arms across my chest for effect.

"Ugh..." he stammers, while I wait for an answer, laughing in my head at the look on his face.

"Don't? Please?" he begs, and I secretly knew that even if I turned him in, I would still have a bad rap with Ms. Parsons. So I decided to let him slide.

I take a long and exasperated sigh (Once again for effect) before I say, "Fine, you can go," then I pause, building up the suspense.

Clearly, he didn't get that, because he turns to go, so I call after him, "I better not catch you doing that again!"

He didn't even seem phased, he just called back over his shoulder, "Will do!"

I think we both know he will end up running in the halls again.

Just for fun, I hold up my hands and mime a throat-cutting action. That was a mistake. Immediately I see the colours drain from his face, and I realize that my sweatshirt sleeve had slipped down, revealing the little doodle monster my soulmate had drawn.

I quickly lower my hands, tugging my sweatshirt sleeve down, hoping he didn't get a good look at it.

His face changed from shock to confusion, and he walked away like a zombie, his mind somewhere else. I sigh, not thinking much of it.

As I head over to the stairs, I realized I was earning weird looks from other students in the hallway, mostly at my foot, which is how I remembered I still had wet paint on my foot.

I could feel the paint seeping into my shoe and covering my sock. I was going to have a hard time getting the paint out. If I was lucky, I would be able to avoid a lecture from my mom about how the paint will affect me in the future. If not- I would have to block off a 30- minute time slot.

Oh, why couldn't this just be like a movie or a book where if something bad happens they heal instantly?

I heave a big sigh, a real one this time, and make my way down the stairs to the washroom, in hopes of getting most of the paint off there, so I don't have to walk around for half the day with a shoe leaving paint trails everywhere I go. 

• • •

The washroom is an organised chaos. All the mirrors are occupied, and almost all the washrooms are in use. In one corner, a group of girls are complaining loudly about who-knows-what, and in another, by the sinks, a girl is doing a dramatic replay of a scene that happened in her class to two other girls. 

I first try the paper towel dispenser, but once again it's empty, though the trash can underneath is overflowing with crumpled paper towel, along with the occasional food wrapper. 

I hurry to the nearest free bathroom, rip a handful of toleit paper from the dispenser and hurridly try to wipe my shoe. A couple of girls give me weird looks, but most are absorbed in what they're doing. One, who oddly enough, is banging on the empty paper towel dispenser, like paper towel will magicaly appear. I want to tell her, but then again I think she will figure out soon enough. 

Heading out of the washroom, I'm greeted with almost-empty halls, most students either in the cafiteria or outside. 

Then it dawns on me. I promised Kate I would meet her outside. Looking up at the clock in the halls, a realised I was almost 5 minutes late. Without a second thought, I sprinted down the hall.