Tuesday

Kayleigh ambushed me as soon as English was over. “He’s got a brother!” she told me so seriously that you’d think it was the one fact that could end global warming. Then again, to her it might.

“His name is Chris. He’s in my last class, and he’s even better than Connor! Can you imagine?” Insert dramatic sigh here. I rolled my eyes and held my tongue so I didn’t tell her that yes; I could imagine someone better than Connor.

I listened patiently to her gush about golden hair and blue eyes. Just about the time that all her lovey-dovey crush crap was making me ill, we walked into class, and one of her many other friends dragged her away from me.

Somewhere after that the teacher began the lecture, but my hand must have been the only thing hearing it because it was deftly scribbling notes that looked nearly perfect. Mr. Hatcher smiled and slapped me on the back as I passed through his door to art class.

Mrs. Silvia was my favorite teacher, and when I got into the classroom, she nodded toward the board and smiled. It was a free day.

We could draw in our personal sketchpads or use oil paints on canvas. She didn’t care as long as we were doing some sort of art. I slipped my own personal sketchpad and various pencils out of my art cubby and went to sit down.

I flipped to a new page and began to sketch. At first it just seemed like random lines, but then they turned into an arm and a shirt with a neck and another arm attached. Eventually, Connor Shields stared out at me from my paper with the smirk that hinted he knew more than you ever would. I went to tear it out and throw it away, but then Mrs. Silvia came by.

“That’s beautiful Ashton. You really captured him,” she told me approvingly. She smiled her white toothed grin and flowed away in all her gray haired glory.

Mrs. Silvia was sixty-three and still gorgeous. Her hair shone in the sun, and she seemed to always be immaculate despite teaching art and painting a little herself.

In the end, I left Connor in my sketchpad. I was proud of Mrs. Silvia’s praise. When the bell ended, I attempted to flow out of the classroom like the old woman but succeeded in only feeling dumb.

The halls sang with an electric energy that was odd for a Tuesday, but then the wind started whispering hints of a fight. For all those with fifth period lunch, such as me, excitement spurred them on.

For some reason, I wondered if Connor was in the fight, but I didn’t have to think on it for too long because Kayleigh showed up in seconds with the promise of gossip in her eyes. This time I didn’t even have to prompt her. She just let loose like the flood gate at the dam right outside town.

“Ayden insulted Chris, and Chris warned him off. Ayden just wouldn’t shut up, though, so Chris told him to meet him at lunch!”

I was only barely listening because I was too busy thinking that if I touched Kayleigh right then, I’d probably get an electric shock. She was nearly vibrating she was so pumped. It was obvious that she thought even more of Chris now that he was a “tough guy.”

If I didn’t know Kayleigh as well as I did, I’d probably assume that she was falling in love. Luckily for me, I wasn’t that oblivious. No, this was Kayleigh in minor crush mode.

I rolled my eyes at her, and started going the opposite way from the fight. At which point, I was forced to explain why watching two boys fight over a simple insult was stupid. In her usual Kayleigh style, she informed me that I was insane.

I laughed and made my way to the gym. It was empty, as I’d expected it to be, and I pulled out the art supplies I’d hoarded away while Mrs. Silvia wasn’t looking. It was just a new sketchpad and some old pencils, but I still felt bad for stealing from the art class and teacher I loved so much.

As I looked out on the basketball court, a picture formed in my head, and my hand flipped to a new page and pulled out a gray pencil. About fifteen minutes later, I had Connor standing in the middle of the cracked ball court from the previous night.

His black hair mingled with the darkening sky, and the tanned skin of his torso rippled with tension as the ball arced through the air. The browned net stood vigilant waiting to reject the ball.

“You draw?” a voice asked, startling me from my thoughts. I was Rebekka Cavanaugh. She was one of Kayleigh’s many friends, but she was the only one of them that actually talked to me, even if it was in passing.

I snapped the book closed before she got the “brilliant” idea to come look at the picture I’d been drawing. “Not often, it seems to be a new hobby of mine.”

“You work with confidence,” she informed me, “and if you’d asked me, I’d have said you’d been drawing for years.” For some reason, this seemed to perplex her.

I furrowed my brow, confused. There was no hint in her voice that informed me if this was supposed to be a compliment or not. I began to pack up my stuff. The sketchbook nestled against my other books happily, and then the pencils stood proudly next to it.

“Oh yeah,” I said, glancing up at Rebekka. “Who won the fight?” It was a last thought on my part, but I figured that it couldn’t hurt to ask.

“Chris, actually. Even though Ayden’s bigger, Chris has more experience. It was over in about ten minutes.” I grinned. Kayleigh would be on Cloud Nine. I walked out of the gym with a little spring in my step.

For the rest of the day, though, Kayleigh was nowhere to be found. Slowly, I lost my spring. I was beginning to wonder where she was when the last bell rang.

The first step out of the classroom, and suddenly, she was there. However unexpected it might have been, it was still welcome. Her blonde hair bounced around her shoulders playfully, and there was a glow in her cheeks. One word popped into my head- Chris.

“Chris and I talked after the fight, and he invited me to join him tonight.” She paused, and I grinned for her. “He’s taking me to see a new movie.” She was psyched and I didn’t want to break that, so I “forgot” to mention that Tuesdays were our study nights.

“Have fun,” I said instead. “I’ll want to hear all about it tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” she asked incredulously. “You’ll be my first call as soon as I get home and he leaves!”

I laughed, knowing that she wouldn’t call me. She’d be too busy analyzing everything he’d said to her just so she could decide that she’d made a fool of herself. Then, she would come to me tomorrow with apologies, needing some reassurance.

I’d smile and figuratively pat her head, letting her know that, no; she did not make a fool of herself. Her call of goodbye popped my thought bubble and sent me off to the hell hole called home.

Home in one piece, I didn’t even glance around. In my room, I dropped my bag. My hand dug into it, closed around my sketchpad and pencils. I shoved them into a small bag and scraped up my MP3 player.

This time, I had no doubt about where I was going. That dilapidated, old park was calling to me, and to be honest, so was the prospect of seeing Connor again. My feet took me where my head knew I wanted to go. The swings still stood. The cracked court still crouched wickedly, posed almost as if to eat its occupant. In the middle stood a boy, tension roiling through the muscles in his shoulders.

When I sat on the swing, I popped in my headphones and pulled out me sketchpad and a worn down charcoal. As soon as it hit paper, it took me away from the park and into the drawing. As soon as I came out of it, I knew I hadn’t drawn Connor.

It was something a little closer to home… A woman stood in a rankled tee and smiled out at me. Her hair fell around her shoulders in a messy, mass that somehow still made her look beautiful. Her cheeks were the color of a new pink rose bud. Her eyes smiled, and her name was Sarah… or to me, Mom.

I named the picture “Before” and signed the bottom. She used to look like that, before the miscarriage. Dad used to come out of his studio to tell her how beautiful she was and kiss her. Now everything was different.

“You draw,” a voice that was much too close for my liking asked. Connor was behind me, peering over my shoulder. I snapped the book shut, and he gave me an odd look. “Any other pictures in there?” He made as if to grab it, and I hugged it to me.

“No,” I informed him. “I do not draw.”

“Really now? Then what do you call that little thing you were doing with that charcoal and those colored pencils?” I glared.

That’s when Ash decided to come out. “Go miss some baskets, why don’t you, and leave me alone?” Now he looked mad. The muscle in his jaw was ticking. Without looking back- for fear of staying or being hit, I wasn’t sure- I put my things away and walked off.

The “After” Sarah was sitting on the couch when I got home. She smiled bleakly and waved me up to my room as the TV blasted reality television. When, after I put up my stuff and got into bed, I fell asleep, I couldn’t help but dream of Connor.

Reviews

[0_o Abbie]

wow. I really like this. I think you have a thing for bad-boys. ha ha. Jk. This is really good tho. :D