Page 5 of Infinity Chronicles 1
“Hello,” I all but whisper back without lifting my eyes from my project. I can feel him watching me, so I continue to stare at my almost blank paper.
When a few moments pass without him speaking again, I think I'm in the clear. That is until Mr. Adams comes over to check my progress, or rather lack thereof.
“Laura, I'm starting to think you were telling the truth about not being the artist I thought you were.” His tone is light and teasing.
I shrug somewhat limply. “Yeah, I'm pretty lost here,” I respond back, watching his blue paisley tie which is layered over a cream colored button-up shirt.
“Well it's a good thing I had the exceptional foresight to seat you with my star pupil. What do you say Dante, can you give Laura some guidance on her next step?”
Dante sits quietly beside me. Mortification hits me fast. I can feel the heat invading my cheeks and down my neck. “Mr. Adams, I still have to finish this.” He gestures down to his work of art. His hand, stained black from charcoal, fans over the gorgeous woman looking up from the paper.
“That's okay,” I rush out. I know he doesn't want to be burdened with helping me. “Honestly I'll manage,” I continue even softer.
My shoulders are slumped forward, trying to make myself smaller so I can forget how embarrassing it is I don't have to try hard for people to not want to be around me.
They're both quiet as I pull my drawing closer and hunch over my work.
“Laura,” his voice tight, my teacher begins, “I have some examples of proportion division. Those will give you a better idea how to split the face, and where to place the features.” I peerup at him and meet his eyes briefly if only to convey my gratitude.
“Come on, we'll make a transfer paper too. That way you can get some ideas on top of what you've already got started on here.”
He pulls my paper from the table and I follow him to the front of the room, where he drops my unfinished work on his desk before gathering a thin sheet of clear paper, then combs through a filing cabinet in the corner.
The noise level in the class stays at a low hum of scratching pencils and quiet voices as I wait beside Mr. Adams’s desk. He returnsquickly and motions me forward.
“All right, so here are a few illustrations on facial proportions.” He spends the next ten minutes going over techniques on dividing the face down the middle then splitting it horizontally so I know where to place the hairline, eyes, nose, and mouth. When he's done, I also have a traced outline, perfectly proportioned, on the clear sheet that fits directly over what I started yesterday, which he said I could use as a reference guide.
The bell rings before I have a chance to make it back to my seat. It sends a shot of relief through me that I won't have to sit next to Dante after that super embarrassing moment.
I don't blame him for not wanting to help, I get that he has his own work to do. I wish the teacher hadn’t even asked.
I'm slow going back to collect my things from the table, but Dante is still there, almost like he's waiting for me to return. “Hey, sorry about—”
“Dante!” I hear a shrill voice shout into the door. He turns away and I use the distraction to grab my things, hustle behind him, and around the room. I'm sliding past the blonde girl in the doorway when I hear him almost growl in what sounds like an exasperated, “What?”
I'm out the door, dashing down the hall too fast to hear her response.
I stop at a small diner on the way home. I turned in an application here yesterday and I'm hoping the manger will have had time to look it over, without having a phone for them to call for an interview, I have to be careful enough not to make a pest of myself when checking the status of an application, making sure they know I'm interested in getting the job even though I don't have any contact information. Some places dismiss me immediately, thinking that without a phone or a permanent address I won't be worth the effort. I really hope the diner isn't one of those, because it's in a great location halfway between home and school.
A bell tinkles as I push through the door. Only a few people are sitting at the long counter lined with swiveling stools. Even fewer people are dotted throughout the booths along the windows.
Maggie, the older woman I gave my application to yesterday, smiles when she sees me. I take it as a good sign, it's not the ‘I'm sorry it's not going to work out smile,’ but rather a genuine smile which lights up her face.
“How soon can you start?” She asks when she’s done refilling a cup of coffee for a man sitting up at the bar.
The relief is swift an immediate. “As soon as you need me.”
Three
Wednesday I have a small setback in my plan to fall into obscurity. Somehow, I've gained the attention of cheer girl. I have a sinking suspicion that not only was she the girl from the stairwell, but also the girl from the end of art class yesterday. When you’re constantly looking at the floor, it's hard to recall faces. She's definitely not someone whose radar I want to be on though.
“Hey, new girl. Laura, right?” Her voice is light, but she sounds a little winded. She probablyrushed to catch up with me. I turn my head in her direction just enough so she's knows I'm not ignoring her, but not enough to fully focus onher either.
“So what's your story?” I wish she would leaveme alone so I could go to the stairwell for my lunch.
“What do you mean?” I sound timid, even to my own ears.
“Well, why'd youmove here? Where are you living? Got a boyfriend? Maybe looking for a new one?”
