Page 6 of Infinity Chronicles 1
I lift my shoulders in a shrug and answer the only question she really cares about. “No boyfriend, new or otherwise.”
We're getting close to the stairs that lead up to my locker.I'm hoping she'll leave soon so I can go eat my lunch in peace. She stops and turns to face me fully. Most of the other kids are headed in the opposite direction to the cafeteria, so we're mostly alone. “Well I do. Have a boyfriend that is, Dante.”
“That's nice,” I offer in a small voice. I know what she's doing. She really shouldn'tbother; I'm no threat to her.
“He told me you were trying to get him to help with your art project.” Her arms get folded over her chest as she stares at me. I don't meet her eyes but give her my full attention. I can't believe he told her that. First off, I didn't ask him for help at all, the teacher did. Heatinvades my cheeks, I bet they're already pink.
“The teacher asked him, not me,” I defend, even though I should just let her speak her piece so we can move on.
“Yeah okay,” she says in a mocking tone like she thinks I'm lying. After a few tensemoments of us both just standing there, she shakes her head and turns away back to the direction we came. “Just stay away from him,” she sneers, delivering her final words with her back to me while walking away.
All through lunch, instead of happily being pulled into the pages of the book I am reading about a girl whose touch kills, I'm fighting off an indignant embarrassment. What would make him tell her I was asking him for help? Why even bring it up? I spend my thirty-five minutes dreading my final hour even more than I already did.
* * *
When he pullsout his stool, I'm already busying myself with facial proportions. Having the transfer sheet helps a bunch. I can line it up with my drawing and use a write and wipe marker to practice the techniques Mr. Adams showed me yesterday.
I'm really expecting Dante to ignore me.“Seems like you're doing okay,” he says quietly in a deep low voice. I nod with no other acknowledgment. He sits, waiting for a few more moments before standing, going to grab his project from the back of the room.
Everything seems to be going okay until I reach a spot where I'm not sure how to proceed. I have all the proportions lightly mapped out, and now I need to actually start on the details of the eyes, nose, and mouth.
Mr. Adams is at the front of the room, having already walked around to all the different tables a few times. He seems to be free enough where I could ask how to proceed. I set my pencil down and slide off the stool, grabbing my work as I go.
“Laura,” he greets me. When I put my page on the desk, he looks it over with a critical eye. “Not bad, not bad at all. You think you're ready to move on to the next step?”
I give a quick nod and Mr. Adams gathers two sheets from his filing cabinet. “Go ahead and grab the transfer, that way we can practice eye shape.”
Heading back to the desk with Mr. Adams, I know Dante is watching me, even when I'm not looking at him, I can tell his face is trained in my direction.
“One of the most important factors in getting the eyes realistic, is the iris and lid shape. When you actually look at someone,” his eyes peer at mine, “you rarely actually see the full iris.” Mr. Adams eyes round before they twitch back and forth between my eyes. He clears his throat, “Unlike your eyes, your model’s eyes are the practically covered with her lids, and it obscures some of the top of her iris.”
Mr. Adams spends a few minutes going over a few different eye shapes with me using the transfer over top of my portrait. I catch him glancing at me a few times while he speaks. People rarely notice I have two slightly different colored eyes, but he has. I can always tell by the way their eyes flick back and forth between mine.
Back at the table, I'm still trying to decide if the girl I'm using as my model actually has almond eyes or not. It's hard to get the line thin enough using the marker, but I practiceit a few times, drawing and wiping it away repeatedly.
The pencil seemslight in my hand as I sketch light lines on the real paper. Without the eyelid and eyeball the image staring back at me is slightly haunting. I get little else done before Mr. Adams tells the class to put our projects away before the bell rings. I load the practice sheet and the two pages he gave me in my bag to use at home, before moving toward the back of the room to put my drawing away. Once I've done that, most of the other kids are already back in their seats, having already put their work into the numbered totes in the back.
I notice Dante avidly watching me, but I keep my eyes on my bag, ignoring him.
“Laura,” he says my name like a question when I get back to the table. Great, I was hoping I could ignore him altogether.
I clear my throat. I haven't spoken in hours. “Yeah?” It comes out a little croaky
“About yesterday. Sorry about that...” he trails off for a second, his gruff voice almost making it sound like he's growling at me. “You seem to be catching on pretty well.”
I'm starting to put the pieces together as he tugs a leather jacket over his shoulders. Dark pants, black t-shirt. I think he's the bad boy from the mismatched group this morning. So, he's who cheer girl was heading for.
“It's fine. I didn't know Mr. Adams would ask you to help me. Sorry he bothered you with that.” I should have just accepted his apology and moved on, but I find the words falling from my lips without thought. With my backpack over a shoulder I face forward, twining my fingers together in my lap. It's the most I've spoken to anyone in school in a while.
Sometimes I wonder why I bother anymore. Every town is the same, we roll in, find some seedy RV park to set up in. I find a small-time job that barely manages to keep food on the table.
Then there's school. Where I spend my time walking the halls like a shadow, just so my mom won't panic and pick us up and leave even sooner than the three months we usually average.
I can't count how many times I thought about quitting, and getting my GED so I wouldn't have to put up with going to school every day. Then I might get a better job.
Something stops me every single time I close to giving up. I know it's the false hope of being normal someday. Of finding a place where mom can actually relax and settle down. A place where I could graduate and find a small local college, a place where I could make a friend.
I catch movement from the corner of my eye. Dante is rubbing the back of his neck with his head leaning over the table, trying to look at me. No, that's wrong. He's trying to see me.
