This Is The Story Of A Girl
Life's a Bitch
“Are you ready for school?”
I glanced over my shoulder to where Lisa stood waiting patiently for me in the doorway to my bedroom. I nodded and stepped down from the chair I was standing on after putting up my last poster. My eyes scanned over the walls, appraising their new appearance and I smiled in satisfaction. This was more like the room I always wanted.
Friday afternoon Lisa and I went to pick out the paint for my walls and Saturday morning early we were re-painting my room. We decided to paint the wall an off-white color. It had a slight pink glow, but that didn’t bother me. I was a quick enough process filled with awkward conversations as much as awkward silences. Lisa was trying her best to get me to warm up to her, but I wasn’t budging.
I did learn a few new things about her. She was only twenty seven years old. She moved to New Jersey about two years ago and basically set up shop. She’s been selling her paintings since high school and has built up a small group of admirers and regular customers. Her parents died when she was twenty two. She was the youngest sibling of two; however her brother was like twelve years older than she was. That’s why it wasn’t too much of a shock when her parents died, because they were already pretty old. Her dad had a heart attack and a couple of months later, cancer claimed her mother as well. It was actually very sad and I felt sorry for her, but of course I wasn’t going to say anything about it. There she was, paint brush in hand, pouring her heart out or at least sharing her life story with me and I didn’t give anything away. I wasn’t going to let her get to me and that was final.
At dinner that night we discussed the big question mark: the ceiling. We had no idea what we were going to do with it. We didn’t find a solution even after dinner. I slept on the couch that night so the strong smell of paint and turpentine wouldn't drug me.
When I woke up the next morning, I found Lisa painting my ceiling. I helped her finish it by four. It was grayish with lots of other colors. That was the idea. It looked like the sky, dark rolling clouds. It looked like the colors faded into each other. It was beautiful. Lisa was a real artist much better than even I could ever dream to be.
After that the rest of the decorations were my problem, but that was no head breaker. I covered almost every inch with posters: rock bands of course. It was a life size collage. There were a few parts of the wall that were still open. I took my pencils and drew pictures on those spaces. The rest of the open spots were eventually covered by photographs I had of my parents and my best friend, none of previous foster homes or friends long since forgotten. Certain things were just better to forget.
“Ready,” I announced, grabbing my bag off the floor and heading for the door.
She still didn’t trust me to go to school. She’s been driving me ever since I threatened to drop out almost a week ago. It was ridiculous in my opinion, because I’ve never been the type to skip school, believe it or not, but then again she didn’t know that. I had art daily and didn’t intend on missing it. Skipping all the other classes just wasn’t worth the trouble and what else was I going to do with my time?
“I’ll see you after school?”
I mumbled something in response as I got out of the car, slamming the door behind me and walking away. Give me a break. I’ll probably grow up one day.
The school grounds were bustling with kids as usual and it was quite easy to walk around unnoticed. I still got the occasional sneer or rude remark, but I simply ignored it all.
Mr. Hinckley had us doing textures in art while he handed out previous art pieces we did. He made comments on each drawing as he went. I waited anxiously for him to finally give me mine. I was aware of the fact that he was handing out the first drawing I ever gave in since he moved me to the senior class. Grading was obviously going to be stricter and I was nervous about what the feedback would be. However, he finished handing out papers and I still hadn’t gotten mine.
“Jacey, would you please come see me after class?” he said to me and I nodded wide-eyed. Oh, no. He must have thought that he made a mistake moving me here and now he was going to kick me out and tell me that I was a talentless kid just like everyone else at this place.
“You too, Mr. Way,” he added and I turned my head, following his gaze until my eyes fell on a boy with soot black hair covering his ears, his attire consisting primarily of black. I watched him as he looked up from whatever he was working on and nodded. I barely noticed him look up and straight at me, catching me staring at him. He had hazel eyes and seemed to be examining me as much as I did him. I turned around in my seat to face back to the front of the class, feeling a little uncomfortable. What was with this guy? I couldn’t seem to shake him. I ran into him twice and now we were stuck together in class. After a long time I chanced a quick glance at him and noticed that he was still looking at me. I frowned a little, because I had no idea what to think. I shook it off and waited for the bell to ring.
Once it did, kids poured out of the classroom until it was finally just the three of us, me, Mr. Hinckley and the mysterious Mr. Way. We both stopped in front of our art teacher’s desk and he smiled up at us.
“Don’t look so worried, Jacey,” he said reassuringly. “I asked you to stay behind for a good reason.” He pushed back and walked over to his bookshelf, taking something from it before coming back. “I looked at your pictures and I am proud to say that yours were the best. Your drawings are really good.”
With that he put them on the table. I was delighted to see that I had an A. My eyes shifted to the boy’s picture. It was really good – better than mine actually. It was of a girl standing in the rain. She was clutching a teddy bear and had her hood up, only the lower half of her face showing. There was also an obvious tear stain on her cheek. It was a gorgeous picture in blue ink only except for the single black tear running down her cheek.
The boy looked at me and smiled. “Your picture is really good. I can see why Mr. Hinckley moved you here. It trumps even my best efforts.”
“Thanks, but yours is better,” was all I could awkwardly manage.
I grabbed my drawing and excused myself.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the boy. Black hair and hazel eyes that seemed to look through me. And his drawing. Maybe that’s what was bothering me – the girl in the picture looked a lot like me.
*
At lunch I avoided the cafeteria and sat down under the same tree as I did since I discovered the little ‘hide-out’. It’s pretty secluded from the rest of the school. Here I was alone. No one bothered me, no one stared, no one said anything. It was just me and my thoughts and my music.
I put in my earphones and Green Day blasted through the little speakers as I stretched out on the grass, covering my eyes with one arm. Why couldn’t life always be this peaceful? Because life’s a bitch, a small voice told me as I felt the presence of someone else and looked up into a pair of hazel eyes. It’s the same boy that’s been bothering me last week. Funny enough, I haven’t seen him since the incident in the cafeteria. I chose to ignore him and went back to listening to my music.
He smiled down at me and said, “Hi.”
I opened one of my eyes and looked around me.
He laughed, “Yes, I’m talking to you. Do you mind if I join you?”
“Actually, I do.”
“Hey! I thought you weren’t English,” he practically yelled.
I gave a slight smile.
The short teen fake glared at me. “This is my spot. So if you don’t mind,” he said half annoyed, half embarrassed, “I normally come here to be alone.”
“Well then, what are you still doing here?” I asked. “Why do you think I’m here?”
He sat down uninvited, clearly not planning to leave. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but I’m not going anywhere, because that was your longest sentence yet. That means I’m making progress. I’m Frank.”
“I got that much the other day,” I muttered, suppressing a chuckle at the memory.
He scowled and I looked at him for the first time. He wasn’t very tall. He had very dark brown hair, almost black, and hazel eyes. He was pretty good looking and had the biggest cutest smile I had ever seen. He seemed happy for some unexplainable reason.
I pushed these thoughts aside and sighed, annoyed. “Fuck you’re persistent! What do you want from me?”
He just kept smiling at me like a lunatic. “You’re a real bitch aren’t you?”
“Oh, so now you think you know me?” I asked, the corners of my mouth involuntarily twitching upward.
“I could – if you’ll let me,” he answered.
I looked down, “No.”
“Why not?” he wanted to know genuinely curious. “Is there something wrong with me?”
Ignoring his questions I got up, dusted the dry grass from my pants and walked back in the direction of the main building.
“Wait!” he yelled. “Don’t go. I don’t even know your name yet.”
His cries were all in vain, because I wasn’t going to wait. I was mad – not at him, but myself, for letting him get to me. I shouldn’t let him get too close. He seemed like the type of person who crawled into your heart without you even realizing it and then staying there. That was definitely the last thing I needed. I angrily kicked at an empty soda can and stomped my way to my locker as if aggression would solve everything. Until I got back to Chicago, though, anger would have to suffice.
I glanced over my shoulder to where Lisa stood waiting patiently for me in the doorway to my bedroom. I nodded and stepped down from the chair I was standing on after putting up my last poster. My eyes scanned over the walls, appraising their new appearance and I smiled in satisfaction. This was more like the room I always wanted.
Friday afternoon Lisa and I went to pick out the paint for my walls and Saturday morning early we were re-painting my room. We decided to paint the wall an off-white color. It had a slight pink glow, but that didn’t bother me. I was a quick enough process filled with awkward conversations as much as awkward silences. Lisa was trying her best to get me to warm up to her, but I wasn’t budging.
I did learn a few new things about her. She was only twenty seven years old. She moved to New Jersey about two years ago and basically set up shop. She’s been selling her paintings since high school and has built up a small group of admirers and regular customers. Her parents died when she was twenty two. She was the youngest sibling of two; however her brother was like twelve years older than she was. That’s why it wasn’t too much of a shock when her parents died, because they were already pretty old. Her dad had a heart attack and a couple of months later, cancer claimed her mother as well. It was actually very sad and I felt sorry for her, but of course I wasn’t going to say anything about it. There she was, paint brush in hand, pouring her heart out or at least sharing her life story with me and I didn’t give anything away. I wasn’t going to let her get to me and that was final.
At dinner that night we discussed the big question mark: the ceiling. We had no idea what we were going to do with it. We didn’t find a solution even after dinner. I slept on the couch that night so the strong smell of paint and turpentine wouldn't drug me.
When I woke up the next morning, I found Lisa painting my ceiling. I helped her finish it by four. It was grayish with lots of other colors. That was the idea. It looked like the sky, dark rolling clouds. It looked like the colors faded into each other. It was beautiful. Lisa was a real artist much better than even I could ever dream to be.
After that the rest of the decorations were my problem, but that was no head breaker. I covered almost every inch with posters: rock bands of course. It was a life size collage. There were a few parts of the wall that were still open. I took my pencils and drew pictures on those spaces. The rest of the open spots were eventually covered by photographs I had of my parents and my best friend, none of previous foster homes or friends long since forgotten. Certain things were just better to forget.
“Ready,” I announced, grabbing my bag off the floor and heading for the door.
She still didn’t trust me to go to school. She’s been driving me ever since I threatened to drop out almost a week ago. It was ridiculous in my opinion, because I’ve never been the type to skip school, believe it or not, but then again she didn’t know that. I had art daily and didn’t intend on missing it. Skipping all the other classes just wasn’t worth the trouble and what else was I going to do with my time?
“I’ll see you after school?”
I mumbled something in response as I got out of the car, slamming the door behind me and walking away. Give me a break. I’ll probably grow up one day.
The school grounds were bustling with kids as usual and it was quite easy to walk around unnoticed. I still got the occasional sneer or rude remark, but I simply ignored it all.
Mr. Hinckley had us doing textures in art while he handed out previous art pieces we did. He made comments on each drawing as he went. I waited anxiously for him to finally give me mine. I was aware of the fact that he was handing out the first drawing I ever gave in since he moved me to the senior class. Grading was obviously going to be stricter and I was nervous about what the feedback would be. However, he finished handing out papers and I still hadn’t gotten mine.
“Jacey, would you please come see me after class?” he said to me and I nodded wide-eyed. Oh, no. He must have thought that he made a mistake moving me here and now he was going to kick me out and tell me that I was a talentless kid just like everyone else at this place.
“You too, Mr. Way,” he added and I turned my head, following his gaze until my eyes fell on a boy with soot black hair covering his ears, his attire consisting primarily of black. I watched him as he looked up from whatever he was working on and nodded. I barely noticed him look up and straight at me, catching me staring at him. He had hazel eyes and seemed to be examining me as much as I did him. I turned around in my seat to face back to the front of the class, feeling a little uncomfortable. What was with this guy? I couldn’t seem to shake him. I ran into him twice and now we were stuck together in class. After a long time I chanced a quick glance at him and noticed that he was still looking at me. I frowned a little, because I had no idea what to think. I shook it off and waited for the bell to ring.
Once it did, kids poured out of the classroom until it was finally just the three of us, me, Mr. Hinckley and the mysterious Mr. Way. We both stopped in front of our art teacher’s desk and he smiled up at us.
“Don’t look so worried, Jacey,” he said reassuringly. “I asked you to stay behind for a good reason.” He pushed back and walked over to his bookshelf, taking something from it before coming back. “I looked at your pictures and I am proud to say that yours were the best. Your drawings are really good.”
With that he put them on the table. I was delighted to see that I had an A. My eyes shifted to the boy’s picture. It was really good – better than mine actually. It was of a girl standing in the rain. She was clutching a teddy bear and had her hood up, only the lower half of her face showing. There was also an obvious tear stain on her cheek. It was a gorgeous picture in blue ink only except for the single black tear running down her cheek.
The boy looked at me and smiled. “Your picture is really good. I can see why Mr. Hinckley moved you here. It trumps even my best efforts.”
“Thanks, but yours is better,” was all I could awkwardly manage.
I grabbed my drawing and excused myself.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the boy. Black hair and hazel eyes that seemed to look through me. And his drawing. Maybe that’s what was bothering me – the girl in the picture looked a lot like me.
*
At lunch I avoided the cafeteria and sat down under the same tree as I did since I discovered the little ‘hide-out’. It’s pretty secluded from the rest of the school. Here I was alone. No one bothered me, no one stared, no one said anything. It was just me and my thoughts and my music.
I put in my earphones and Green Day blasted through the little speakers as I stretched out on the grass, covering my eyes with one arm. Why couldn’t life always be this peaceful? Because life’s a bitch, a small voice told me as I felt the presence of someone else and looked up into a pair of hazel eyes. It’s the same boy that’s been bothering me last week. Funny enough, I haven’t seen him since the incident in the cafeteria. I chose to ignore him and went back to listening to my music.
He smiled down at me and said, “Hi.”
I opened one of my eyes and looked around me.
He laughed, “Yes, I’m talking to you. Do you mind if I join you?”
“Actually, I do.”
“Hey! I thought you weren’t English,” he practically yelled.
I gave a slight smile.
The short teen fake glared at me. “This is my spot. So if you don’t mind,” he said half annoyed, half embarrassed, “I normally come here to be alone.”
“Well then, what are you still doing here?” I asked. “Why do you think I’m here?”
He sat down uninvited, clearly not planning to leave. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but I’m not going anywhere, because that was your longest sentence yet. That means I’m making progress. I’m Frank.”
“I got that much the other day,” I muttered, suppressing a chuckle at the memory.
He scowled and I looked at him for the first time. He wasn’t very tall. He had very dark brown hair, almost black, and hazel eyes. He was pretty good looking and had the biggest cutest smile I had ever seen. He seemed happy for some unexplainable reason.
I pushed these thoughts aside and sighed, annoyed. “Fuck you’re persistent! What do you want from me?”
He just kept smiling at me like a lunatic. “You’re a real bitch aren’t you?”
“Oh, so now you think you know me?” I asked, the corners of my mouth involuntarily twitching upward.
“I could – if you’ll let me,” he answered.
I looked down, “No.”
“Why not?” he wanted to know genuinely curious. “Is there something wrong with me?”
Ignoring his questions I got up, dusted the dry grass from my pants and walked back in the direction of the main building.
“Wait!” he yelled. “Don’t go. I don’t even know your name yet.”
His cries were all in vain, because I wasn’t going to wait. I was mad – not at him, but myself, for letting him get to me. I shouldn’t let him get too close. He seemed like the type of person who crawled into your heart without you even realizing it and then staying there. That was definitely the last thing I needed. I angrily kicked at an empty soda can and stomped my way to my locker as if aggression would solve everything. Until I got back to Chicago, though, anger would have to suffice.
Notes
Warning! Long ass author's note coming your way!First, I want to apologize for the wait. I've been drowning in work, but hopefully the next chapter will be up sooner :)
Secondly, I just wanted to share with you guys that this fic was the first one I ever wrote. Of course the original sucked considering that I didn't know anything about writing and it was basically just a dialogue of 'he said/ she saids'. It's taking some time to add some substance to the story and to add some color to the characters' stories/lives.
Let me know what you think ;)
11/15/13