Heaven Knows

10: Dominic

Chapter 10: Dominic

I was never good in Math. Never in my whole human existence have I ever been smart as the great Pythagoras in Math. So my conclusion to this Scientific Hypothesis about my Math problems that doesn’t involve Science at all is that I suck in Math. But you know what? I also learned from Math and I actually applied it to love. I’d like to call it the “Guess and Hope” method.

If you confess your love to a girl, does that make you a couple? If you happen to kiss the girl and eventually she responds, does that mean you’re on? And if you escort her home and she lets you hold her hand, does that mean she’s officially yours?

I have to sigh, if you excuse me. I have no idea. I may be a musical geek but I’m no love expert that can fixer upper. I need Scott’s guidance to this even though I hate to admit it. But I don’t want to confide with him. He’ll travel the news through word of mouth faster than a newspaper boy. So I kept the whole “mutual understanding” thing with Heaven to myself. I know she hates martyrs but I swear I’m on my way to sainthood for it. Soon enough, there’d be two St. Dominic Savio in the saint’s handbook.

But I cannot blame my martyrdom to a girl I really, really like—even love. To be honest, I don’t mind the pain if it means seeing her every single day.

I just posted my letter on her locker when I saw her coming. I was in the middle of a debate inside my head whether to take off the stick-on or not. Anyways, she took my letter off her locker and she folded it and she placed it inside her coat’s pocket. She didn’t even bother to look at it or read it. Is this some 500 days of Summer spinoff? I’m a certified martyr for Heaven’s sake!

“Are you all right?” I dare asked. “You seem preoccupied.”

 She twisted her lips to the side and she crossed her arms. “Mr. Jordan declined my art project.”

I felt like a heavy load of ice bucket left my chest. Thank God it wasn’t about me.

“Why did he do that?” I asked and she glared at me. I had to flinch at her reaction. “I mean…you were pretty good. You poured your heart out to that thing—I mean—project.”

She sighed heavily and she slammed her locker’s door.

“You want to see my project?”

I swallowed hard.

You know, it’s very hard to refuse a lady when you know she’s sad and rejected. So, feeling noble, I allowed her to take me to the gallery. And I didn’t master to compel my own shock.

Anna’s art project involves 3D design. It was good only that her chosen subject would bother you. A lot.

Still with arms crossed, she bit her lip. She turned to me. “You think this is ugly?”

“No. It’s good.” I scratch a portion of my head.

She narrowed her eyes at me. “I hate liars.”

I placed both of my hands inside my pockets. “Well… it’s disturbing.”

She threw her head back and she groaned. “Disturbing how?”

I waved at her masterpiece. “Anna,” I tried to sound very fair and reasonable. Believe me. “It’s a funeral.”

She gave me a WTF look. “He wanted me to paint a three-dimensional reality in a piece of canvas. So I painted my funeral.” She nodded at her work, and then she rolled her eyes skyward. “It could be anyone’s funeral.”

To tell you frankly, her work of art was “disturbing” not because it was her “funeral”—well, like she had said, it could be anyone’s funeral. But the point is, it’s 3D. And she took her genius in her hands and made it look like you’re inside your coffin and people are looking down at your own grave. Yes, looking down at you on the ground. I think the rectangular shape of the supposed to be coffin made it look more realistic than 3D. Could you imagine it? In real life, you could have Goosebumps.