The Last Time We Met - #Completed

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

It was early when I got up. Too early, I groaned. Natty is so lucky she is my best friend; I don’t even want to go near Kingsley with a ten-foot pole, let alone work alongside him doing what, you ask? 

Making paints and clay. Sharpening a few pencils here, cleaning a few brushes there.

I know, right? I’m an artist, not his freaking jockey. I want to paint the art myself, not watch someone else do it. That’s the whole reason why I sent in those examples of my work, hoping maybe he would change the job description and let me work alongside him, but all I got was a verbal thumbs up.

Screw him and his compliments. I knew right from the beginning that they were fake anyway.

Before jumping into the shower I drank a carton of milk (chugged straight from the jug--Natty hates it), and then went back to my room and looked under my bed to where I kept my stash. I quickly broke down the little baggie’s piney components, took out a paper, and began rolling it. I smoked the entire thing before grabbing overall-shorts and a white tee (that was a little too small, that’s why I took overall shorts instead of plain old ones) and jumped into the shower.

When I was out I dressed quickly and then brushed my teeth while also brushing my hair. Which was really hard considering my hair is possessed. I looked in the mirror when I was finished, not even bothering to put on makeup, but I hardly ever do.

My blue-green eyes stared back at me, then roamed the features of my face, starting from the top of my head, where I somehow managed to get my thick, chocolate, wavy hair in a braided bun, down to my large, long lashed eyes hidden behind a pair of very thick, round-framed Harry Potter glasses, and finally to the bottom of my bottom lip where there is a tiny black beauty mark, barely bigger than a pin. 

I looked alright, I guess. I’m no Heidi Klum, but I’m lookable. With my long legs in these short-short overalls, I knew I was going to get a few stares walking to the bus stop this morning. I put on some chap stick, analyzed myself one more time in the mirror, and walked out of the house, locking the door behind me and stuffing my stash inside my back pocket along with a pack of ZigZags, 1 ¼ inch.

Sadly, I was disappointed on my way to the bus stop. It was way too early for any guy to be outside checking me out unless they were like, married or something, and had to get to work. On the bus there was one cute guy about my age, but he never looked my way.

It’s not that I hate boys and think they have “cooties” or anything. In fact, I love boys. I love checking them out and looking at their asses, if they have good ones. I love talking to them and flirting (even though I’m far from graceful in that department. Slutty I can do, graceful…no), but hardly any guys ever walk up to me and ask me how I’m doing or try to hit on me in the way that boys do. I don’t know what it is, so after a while I got tired of trying.

Natty thinks that it’s the glasses. I don’t know. Maybe it is the glasses. They are really thick and kind of dorky. Matter of fact, Harry Potter has nothing on me. My glasses have the thickness of a freaking tree. But there’s no way I’m wearing contacts, no freaking way.

She also says that it’s my fashion sense. Um, hello? What fashion sense? I have none….which is probably what she was getting at, but I’m not changing my appearances for anyone. I like being a tomboy, and besides, all of that girly dress and talk just give me a headache.