A Graveyard of Stars

Chapter Two

I stare at the blank canvas in front of me, than glance down at the others placed on the floor. Haft flooded with colors, haft not. A box next to them spilling with art supplies. Oil paints, brushes, varnish, a varnish brush, my palette and more. All coated with layer's of dried paint that has no hope of ever coming off.

I lightly trace my fingers on the cool, soft surface of the canvas resting on easel and remember the day I threw this stuff in the back of my closet, swearing to never look at it again. I can still remember the rage, practically feel it, boiling inside me as I didn't care if the paint spilled or if the paper ripped. It didn't matter. The promise was broken.

"Promise me you'll sell your art some day, okay?" Connor had said. He was laying on my bed while looking through one of my sketch pads. The oil paintings had always been my favorite, but Connor seemed to think that whenever I made art, I could do no wrong.

Sprawling out at the bottom of the bed, I said, "Okay. We can run away to Paris someday and make a living by selling bad art on the sidewalks," I told him.

"Sure," he replied, putting the sketch book aside, while picking up but ignoring my sarcasm. "But we wouldn't be selling bad art. We'd be selling your art. The difference is monumental."

I quickly turn away from the art supplies, realizing the grave pain they're causing me. Collecting myself, I leave my room, trying not to think about how when I get back tonight, my paint supplies will still be here, and Connor won't.

Trudging down the stairs, I notice my Mom left for work early. I walk past the kitchen and for a brief moment a memory of my Dad reading the daily newspaper with a steaming mug of coffee in his hand flashes through my mind. He would smile before offering to make me a cup humorously, only because he knew I've always hated coffee. Living with memories like that, I can almost pretend this house still feels like a home.

Three aspirins and a half an hour later, I find myself in the school parking lot, squinting my eye's to block out the sun. I don't miss the whispers all around me, or the way people stare in wonder as I walk by.

One year next month. Everyone knows I was best friends with the boy who committed suicide one year ago next month.

The day crawls. School days always crawl. When I get to astronomy, I think of Will and the summer he spent with his Grandpa learning about the constellations. I bet he's got a freaking A++ in this class. Maybe he could tutor me because I'm pretty sure I'm failing. I blame that on Mrs. Michelle though because she's the one who stuck all the stars on the ceiling so I spend the majority of the class counting them instead of paying any attention to her lesson.

I'm starving by the time lunch rolls around because I skipped out on breakfast this morning. I stroll into the cafeteria with hope that the food today will be decent. I look around at the students sitting with their friends, talking and laughing about their spring breaks. I wonder what it's like to live a life without the consent company of ghosts.

I get in line and pick up the last salad before noticing a girl pull her hand back from the stand. Obviously, she had reached for it too but I got there first. I watch her for a second, unable to stop myself from imaging Connor and how his generous disposition would cause him to pass the salad to the girl without a second thought.

The girl is shifting uncomfortably under my gaze, so I just give her a triumphant smirk before walking away.

I'm walking through the cafeteria, avoiding the few people who stop talking when I walk by, when a tiny girl with huge brown eyes and ridiculously long hair falls into step with me. I'm not an abnormally tall person, but I have to look down to see her face.