I walked into the art class. Nobody even noticed me because everyone was busy checking out the vase in the middle of the room.
I blushed. Was I running late? I nervously glanced at my watch. I don't get it, I came ten minutes early, and they've already started.
I didn't know where to stand or what to do. I didn't have any paint or paper, just my sketchbook and a pencil. They told me in the office that everything would be provided during the class, but I was late and totally confused.
"I see you're confused," said the forty-year-old teacher with proud afro. She was dressed cool: a nice long skirt and tall leather boots from the sixties, with big Indian rings on both hands. Her expression was mysterious and dreamy, probably like any true artist and creator who ended up in school by accident instead of a trendy biennale.
"Sorry, I'm late," I mumbled, quickly taking off my hoodie.
"No worries, you're not late. We always start early to get in the groove, do a little meditation. Guys, let's welcome... umm, dear, what's your name again? I was told there'd be a new kid in class, but yesterday I was watching an old interview with Andy Warhol on YouTube and totally forgot to check the lists..."
"I'm Mel... Melanie Whiteriver, hi everyone." I looked around, but nobody paid attention to me or the teacher; they were all focused on that damn vase.
"Let's welcome Melanie Whiteriver!"
"Hi Melanie," the students said, not in sync. Someone even called me "Delanie."
"Grab paper and paint from that cabinet. The easels are behind those paper cones. Just don't take the white easel; someone says it's cursed." She gave me a friendly wink and walked to the other side of the class.
"She's joking, not funny though, but better than Mr. Jones's sneaky sexist jokes in gym class. She's a good teacher, just a bit quirky. Although if I had her salary, I'd have hung myself by now. By the way, I'm Ishani."
"I'm Mel."
"No way?! I didn't even know. She should have introduced you," Ishani exclaimed, covering her mouth with her hand.
"Were you here from the beginning?" I asked.
"Do you mean from the beginning of time?"
We both giggled. I grabbed a pencil and started sketching the vase.
"Sorry, sorry, couldn't resist! You can't survive here without humor," the girl said. "Yeah, you're right. I've been here from the very beginning. Feels like since the creation of time."
"I've been here since morning, and it feels like my hair's already turned gray."
"I can't even imagine what a new school is like in senior year, well, unless you wanna stay for a second year."
I smiled at her words.
"I'm glad you don't get offended by my jokes."
"I think they're cool."
"Don't flatter me." Ishani erased what she drew for the second time.
"Let me help."
"I won't object. Oh, you are good at it! Well, I've lived in Willow Lakes since birth. It's the same old story here: popularity rules. There are also losers and invisibles here. If you don't have rich parents or at least a hundred thousand followers on some popular social network, it's better to blend in. Like me! I quietly hang out in art class under Ms. Thompson's watchful eye. No problems, no worries."
"I feel like I've already caught some attention today," I whispered as Ms. Thompson turned to us.
"I need the juicy details!"
I told her what happened by the locker.
"Forget it, they won't remember you. Tomorrow, wear a hoodie of a different color, and they won't even realize it's you."
"I hope..."
The class ended. The teacher asked us to sign our sketches and put them on a separate shelf. We didn't even get to the paints, but Ms. Thompson didn't seem bothered. I quickly put the easel aside, waiting for Ishani, who, like a few other girls, was chatting happily with the teacher.
"So, you're the teacher's pet?" I asked Ishani after she finally peeled herself away from the teacher.
"Wanna be one too?"
"I won't say no... you know, I'm kinda nervous," I admitted.
"Why?" the girl asked, fixing her long black hair.
"I suck at math. I was lucky in my old school, the teacher was cool, didn't yell at me, and kept on giving me a chance to retake a bad grade."
"You don't need to stress here at all." Ishani applied some lip gloss as we climbed the stairs to the second floor. "Okay?" She showed me her lips like in a selfie. I absentmindedly nodded.
"Why shouldn't I stress?" I asked in surprise.
"You'll see soon."
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