Sleepwalker

Chapter Ten

"Mhmm," Zeke murmured. "Like how you were doing a project with Adrienne Roxwell freshman year. I distinctly remember walking in on you guys making out."

I went to speak, but I stopped myself. What was there to say? That was true one-hundred percent. The Clayton Hugh then was a lot more reckless and did not consider the consequences. Thinking back on it made my stomach churn with regret. I remember Adrienne being so upset the next day after I said we were better off as friends.

She really liked me, and I - no, the mold Zeke created out of a foreign new kid - used that to my advantage to have an hour long make out session.

"This is different," I finally said, ripping my phone out of Kai's hand. "Lucy is different, okay?"

I was different.

"Okay but when you do screw her, let me know if she sleepwalks afterwards. I wonder if she'd be too tired after being banged to move even a little bit." The smile on Zeke's face was sickening. Who even wonders about that?

My body went rigid; my thin lips opening to spew out a nasty comment towards his nasty self, but I was interrupted by my phone. It was beeping the same noise phones do when someone hangs up on you.

"Fucking hell," I cursed. Mt stomach nearly did a three-sixty when I realized in the madness Lucy's number was called. "Shit, shit, shit."

Instantly I redialed, wanting nothing more than to explain myself. I then grabbed my sweatshirt lying lazily on the couch and flicked the two laughing guys off before heading out. One day they will feel the wrath of Clayton Hugh and it won't be a laughing matter.

"Hello, Lucy?" I swung my car door open and threw the sweatshirt in it hard.

There was a long pause. Too long of a pause. Then, finally, there was a reply. "Hello, Clinton."

I had to take the phone off my ear and cover it up, cursing more under my breath. And there I was thinking Lucy hearing that conversation would have been the end of the world. No, her older brother Jacob hearing it was far, far worse.

Eventually I had to place it back to my ear, a nervous chuckle filling the air. "Jacob. . . Hi . . . This is Clayton." Yet another long pause. At that rate he was going to make me sweat under the pressure. Finally I spoke again, "Look, I am not sure what you heard, but I promise you Lucy and I aren't--"

"Hold it right there, Clinton." He spoke so calm, it was unnerving.

I was already holding my breath, so I was not sure what he was referring to.

"If you are at all planning to stick your car into my sister's--" The disgust in his voice was finally displaying emotion "--garage, I will personally take your car and take it to the car lot to get smashed into thousands and thousands of different pieces. You understand, Clinton?"

Cars and garages? What did he mean by tha--

Oh.

"No, n-no! I'm not, I swear." I choked on my spit.

Why was it so hard for people to believe I only wanted to be friends with Lucy Walker? Was it truly that hard to believe I could not have a platonic relationship with her? Sure she was pretty and her doe-eyes were enough to sucker me into anything, but I had some self control. Or I liked to think that.

"Okay, then. We are done here, Clinton. I suggest not coming over anytime soon until after I leave, because I kind of have the urge to beat you and your douche friends with my leg." He was quick to add, "Nothing personal, of course. That's just my role."

He was pretty good at his role then, because I was scared. That smiley, go lucky guy I met previously was scaring me.

"Watch out for your car. Until next time, Clinton."

- - - - - - - -

There was something oddly addictive with the way a painter worked their magic to me. Every meaningful stroke; the calculated swoops and dives; the vivid use of the imagination; and all to make one master piece.

When times got rough or stressful I would always pour my feeling out onto a canvas, whether it be as random as a panda or as meaningful like the portrait of mor's favorite flowers, it never mattered. All that did was the relaxation painting gave me.

I definitely was not the best painter out there, but that was fine with me. I was perfectly content with a eighty-five in my AP Art Painting class.

"Try to add more texture to the socks. These are supposed to be wool, right?" My art teacher Mrs. Stevens asked, peering down between me and my art piece.

I nodded. The idea I had was a girl wearing grey wool socks while standing on her tiptoes. The scale only would show mid calve then down.

I was not sure where the inspiration came from, but once the idea hit me I went with it.

"Also, I see you have some empty space right here. Why not try to add another addition to the painting?" She suggested more. Any other student saw her constant critiques and suggestions as a pestering annoyance, but I loved it. She made me a lot better at painting than when I started in Art 1 freshman year.

Mrs. Steven wondered off to her next victim, leaving me stumped.

She was completely right. The balance of the picture would mostly follow the white canvas in the background rather than the girl.

Okay, what if she had someone else in the painting with her? Someone not on their toes to infer she is too short to reach their height. That would be cute.

Before I had a chance to sketch out the idea in my head, the bell rung.

Sighing, I gave one last look to my piece, then placed it on a rack alongside everyone else. Two class periods down, five more to go.

"Have a nice day, Mrs. Stevens," I gave her a kind farewell then went on my way. She once again forgot to tell us five minutes before the bell rang that we needed to clean up, so it took a good portion of my passing period to make everything meet her standards.

I normally walked in a calmly matter, but the time was ticking. My feet were maneuvering around slow people, but not fast enough to dodge another quick paced person.

"Lucy?"

If I hadn't of said anything I bet she would have continued walking without giving me a glance. That was how brutal the journey through a cramped hallway was.

"Clayton!" she blurted out, surprised to see me so soon. We had chemistry later in the day and I was expecting to see her by then, too. Typically we never ran into each other in the halls, yet alone actually run into each other. "Where are you off too?" Lucy asked, her breathing jagged. She must have come down from the third floor.

I peeked at the clock, cursing the limited amount of time we had together. "Um, history. You're going to English, right?"

Her smile faltered at my knowledge, but she did not harp on it. J.K. gave me a lot more than Lucy's number last Friday even though I only asked for her number. I knew her full schedule and I hoped Lucy didn't think I was sketchy because of that.

"Yeah, so, I gotta go. See you later." She began to walk backwards, in the process shouldering a girl. After a soft apology towards her, Lucy sent me a wave then twirled around not so gracefully, nearly running across the hall to Ms. Baker's room.

She would have made it in the room sooner if a certain guy had not gotten in her way. It was Zeke and his sly expression and all. He gave Lucy a flirtatious smile, then moved over to let her enter. I should have been moving to class, I knew that, but I couldn't move. Zeke was crossing the line, but I was not even sure what that line was anymore.