Chapter 7|You hit a tree?

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After Ryan stormed out the rest of us just sat there staring at each other awkwardly. I didn't know what to do, and by the looks of it no one else did either.

"Should someone go after him or..?"I mumbled.

Kyle shrugged. "I wouldn't bother. He's probably out punching something." He said it so casually, snatching the jar of Nutella from Tara, dipping his finger into it, which earned a disgruntled noise from Tara. It made me wonder if it was a frequent thing, Ryan just going and punching something to let off some steam. I guess it was better to harm something that wasn't flesh and bone, but I have to admit, Erika with a broken nose would be hilarious.

Speaking of Erika, she was still standing there in her ridiculous high heels, with black rimmed eyes, all smudged from her temporary mental breakdown. She did seem semi recovered though, recovered enough to glare at me.

The rest of the student body had seemingly forgotten about Erika, with a little help from Tara. Who told everyone to continue on with their pathetic lives or she would hit them all over the head with her shoe. I actually wouldn't put it past her.

Lunch seemed to pass incredibly slowly. It was like everything around me was in slow motion and there was no fast forward button. When lunch did eventually end I was more relieved than anything.

I walked with Alex to art, seeing as we were in the same class and all. He was a quiet kind of guy so he made no effort to start a conversation, and by the looks of it he didn't want to talk anyway, so I kept my mouth shut. Talk about awkward.

We went our separate ways when we reached the art room. Alex went to sit with his art buddies and I went to sit with my buddies;the desk and the chair.

I fumbled around in my bag for my pencil, making a satisfied grunt as my fingers caught the wooden tool. I examined it, turning it over in my hands. It was red with crude letters cut into the side. I traced the letters with my fingertips, smiling as I remembered Caleb's words of wisdom.

"Every artist needs a weapon of choice" he said, placing the worn red pencil in my outstretched hand.

I studied it, coming to the conclusion that it was indeed just a pencil.

"C, this is just a pencil,"I said, looking up at him.

"No, no, no, you're wrong H. This isn't just a pencil. It's an imagination stick. You see, anything you could possibly conjure up in your little head can be brought to life by this amazing tool," he spoke, his eyes bright and his facial features lit up.

He wore his army greens that day, and every time I'd sketched since then I'd used that pencil. His pencil. That's why it was so special, because his name was carved into the side.

This was about the time when I would have pulled out my sketchbook, but obviously I didn't have it with me, so I settled on a lined sheet of paper ripped from one of my english books.

My drawing started out with two curved lines, then several shorter lines were added to the first curve. A circle inside the first lines, then a smaller circle inside that one. Shading. Adding texture.

I held the sheet of paper out in front of me. I gasped when I realised what I'd drawn. It was an eye, but not just any eye, it was Ryan's eye. I could tell by the shape and the slight crinkle at the corner as if he was smirking.

I quickly folded the paper in half and then into quarters, shoving it into my pocket so no one would see it.

I propped my elbows on the desk and observed the people around me. The teacher wasn't there, again. I was beginning to wonder why she'd gone to the trouble to be trained as a teacher because she really didn't seem to teach all that often. Not that anyone really minded, but it would have been nice of her to show up once in a while.

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