“We could have been friends,” she muses, resting her hand out the window and letting the wind blow her hair. Her shirt seems like it’s too thick for summer.
“Oh, please,” I say, snorting. “Speaking of friends, why don’t you just go talk to them instead of me?”
She laughs, and when she laughs it’s more like a snort that comes from her nostrils, “Kid, when you live a life like me, you realize that you don’t need friends.”
“But everyone needs friends.”
The red light changes to green, but she’s still looking at me. It doesn’t really matter. Everyone’s out partying, anyways. “Try to compare people to coffee- some people need it, some people don’t. But everyone wants to take a few sips every once in awhile.”
I need coffee. “Oh.”
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The midnight moon reflects on Piper’s back, illuminating her blonde hair and casting shadows of the cigarette smoke on the patio. I don’t smoke; but everyone likes to try it once in awhile. I can see her back shift as she presses her stomach into the railing, hanging out as far as she can without falling over. It’s probably one of the hottest nights in Savannah, but obviously she couldn’t care less- with the lighter in her hand and the smoke filling her lungs. “Were we just on a date?” I ask, resting my feet on the same railing that she’s leaning on. We’re taller than the trees, now.
She almost spits out her cigarette. “God, no. Never. It was an emergency taco run.”
“You didn’t even get a taco,” I remind her, kicking her chin. “And don’t try to tell me that a burrito is the same thing.”
She turns towards me now, dark and blocking the moon, and it’s like all the light is gone and all that there is is an inky blackness. “Shit, shit shit. You should have told me that you were a lesbian before I roomed with you, goodness.”
“I am not a lesbian.”
“Oh, no. You’re not a lesbian. You still fancy guys, or whatever, but you want to date a girl. Don’t pull any of that Tom Daley crap on me. What the hell?”
Her lips are red and bitten and raw. “I am not a lesbian,” I say. “I could be anything; it doesn’t even matter. Are you homophobic?”
“My dad was gay and didn’t tell my mom until I left for college. Sorry if I seem a little put off or whatever.”
“I am not a lesbian.”
“That’s really great, pansy. Tell it to the judge.”
She throws her cigarette out onto the street and walks as fast as she can into the room and stretches, like a leopard.
We could have been friends, I muse, closing the door behind me and walking to my bed. I could reach over to her bunk and she’s so close, it’s weird that we barely know each other’s names.
Without any warning, she falls onto her bunk and she just breathes. It’s heavy, and it’s just how I imagine every other part of her. Heavy and loud.
“Hey,” she says, maybe thirty minutes later and way more drowsy than she had been before, “You’re gonna have to make out with someone before this semester ends, kay?”
The Mowgli’s are playing in the back of my head, and I support myself on one arm to look at her. “Why?”
“Because, it’s something that you actually need.”
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Art is different in this class, mostly because it deals with more color than I am comfortable with and more talking than I am comfortable with. Today, Harry sits in the back of the room and I hate him for it, because it makes all of the girls in the class go there too, so I opt to sitting in the far left of the classroom, far away from all of the people, and very deep in my sketchbook and music. I glance over at the hoard of people on the other side of the classroom, and I see Harry, he’s looking at me, and his facial expression is a fine mix of hurt and boredom. When I meet his gaze he turns away, and puts his earphones in his ears. For some reason I always think about what he is listening to, because I can't seem to read him: like, for instance, I can tell that every girl in this room listens to Lana Del Rey, Lorde and anything on pop radio, while I prefer Arctic Monkeys, Young the Giant, and OneRepublic. People are easy to read music taste off of, except for Harry- I couldn’t read him for the life of me.
When Park walks in, he says hello, and then he starts talking about shading again, so I keep my earphones in and start sketching the classroom in my sketchbook, I have heard this lecture 2 times, because I was allowed to take AP Studio in my junior and senior year in high school. I try to capture all of the shadows, and then I start drawing all of the people in the room, while Cough Syrup comes on. When I look up to draw the faces I see all of the girls are either watching Park or watching Harry, and he seems to not be listening to Park either. I think he is the only person in here with valuable skills in Art, because all the other girls do is listen to Park, they don’t take notes or draw anything, they just sit there a stare. Park turns around quickly and I yank my earphones out of my ears and stare at him innocently. “So, now we are going to do a project involving drawing the gritty detail,” he says while pushing his hair out of his eyes. “I will be putting you in groups.” He says while I see each girl plot how to get to work with either their favorite person in the classroom or Harry. He calls out everybodies names; and no one hears Harry's name, and I don't hear my name, and my body starts to feel heavy with dread. “And, Lennon and Harry, you guys’ll be partners,” Park says, and I swear I can see the deviant in his eyes. Well, I just got put into the most desirable position in class.
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Inked > h.s au {DISCONTINUED}
Fanfictionit's college, and the lines are bound to draw themselves, eventually. (or, when a girl named lennon takes an art class that's too early in the morning with a professor who smiles too much and a boy that doesn't seem to care at all.) "This world is b...
chapter 2
Start from the beginning
