Picasso's Promise

Episode 9| Is it Over?

For the rest of the day, any class I had with Picasso I attempt to get there as soon as I could. Once there, I would request to sit in a different seat than my assigned one. I was only asked by two instructors what my reasoning was, and after a brief mild version of the story, they sided with me and didn't further question me.

"You're at the wrong table," a deep voice said, causing me to stop drawing on the cover of my journal.

I glanced upward, catching the eye of Levi. I didn't answer him and instead went back to the task of drawing.

"Do I need to repeat myself?"

"I asked for a seat change."

"Why?" He plopped his books on the table, yanking the chair out from under the table to crash in to it. "Aren't you best pals with Picasso?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Picasso showed up late to class, as he usually did. We made eye contact during class. It was my fault. I was focused on glaring at the back of his head until he turned around, probably sensing the rage radiating off me like the hot sun. He smiled at me and I quite appropriately flipped him off.

"Ooh, I saw that," Levi chimed in. "I want to know what he did."

"Don't act like you don't already know," I hissed. "It's all everyone's been talking about."

"I don't pay attention to what people say at this school. It's full of drama-hungry parasites. They'll leach on to anything if it has a pulse. Don't matter if it's true."

I slowly changed the position of my chair, turning my body. "You've hardly been at this school that long and you figured it out fast."

"Yeah, all within the first day. People kept talking about how they said I did a hit on Picasso. That shit made me laugh real hard. I don't like that motherfucker, but I'm not a hitman. I've never asked for a hitman. It makes no type of sense. They just say shit to say it."

"Where do you think they got that idea from?"

"Because of my boys. I hang with people who don't got the best rep to begin with. Through association, I get lumped in with them and the shit they get caught up doing."

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Picasso rise from his seat and make his way to the back of the classroom.

I curled my fingers around the cold edges of the table, restraining the impulse to bolt out of my seat. I wanted him to get his jacket back, but I wasn't hoping for an audience. Ramming a hand in to my backpack, I retrieved the mint green jacket.

With Picasso nearing my table, I inched in closer to Levi, touching his arm with one hand and his ear with the other. I painted a smile on my face to match the one he was already giving me when I put my hands on him.

"Wow, did those hurt at all?" I asked, brushing my index finger to his earlobe. He had a stud in place, gleaming and shimmering. "I can't wear real earrings."

"Why's that?"

"I think I'm allergic to all metals. I got golden earrings as a baby, but they got infected. Got my ears pierced again at age seven and twelve with silver hoops. The same thing happened. I came to the realization that I can never wear them. It's a sad reality."

I said that with Picasso standing at the head of my table, watching me smooth my thumb over the shiny stud on Levi's ear with a smile on my face. I pretended as though I hadn't seen him at all, "Oh," I said, dropping my hand from Levi's ear. "I didn't notice you there, Picasso. Hi."

"Hey," he said flatly, still looking at Levi as if he was to blame. "I haven't seen you all day. Did you wake up late?"

"No, I've been here. That reminds me. I need to give you something," I answered. Not waiting for a pause, I handed him his Letterman jacket. "I won't be needing this. You can have it back."