Blue on Blue

Chapter Eight

The next time Maggie Krane sees Eli Blue is in English Lit class the following day. He is sitting directly behind her, burning holes into her head. Mr. Barnstable is going on and on about Hemingway's use of metaphors and similes, as her thoughts drift in and out to the scene in the cemetery.

"How does Hemingway use the ocean as a metaphor in this story?" Mr. Barnstable asks the class. You can hear a pin drop. "A-hem." He twists his mustache between his fingers. "Anyone?" Everyone's eyes look everywhere else. 

Eli raises his hand. "Life." 

Mr. Barnstable's eyes light up. "Yes! Life! What about the tourists?" 

Maggie raises her hand. 

Mr. Barnstable gives her an expectant nod. "Margaret?"

"They're a metaphor for the passive observers in life. They stay where they feel safe. They don't challenge themselves or test boundaries." She glances over her shoulder at Eli. "They live shallow lives."

"Very good!" Mr. Barnstable says. "And what about the lions on the beach?" 

The girl from the potter's wheel raises her hand.

Eli blurts out an answer before she can open her mouth to speak. "The lions are a metaphor for the participants in life. Lions aren't meant for the beach or the sea, but they go anyway. They're risk-takers." He taps his pencil against his desk. His tone turns sharp. "They risk everything at the expense of themselves and others. They are careless." The weight of his stare is heavy on Maggie's head. 

Mr. Barnstable twists his mustache between his fingers. His eyes dart between Maggie and Eli. He presses his lips together and slowly nods his head. "It's good to see you two so passionate about Hemingway." 

He glides his marker across the white board at the front of the room. "Are you an active participant or a passive observer in life? Why or Why not? I want each of you to write a 500-word essay answering these questions." 

The class exhales in one unified groan. 

"It's due tomorrow," he says.

More groaning. 

He pushes his fingers through his comb-over and flashes his gapped teeth. "In the words of Ernest Hemingway, 'But then, nothing is easy.'"

The bell rings and students bolt out of the classroom like horses charging out of a race gate.

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Eli leans against the locker next to Maggie's. "A-hem." 

Maggie glares at him. "What do you want?" She pulls notebooks from the top shelf and stuffs them into her bag. 

"Oh, nothing." His voice has an edge to it. "I'm just passively observing." His mouth is a straight, hard line. 

She can't stop herself from taking the bait. "Oh? Tell me, tourist, what do you see?" 

He looks her up and down. He sneers and shakes his head. "I see a lioness, chasing an invisible monster that she will never catch. She will run straight into his mouth, and he will swallow her whole." 

Maggie slams her locker door shut and heads down the hall. She doesn't have the time or the energy to fight with him. "I have to get to class." 

He grits his teeth and strides along-side her. "You're not going to let it go, are you?"

"The monster is hunting me, Eli. I can't let it go. And to be honest, I don't know how you can, because sooner or later, monsters will be hunting you too, if they aren't already. It's hunt or be hunted, remember?"

"You're impossible," he huffs. They round the corner to the art room.

"I thought you wanted nothing to do with me." 

Eli stops short just before the classroom doorway. "I'm involved now, thanks to you." 

Maggie's eyes widen. "You're the one who drew me in your crazy sketchbook." She shoves past him, into the sun-drenched art room, nearly running into Pottery Girl. 

Pottery Girl freezes. Her eyes pop wide. 

Maggie's cheeks burn hot. Maybe she over-reacted just a bit yesterday. How could the girl not have stared at her and Eli? They were squaring off, Connie and Joe style, which is like watching a train wreck. It's impossible to look away. 

Maggie stretches out her hand. "I'm Maggie." 

Pottery Girl's eyes narrow. 

"I'm really sorry for yelling at you yesterday." 

The sharp lines in the girl's face soften. 

"I shouldn't have done that." 

The corners of the girl's lips turn up. She glances at Eli and then at Maggie. Her mouth is full of metal when she smiles. "Men!" she says, rolling her eyes as she accepts Maggie's handshake. "I'm Mave." She points to the stool next to her. "Have a seat." 

Maggie gives a quick nod and sits, skeptical of how easily Mave forgave her. Apologies and forgiveness aren't big in Fallowshill. Maggie looks Mave up and down, scanning her for any signs that she might be secretly holding a grudge. 

Eli sits across from them and pulls out his sketchpad. 

Mave flashes her metal smile at him. 

He scowls and drops his eyes to his pencil wrap. 

"Does art reflect reality?" Ms. Lane asks the class. "Free draw with that question in mind." 

Maggie draws rows and rows of squares across her paper. 

After roaming between tables, inspecting each sketch, Ms. Lane makes her way to Maggie's side of the room. She peers over Maggie's shoulder and tilts her head. Her mouth twists sideways. Maggie's sketch looks more like a checkerboard than a cemetery. 

Ms. Lane's eyes dart to Eli's sketch. Her mouth melts into a smile. 

He's drawing a lighthouse, standing tall on the edge of a stormy sea. He sketches a wall of dark clouds around the lighthouse lantern, just like in the picture hanging over Dr. B's desk. His pencil skips across the page. An outline of wings and horns appears. Teeth gnashing. Talons slicing. 

Maggie's breath hitches. 

Eli looks up and catches her staring at him. 

She doesn't look away.

His dark eyes narrow. 

Hers stay wide and curious. 

Ms. Lane makes a comment about symmetry and shading as she presses her finger against Eli's lighthouse. His attention returns to his sketch. 

Mave nudges Maggie's arm. "No hard feelings about yesterday. This is for you." She hands Maggie her drawing, a sketch of a boy and a girl in a tight embrace. "It's you and Eli." 

Maggie shakes her head. "Oh, we're not together." 

Mave flashes her metal smile. "You sure seem like it to me."

"Does art reflect reality?" Ms. Lane asks the class again. 

Maggie takes a closer look at Mave's drawing. The boy and girl aren't just holding each other, they're grasping on to one another, pulling at each other, like they're lives depend on it, like if they let go, one or both of them will fall away.

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 💙 Mave's sketch by Margaret Burgess 💙