As I wait by the road sign at the crossroads, my mind wanders to thoughts of Lucilia. She's beautiful. I noticed that soon after we started walking together. Images of her smile when she's happy and her crinkled nose with downturned lips when she's irritated or disgusted flash through my mind. I love her facial expressions. Especially since whereas she's always expressing her feelings, I'm keeping them in. We complement each other other in that way.
My thoughts always turn to her it seems. I can't help it. She's one of the closest people to me in my life.
When I first realized she was following me, I was slightly disturbed. Who wouldn't be? But then I discovered that we walk the same path to school. How coincidental and perfect. So, we walk together before and after every school day. A year later and it has become such a usual routine that I can't imagine changing it. Our walks are one of the few bright spots in my life.
The sound of light footsteps reaches my ears, and I turn towards their origin. Lucilia comes into view, with a slight skip to her step. Why is she so happy this morning? It's Monday. Nobody likes Mondays. And yet, there she is with a smile brightening her face, creating a masterpiece that I could, and do, stare at.
Some would say that there's nothing special or stunning about her appearance. And I suppose from a first glance, they're correct. She has blonde hair that falls past her shoulders in soft waves and dark chestnut eyes set above a small, slightly upturned nose. Her body figure is not that of a model, but she's healthy and - probably from our walks - maintains muscles and curves.
However, most people would say that she appears average. They do not notice the small details like I do, though. The light spattering of freckles that are on the apple of her cheeks, the way that her infectious laugh causes her eyes to shine, and the way that her crinkling nose makes her look adorable are not caught on a first glance. A person has to spend time with her to realize that she's beautiful. A privilege that I have because we both live far away from our small town's life.
Pushing my thoughts aside, I focus on the girl before me as she approaches. "Hey, Ace!" she greets jovially, a smile adorning her face.
Hey, beautiful. I smile at her positive mood. It looks like today she is not going to be depressed. I despise the days when she's upset, but I'm clueless as to what causes her withdrawn personality. There are times when everything seems fine, and she's happy and full of life. Other times, she's closed off and has a distant look in her eyes. It's haunting. I would do anything to prevent that look.
Lucilia's next question interrupts my inner musings. "Are you okay?"
I nod in reply, my ability to speak never revealing itself in her presence. She accepts my answer and starts to lead the way to school. I trail her for a moment, but then I jog a couple steps to reach her side. The whole entire time we take to travel to school is filled with silence, neither of us wanting to disturb the morning peace.
Upon our arrival, the nosy students of this tiny school turn towards us. It starts with one person noticing, then another, and another, and another. So many people who don't know how to mind their own business all staring at us. One would think that after a year, seeing Lucilia with me would be old news. Nope. Apparently, being the "malicious bad boy who estranges all but one" means constant attention.
I grip Lucilia's smooth right hand with my own and glare at the gazing students. Their curiosity and confusion was understandable in the beginning, because I had never associated myself with other students, but by now that confusion should have disappeared. As I tug Lucilia closer to me, my fingers subconsciously toy with the ring on her middle finger. She's always wearing the silver band with a rose engraving, but has never mentioned to me anything about the sentiments attached to it.
We walk towards my locker first, since it's closest to the entrance. After I grab the necessary books, Lucilia and I head to her locker and then to our first class: History. Once we pass through the doorway, Lucilia slips her hand out of my grip, and we depart to our chairs. Depressingly, hers is directly two rows ahead of mine; I sit in the back row by the window.
Throughout the class time, I watch as she scribbles down notes and exists invisibly to the people around her. She has no other friends, it seems. Their loss. I can't comprehend her friendless status, especially since I know her kindhearted personality, but I can relate to it. It's easier to be alone with your misery than to force someone you care about to share your pain. Lucilia and I both have pain, but we'll never let the other bear it.
Hearing the bell ring, I walk to the lonely girl with the painful secrets and escort her to her next class. There, we separate, and I turn around to go to Math. As I'm walking away, I hear a sweet voice say, "See you in Art, Ace." I spin on my heel and smile to Lucilia. See you soon, gorgeous.
Making my way through the crowded hallway with people parting to let me pass, I soon arrive at my Math class. I sit down in my usual seat at the back by the window. That's where I sit in every class. I suppose it's because I need to know that there's light around me, enfolding me in its brightness. I can't life without the light, not after what that monster has done to me.
I shove those thoughts away. I'll save them for a time when I need the anger that accompanies them. In place of the dark memories, I think about how I only have to last the duration of this class until I can go to Art. As my mind finally starts to calm, it's interrupted by a moron.
"Hey, Lancaster." Ah, the one person willing to antagonize me daily. His name is Peter Davis. A boy of average height with a stocky, muscly build, he is on the football team. I don't exactly understand his dislike of me, but it's never ending.
I tilt my head back slightly, so I can peer at his face. Brown hair that is normally combed sideways is plastered to his forehead by a thin layer of perspiration. His blue eyes that are set deep into his face stare defiantly into mine, and I slowly lift the right side of my lip. The daily entertainment is right on time.
"Your mother would be very disappointed to know that her son messed up his hair, especially since she spent so much time combing it." The statement that I say is entirely true; he admitted it to his friends once, and I was lucky enough to be within hearing range.
Peter's face flushes slightly and his mouth opens to retort, but before he can, the teacher, Mr. Kersivats, enters and says, "Mr. Davis, please take your seat. You know that I start class immediately."
Reprimanded Peter sends me a glare, but does as he's told. I snicker slightly when Mr. Kersivats sends me a thumbs up. He is the only teacher that doesn't judge me based off of my reputation; he judges me by my grades and attitude in class.
I listen attentively in this class because of my respect for Mr. Kersivats and because Lucilia is not here to distract me. The class ends quickly, though, and I go to Art class as fast as possible.
Lucilia is already seated by the time I arrive. Dropping my bag and plopping down into the seat beside her, I take a moment to steady my breathing and racing heart. This girl does things to me, yet she's oblivious. She looks up and smiles at my nonchalant attitude. "Hey, Ace. How was math?"
I grab a notepad and pen from my bag and write "Fantastic. I mocked a guy and the teacher got after him." I hand the note to her and watch as she laughs lightly.
Lucilia puts on a mock serious face and speaks, "Ace, you know that getting in a fight will get you suspended again. What will I do without you escorting me to school? I'll have no one!" She throws her head back dramatically with her eyes closed and covers her heart with her hand. The nerve of this girl! The previous time that I was suspended, I still walked her to school.
I smile at her playful attitude and poke her side with my finger. She squeals and falls sideways out of her seat. My laugh comes out deeply, and my stomach starts to ache. When I stop, I find her sitting and staring at me, awestruck. She always does that when I laugh hard. It's probably because she's not used to me making noise. Lucilia notices me looking at her, and she glares with a slight pout. "You're so mean, Ace. You know I'm ticklish."
Yep, and I love to see you laugh.
The teacher walks in as Lucilia is picking herself up and sitting down. One thing to note about our art skill is that it is nonexistent. So, during the class as Lucilia paints what looks like a white and gray cow, I write to her "What's that?"
She reads the note and replies proudly, "It's Ares."
I squint my eyes at the picture, shake my head, and write again. "That's a cow."
"No, it's not! Look! It's got little paws and a long tail, and cows are not gray and white. It's clearly a painting of Ares." I observe the painting again and conclude that it is not Ares. Lucilia's cat, Ares, is gray and white, but that's the only part she painted correctly. I shake my head in denial, and Lucilia glares at me.
Lucilia had shown me a picture once of Ares, who is actually a female, not a male. The cat is gray, white, and has the worst temperament a cat could have. Ares is soulless, as proven by the time that she scratched Lucilia for touching her ear. However, Ares may be evil, but she's an adorable cat. This painting is an ugly cow.
Ignoring Lucilia's glare, I stare at the cow a moment longer and turn back to look at my painting. It's a painting of a child, a stick child. "Is that a boy or a girl?" Lucilia jabs in revenge.
I return her previous glare, pick up my paintbrush, dip it in yellow, and give the stick child two strands of straight hair falling down the sides of her head.
Lucilia watches this and states in feigned horror, "That poor child is bald on the top! Poor thing." I paint some yellow on the top of the child's head and smirk mockingly.
I write "At least mine can be easily identified as a child."
She prepares to retort, but is interrupted by sweet, old Mrs. Simes, the teacher. "Wow, you two have such interesting paintings and you did exactly as I asked. Ace, you're painting of a lonely child shows your hidden affection for all children. And Lucilia, your sickly cow clearly displays your desire to care for all animals."
I snicker, but muffle the noise with my hand. "Mrs. Simes, you said to paint something we care about, so I painted my cat. See? Isn't she pretty?" Lucilia questions.
Mrs. Simes stares at the cow-cat and grimaces slightly, but says quickly with a smile, "Of course, dear. Must be these old eyes playing tricks on me." Mrs. Simes hobbles away just as the bell rings.
Lucilia and I put away our supplies, grab our bags, and I walk her to our next class. The day passes uneventfully after that, and soon it's the end of another learning-filled day.
I meet Lucilia in front of the library and write "I'll see you in a couple hours, okay?" It's pointless of me to ask, since this has been our routine for a long time, but it is a habit. She nods, smiles, and I can see the curiosity in her eyes, but I know that she respects my privacy. I'll come back to the library in two hours, and we'll go on our walk to our homes.
I turn and stride down the hallway. Time to use that stored anger.