I ran my fingers along the ridges of the record I held in my hands. I set the black disc on the phonograph and listened to the rain drops plopping lazily against my window as the stylus began scratching the ridges of the record. The soft static accompanied the vibrating drum beats of Do I Wanna Know? and so I got ready for the place demons dwell and suck the soul from you. Aka school. At least it was raining; it's always peaceful when I'm stressed or dreading school, which is every day by the way. It keeps the forest behind my house dense too; it makes for a great place to do draw.
I scan the contents of my closet and smile at the lack of color. My mother always tries to incorporate color into every aspect of my life, including my closet, and I guess I just like the idea of having control over something. I was one of those kids that ripped the heads off of their dolls, and well my mother was hoping for a little princess that adored anything pink or sparkly.
I removed a black and white striped t-shirt from the hanger and grabbed the nearest pair of black skinny jeans from the shelf. Squishing my legs into my jeans in the morning was probably my least favorite part of the day and though it really doesn't have anything to do with my big thighs it sucks. I slipped a few rings on, my new choker and my favorite tattered up pair of black boots. I take one look in my length mirror at the basically white waves that made their way past my elbows and threw the mass up into a pony tail. Normally I'd shower and I guess make my hair more presentable but it was Monday and well I don't care enough. I swiped on a light coat of mascara that didn't make my dark brown eyes any lighter and fixed my eyebrows. They were my favorite feature, if anyone ever asked, long, arching and dark. I left my lips and skin pale as the paint on my walls because color wasn't really my thing.
"Luna you better get your ass to school, you're gonna be late!"
I swear my mother's screeching was almost worse than school.
"Shit," I breathed, looking down at my naked nails.
I meant to paint them earlier this morning but sleep was more important. I grabbed my trusty bottle of black and tossed it into my purse before taking my record off and lifting my keys from their place on the wall.
Stepping out onto the damp concrete I inhaled the scent of rain and smiled as drop after drop soaked a different part of me every second. I unlocked my black Prius and tossed my purse inside. The huge white mansion I called my home looked way too damn cheery as I pulled out of my driveway. I cranked the volume up as I hooked my phone up. The music was never the same as listening to my records in my room. I missed the soft static and my warm bed already.
It was the start of a new semester at good old Charlotte High School and honestly the only thing I was excited for was the transition from my painting class to my drawing class. I was an okay painter, but drawing was my strong suit and I don't think there's an edge of paper in my possession that hasn't been doodled on.
I pulled into the nearest parking spot I could find to the school, grabbed my stuff and dragged myself inside. The rain was already starting to sputter out and I narrowed my eyes at the peeking sun rays that threatened to blast through on my perfectly grey morning. I swung the metal door open and was blasted with unnecessary air conditioning and the smell of a million cheap perfumes and colognes. Welcome back.
The black fringe of my purse fluttered as I walked and pushed past all of the sun tanned teenagers with their pastel colored clothes and Sperry's. I observed all of the new couples and breakups that developed over the holiday break. They all looked the same anyway, so I wouldn't really consider it moving on, but that's just me. I didn't really have friends, other than this brunette chick named Violet that I've basically known my entire life. So you wouldn't catch me amongst the clumps of sunglasses wearers and bleach blondes. And yeah my hair was as bleached as you could get, but that type of blonde- basically white hair- wasn't up to today's social standards here in Punta Gorda, Florida. And even if it was, hot pink nails aren't really my thing.
Unfortunately for me, math hadn't changed on my schedule and I found myself lugging the ridiculously huge calculus book to first block and sinking low in my chair the moment the waste of paper hit the rickety desk. There was a new seating arrangement and I thanked God Violet was sat next to me, only that was poor planning on my teacher's part. The calculus teacher at Charlotte High was way too young and pretty to be considered smart but surprisingly enough, Mrs. Aaron was a genius. She liked me okay and yeah I was pretty stellar at calculus but that didn't make this class any less dreadful.
"Hey punk, how was break? We hardly hung out," Violet rushed out just as the bell rang and propped her converse up on the desk.
"Not long enough and shut up you were busy with Lucky," I smirked at her and rolled my eyes as she instantly lit up at her boyfriend's name.
She sighed loudly, "Lucky Blu. I'm tellin' ya Luna he's one hell of a guy."
"Yeah with his guitar playing, swimmer body, swooped up self. Violet I know."
"You know what?"
I raised my brow at her, "No. What?"
"You need to get yourself a dude so we can double date and shit," She hit my shoulder and I just shook my head at her.
"When a rustic artist, that dresses in black and has an old soul comes to Charlotte High let me know."
She rolled her eyes then, she knew how I'd answer, "Or you could give up your hatred against beach boys and settle down for a while. They're not that bad. Lucky isn't."
I twirled a white wave around my finger and pushed back a loose strand, "Lucky's different than the usual beach boy babe. He's cool. Good taste in music and his hair is silver for Christ's sake."
"His eyes are still blue and his skin is still tan, which makes him a beach boy. And I'd say his hair is more white like yours. Maybe there are other punk beach boys out there," Violet wiggled her brows.
I laughed slightly, "Shut up Violet."
She shrugged, "Just sayin'."
A few seconds later Mrs. Aaron paced into the room, panting with her light brown hair flying around everywhere.
"Sorry I'm late guys this ass in front- oh shit I just cussed- damnit!" She sputtered out as she set down her mound of books and sloshed her coffee onto her desk.
Small rumbles of laughter emitted from the class and she shook her head at herself.
"So guys how was break?" She smiled at us and smoothed out her shirt.
Silence.
"Yeah, okay, nothing's changed. We're still learning about limits and you're still going to hate them no matter what so let's just get this over with."
Miss Aaron wasn't generally a morning person which doesn't really benefit teachers at all but her depressed rambling was comical to me and I felt like I understood her more than most kids even cared to. Violet sat back picking at her nails, reminding me I still need to paint mine and half of the class was asleep. I paid attention to the way Mrs. Aaron self consciously tugged at everything; her hair, shirt, sleeves, necklace, you name it. I never really listened to the lessons because the notes were online and calculus was easy, for me at least. Being one of two juniors, the other being Violet, in a senior majority class was annoying and I wondered why the counselor rejected my request to take this as an online class, because I basically did that anyway.
The block dragged on until exactly nine thirteen and I gathered my things and smacked a sleeping Violet on her grey speckled sweater covered arm.
"Jesus that was a good nap," She yawned as she clumped along side me.
"Gettin' that beauty sleep in for Lucky?" I smirked.
"Shut up Luna," She laughed.
"Speak of the devil. Well I'll see you after forth block," I told her as she hurled herself into her alternative beach boy.
"Seeya Luna," Lucky called to me as Violet waved.
"Bye Blu," I called back.
I really did adore Lucky and Violet, giving her shit for it was just more fun.
Only two more blocks until drawing class, I reminded myself. So naturally with that in mind, the next two blocks went by painfully slow. I swear I counted each of the 5400 ticks of the clock until the end of class. The minute the bell rang at twelve thirty-eight I was halfway out of the door. The art room was back towards the far wing of the school, tucked away from all of the noise and preppy people that avoid the art wing at all costs. That's where all of the losers/weirdos (me) went to hang out. If any of these stuck up Charlotte County snobs got put in an art class, they bribed their way into a schedule change. It was rude really, but I wasn't complaining.
I inhaled deeply and was overwhelmed with the scent of wet clay and sounds of various drawing tools scratching away at different surfaces. The great thing about the art room was that it never changed. No matter what class you took there were always students staying late to finish something up. There was always creation. The flow of artistic expression never ceased.
Taking my usual spot by the charcoal, I took my sketchbook out of my bag and instantly got to work on a sketch I didn't get to finish before break ended. It was of a girl sitting cross legged in a plaid skirt with flowers covering her eyes and growing from her head. I almost had the watering can above her head finished but I had yet to shade it to metal-like perfection. It was kind of like a feed the soul, water the mind type message I guess. Or maybe I was just a weird art nerd.
More and more people began to settle into the seats around me but their presence went unnoticed with each stroke of the soft black stick. By the time I finished the black dust from the charcoal found it's way into every crevice of my fingers and made my nails look like I dug dirt for a living. I made my way to the sink and scrubbed as hard as I could but it still left my fingers a little grey. I shrugged and went back to my seat.
Any type of art class with Mrs. Hazel was basically like a free-for-all, as long as you were doing something somewhat related to the class title. She understood how high school was and she knew that if we didn't get some type of outlet here, we'd all go mad. We usually had one big project towards the end of the semester as a final, but other than that, the world was ours at the tips of our pencils.
"Luna! Long time, no see!" Someone called from behind me and I turned around to see who it was.
"Monte Carlo. It's only been a couple weeks," I smiled easily.
"I see that nickname has not changed. But you certainly have," Monte looked me up and down like he always did.
"And I see your flirtatious ways have yet to change."
Monte Blanc is an incredibly handsome exchange student from Normandy. Tall, pale- in a good way-, nice bone structure, perfectly styled dark brown hair, and he had the body of an artist; dainty and fit but not overly muscular. The tendency for the French to be all about love made no exception for Monte. He has been after me since we met in Art 1 of freshman year and over time we became really good friends. He never stops sweet talking me though, never. He's French it's what he does, is how Monte would put it.
"What have you got here?" His accent oozed from his lips as he carefully picked up my sketchbook.
"Just something I worked on over break. Finished it up a few minutes ago," I explained.
"Beau... like you," He smirked and gave me his famous wink.
I rolled my eyes at him. You tend to do that a lot around Monte.
"Oh Luna please do something about that. You are an artist not an animal," He gestured towards my dirty hands.
Right. I bent to pick up my purse and took the small bottle of black nail polish out and set it on the table. Monte seemed to approve and went to go bother other people about their drawings. Before I got to work I plugged my ear buds in my phone and let Robbers play in one ear and the peaceful sounds of art in the works play in the other.
I always hated the smell of nail polish so I only ever painted them when I had too, that's why they were naked all break. But I loved the way black looked against my pale skin, like ink on paper. The contrast always intrigued me but my mother always said I was just goth. Punk, mother, the politically correct term is punk.
"You do know this is a drawing class right?" a voice startled me from across the table.
My eyes matched up with ones of pure gold, "And?"
"You're painting," He said plainly.
I focused back on my nails with a little more annoyance than before, "Well you're doing neither so..."
"I've already finished, and class is almost over," He explained and continued to sit across from me.
I looked up at him again to see him reaching for my sketchbook. I don't think I had ever seen this person before and he was talking to me like he knew me which irritated me.
"This yours?" He asked.
I mentally rolled my eyes. I was literally the only other person sitting at this table and the sketchbook was clearly right in front of me. Not to mention my charcoal tainted hands.
"Yes," I sighed.
"Doesn't have a signature so I was making sure," He replied.
His tone was so sarcastic, like he obviously knew that the sketchbook was mine and just because I didn't sign it he "didn't know."
"Why do you even care?" I looked up at him again.
"Wanted to know your name without asking," He shrugged.
"And what's wrong with just asking me?" I retorted.
"'Cause you seem like the type to keep something like that from me because some annoying guy came over here and interrupted you and you're afraid that I'm going to flirt with you and try to ask you out. You've probably had a few family issues judging by your hair color and attire, something along the rebellious side and you're probably listening to some type of rock or dark music just to add to all of that. You may not be the typical Florida, sun kissed, beach girl, but you're not hard to figure out," He finished by setting my sketchbook down and leaning back with a smirk on his face.
I tried extremely hard to not let what he just said get under my skin, but it was proving to be almost impossible.
"You don't know a thing about me you prick," I said, pushing back my anger.
"Try and tell me I'm wrong then," His smirk deepened and it was taking everything inside of me not to smack it off of his face.
"Who are you?" I narrowed my eyes at him.
"Alright if I tell you my name you have to tell me yours," He negotiated.
"Fine," I spat.
"Zain Jawaad Malik. I just moved here a month ago from Bradford, England," He introduced himself, not even bothering to shake my hand.
"That would explain the annoying accent," I blurted.
Zain laughed and it was honestly the weirdest thing I had ever seen/heard.
"Now tell me yours," He demanded.
"Luna," I said flatly.
"C'mon I told you my full name," He complained.
"Luna. Take it or leave it," I said, screwing on the cap to my nail polish.
"Luna. Like the moon," He was quiet for a moment then nodded, "Fits you."
"Thanks?"
He ignored me, "I like you Luna."
I ignored the strange sensation that burned inside of me from his words.
"Why?" I tried to keep my annoyance intact.
"Because while most girls around here paint their nails pink, you're painting yours black."
and before I could respond, the bell was ringing and he had already slipped out of the door.