Drawn to Fight: Zac & Evie

by Lilliana Anderson

  I set my packet of chips on the ground and spin my body to face them. “OK, it was hot. And he’s a good kisser, I’m going to give him that. But maybe that’s just what he does to celebrate a win. It doesn’t have to mean anything. Just because you two are all lovey dovey, doesn’t mean that I have to be too. Don’t force your love shit on me,” I argue. I know my argument is contrary to how I’m feeling, but inside, I’m a ball of emotion. I’m flipping between being rational and thinking it’s just hormones and being idealistic, and then thinking there’s some spiritual connection between the two of us. It seems foolish in my mind, and I’m not going to look foolish to my friends, especially after the whole ‘For a good time call Evie’ debacle from year ten. That’s when I became known as the school’s whore and after having my private life talked about like front page news, I swore black and blue that I was done with boys. So I’ll deny this until I’m blue in the face if I have to. At least, until I’m absolutely sure what’s happening. I mean, I might not even see him again.

  Sisley shrugs and leans over to snag my bag of chips, giving the bag a shake and looking inside before popping one in her mouth. “Suit yourself,” she says, crunching down on the fried potato. “Although, we asked around and found out that he’s a delivery driver for the big florist in High street. Lucas and I thought you might need some flowers delivered to your door. But that’s OK. If you don’t like him, we won’t bother.”

  Lucas just nods and shrugs. Fuck, he’s whipped.

  Placing my hands on either side of my head as if I need to hold it together or it will explode, I shake my head and moan. “No! Are you two insane? How fucking desperate do you think that would look? No way. Just…just leave it alone, OK? For your information, I’m not even thinking about him. I’m thinking about my art project. It’s due next week and I’m not finished yet.”

  “Are you serious? It’s due in next Friday before exams. You’ve got to get yourself organised,” Sisley reminds me, righteous because her work has been submitted a week early.

  Taking my bag of chips back from her hands, I look inside to see what’s left, then scrunch it up. It’s empty. I let out a sigh. “I know, I know. I’ll stay behind today and work on it. I’m sure I can have it finished in time. It’s just the final layer of shading and the framing that I still have to work on.”

  “What is it anyway?” Lucas asks.

  “Oh I can answer that,” Sisley says with a smile. “She’s painting her obsession.”

  “So, it’s a painting of some dude fighting?”

  “No,” I correct. “It’s a painting of a woman fighting. I’m basing it on an old shot of my mum. You of all people should know how much I admire strong women. And you should too. Who taught you Aikido for most of your teen years?”

  “Your mum.”

  “That’s right. My mum. A woman. I want to show the world how, with the right training, a woman can be just as powerful as any man.”

  “And you’re going to do all that with a single painting?”

  “I reckon she will,” Sisley adds. “The painting is badass.”

  ***

  Pulling out my phone, I type in the following message to my both of my parents – Staying behind to work on painting.

  Dad texts back almost immediately. Don’t stay too late. Dinner at 6.

  A few minutes later, I get the text from my mother, who is much more easy-going than my dad. Have fun! C U when you get home ♡

  Smiling at the differences in their demeanours, I place my phone in my bag as I head toward the art room after last period. The art teacher, Mr Sparks, is inside rinsing out some brushes that have been soaking in turpentine, and the harsh smell of it hits my nose as I enter.

  As I walk into the room decorated with years worth of paint splatters all over its surfaces, Mr Sparks turns to face me and a smile spreads across his handsome features but falters a little as if it wasn’t me he was expecting. He recovers quickly though.

  “Ah, Evie. Glad you came in today. Your project is looking fantastic. But it definitely needs a little more work before next week.”

  He’s one of those young teachers who have only been out of university for a year or two. I’d put him at about twenty-three. He’s a tiny bit shorter than me, with dark hair and one of those model-type smiles that make all the young girls swoon. Somehow, I’ve been lucky enough to be immune to it. But there are a lot of untalented artists in his class, so his looks definitely work on the general school population.

  “I know,” I agree. “I really need to work on the shading and contours.”

  “A little. But what I’m mainly referring to is your Visual Arts Diary. I took a look at it, and your process detail needs more work. I have high hopes for you making the ArtExpress exhibition if you can get this diary up to standard. You’re my most promising student.”

  Groaning internally at the need for even more work, I verbally thank him for his input. Then, I set up my canvas on an easel and make my way around the room to collect the paint and brushes I need. Once that’s done, I go and pull my visual arts diary out of the pile.

  “Can you tell me where you feel this is lacking?” I ask, flipping through the pages filled with hand drawn depictions of my larger work, as well as various tests on the medium I would use, and the inspiration for my work.

  “I think you need to focus on one artist who inspires you and has a similar style. You need to talk about…” he pauses and looks up. “Yes?” he says to another student who’s just knocked on the door. Looking up as well, I see that it’s the girl I saw earlier. The one with the almost white hair – maybe I didn’t imagine it…

  She looks at me hesitantly before speaking in a small voice. “I’m Meg Reid, I’m, um… booked in to use the darkroom. They said you had the key.”

  We have to be deathly quiet to hear her words, and I think Mr Sparks is struggling to decipher what she said as it takes him a moment of thought before he answers.

  “Oh yes! Of course - the keys. I have them here, let me open everything up for you.”

  Clearing his throat, he excuses himself and exits the room with her, leaving me standing with my art book in my hands. I tuck it into my bag to work on at home tonight, then finish my set up and begin.

  I paint for a good hour, working on the final layer of shading. In it, I’m depicting a woman, striking out, as if she’s attacking the viewer. The background is dark – blacks and greys. She wears a red crop top and you can see the strength of her torso as she turns her body and extends her arm in a palm strike. Her other arm is tucked into a fist by the side of her chest, and she has her mouth open as if she’s shouting. She looks fierce.

  Stepping back I scrutinise my work, tilting my head from side to side as I try to get a sense of the way the light falls on the woman’s skin. With the back so dark, the light and shadows are quite severe and I hold my hand up, imagining it’s the light source before I decide where it needs some work. Adding a few more highlights, I dab my brush in the white and lift it to the canvas, pausing when some movement at the door catches my eye.

  “Can I help you?” I ask, leaning to the side so I can properly see who’s here. The moment my eyes land on him, I suck my breath back slightly. It’s Zac. “It’s you.”

  “And it’s you,” he grins, in a somewhat self-conscious way as he steps a little further into the room.

  “Were you looking for me?” I ask, my heart thudding in my chest as I try to keep my cool.

  His smile widens, and I’m sure I see a bit of a blush as he drops his gaze to look at a spot on the floor. “Seeing you is a happy accident, but I’m actually looking for someone else,” he states, lifting his eyes again as he looks around the room.

  “I’m the only one in here.”

  He nods, seeming distracted as he glances back over his shoulder like he’s trying to decide whether he should stay or just go.

  “Listen, I’m um…I’m sorry about the other night. I shouldn’t have done that without asking you. I uh�
�kind of lost my head a little.”

  “It’s OK. I quite liked it,” I smile, feeling my cheeks heat slightly.

  “You did?” he asks, like he’s surprised that any girl would ever want to be kissed by him.

  “It was a little messy, but yeah, I liked it a lot.”

  He steps forward again. “That’s not normal for me. Just so you know. I don’t always go out into the crowd and well, you know.”

  “That’s good to hear,” I respond, feeling as though my cheeks are burning hot now as well.

  “I haven’t seen you out there before,” he comments, moving closer again. To keep myself from burning up under his gaze, I drop my eyes and set my brush to the side, a nervous feeling rising up in my stomach. I pick up my canvas and move it to the drying area, needing that movement to give me a little control. I’ve never been alone with someone who makes me feel this way before. All the other boys, they were just boys. I never had this…

  “That’s a pretty awesome painting. It’s yours?” he asks, his voice right beside me, brushing softly against my ears as he moves to inspect my work. It sends chills down my spine that ripple through my body and tingle out through my skin. Having him next to me is intoxicating, and I have to close my eyes for a moment to keep myself calm.

  “It’s not finished.”

  His eyes move slowly over the canvas as he takes in every detail. Then they turn to me and seem to do the same, taking in every detail of my face.

  “You must really like fighting,” he murmurs, his voice deep and sexy like he’s talking about something so much more intimate.

  “Don’t you?” I practically whisper, my voice deciding to leave me when I need it most.

  His eyes drop to my mouth and he grins when my tongue slips out and wets them, then his eyes lift to meet mine and my stomach flips. He’s so close. “Yeah. Yeah I like fighting a lot.”

  The distance between our mouths becomes infinitesimal, and I feel sure he’s going to kiss me again. I can feel his breath, gently brush over my waiting lips and I part them willingly, my heartbeat and my breathing short and shallow in my anticipation.

  The sound of a message alert splits the air between us and causes us both to jerk back as if being caught doing something we weren’t supposed to.

  “Shit,” Zac hisses as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his phone.

  I take a step back from him, giving myself some distance so I can gather my thoughts and get a bit of control over my emotions. I suddenly feel like I’m about to cry and I keep swallowing down a lump in my throat, feeling ridiculous at the thought of my behaviour. What is wrong with me?

  Clearing my throat, I leave him tapping a message on his phone and move back to my station where I pick up my palette and carry it toward the sink to wash off. “So, that person you were looking for, is she about this tall?” I pause my clean up and hold my hand just above my shoulder to indicate. “Long blonde hair and blue eyes – really pretty?”

  “Um. Yeah. That’s her.”

  “She should be up in the dark room. Mr Sparks took her up there a little over an hour ago.”

  “She’s with Sparks?” he spits, his demeanour instantly changing – darkening – as he makes a move for the door.

  His reaction surprises me, when just a moment ago it seemed he was about to kiss me and now he’s running off to some other girl. “Who is she? Your girlfriend or something?” That was a really immature thing to say. I know that, but it seemed to fall from my lips before I could think to stop it.

  He turns to face me. “What? No. Jesus. You obviously have no recollection of me from before. Meg is my sister.”

  “You’re sister? But your surnames…”

  “Are different. I know. She’s my half-sister. Same mother. Different fathers.” He seems hurt by the fact that I didn’t remember and my throat tightens and my eyes burn.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…I just…I don’t know how to do this – whatever this is.” I indicate in the air between us and his expression softens a little at seeing my distress. He steps back toward me then stops and shakes his head like he’s trying to clear his mind. He looks at me, his eyes beseeching and something strange happens. Like this electricity or something. I don’t know what it is. But it’s in the air between us and it feels like I could touch it if I wanted to.

  “I don’t know what it is either. I…fuck, I don’t have time for this right now.” He steps back and I step toward him, wanting to say something more but he shakes his head again and walks backward out the door. “I’m sorry. But I need to stop Meg.”

  “Stop what?” I call after him as he takes off in the direction of the darkroom, sprinting up the stairs two at a time. He’s in such a hurry that you’d think there was a fire.

  I follow behind, my curiosity getting the better of me. What was Meg doing that he needed to put a stop to? I race up the stairs but halt at the landing and slip into the corridor when I hear fighting, keeping out of sight.

  “I should fucking report you, you sick fuck,” Zac growls, his voice low and angry as if he’s being careful to stay unheard.

  I hear Mr Sparks speak too, but his voice is much calmer and quieter, and I can’t make out the words.

  Straining my ears, I peek my head around the corner, feeling a bit like a voyeuristic freak but feeling unable to control myself.

  My tooth pulls at my lip as I hold my breath and stay as still as I can while I witness Zac, pinning Mr Sparks against the wall, growling at him with a fist pulled back as if he’s about to strike. From beside him, the girl – Meg – cries and pulls at Zac’s unmoving frame.

  “Don’t, Zac. Please!”

  Mr Sparks shakes his head, and appears to be trying to reason with Zac while holding his hands up in surrender “It isn’t that way,” he pleads. “We haven’t done anything.”

  “Stay. The. Fuck. Away,”’ Zac growls, releasing Mr Sparks roughly before turning to the girl and saying, “Get your things, Meg.”

  I see her nod and sniffle as she disappears in the darkroom then emerges with her arms filled with her backpack and its contents.

  “We’ll work this out,” Mr Sparks assures Meg, who turns to him and nods, her head bowed as she stuffs things in her bag and hurries toward Zac.

  Like an animal, Zac growls at Mr Sparks, turning back to him and placing his hand on his chest and shoving him backward so he’s once again pinned against the wall.

  “There is nothing to work out. Just stay the fuck away from her. I won’t warn you again.”

  Mr Sparks remains stoic, and Zac releases him after giving him an extra shove, before turning away and jerking the bag out of Meg’s hands. He grabs her arm, dragging her away from the scene.

  “What is wrong with you!?” she cries, rushing along beside him, struggling to keep up with his quickened pace.

  “Are you insane?” he hisses, as they get closer to me. I step back again, hiding near a locker because I don’t want to get caught eavesdropping.

  “What do you think would happen if you got caught? They’d bloody well call for our parents to come up to the school, wouldn’t they? There’d be an investigation and we’d all be fucked. I just don’t understand how you can be so goddamned irresponsible!”

  “And what do you think will happen if you get caught fighting? You’re being irresponsible too.”

  “Don’t you dare turn this around….” he stops midsentence and lifts his head as if he’s sensed something. Sensed me. He turns his head toward me – or where I was, anyway. I got out of sight the moment he paused, knowing he would look my way.

  Now, I’m racing down the stairs at the end of the corridor and back to the art room as fast and as quietly as I can. When they walk past the open door, I keep my head down, hoping I don’t seem too out of breath.

  I lift my head just as they pass, my heart beating wildly in my chest, and I catch Zac’s eye briefly. The connection hits me solidly in my chest and flips over my stomach so I can’t breathe, and I know
. I know that he knows I was there. He knows that I know what’s going on between Meg and Mr Sparks.

  He passes by the door, the end of our gaze feeling like it’s being torn from my eyes, and suddenly the air returns to my lungs, allowing me to breathe again.

  “Holy shit,” I say to myself. “What the hell was that?”

  After a few moments of staring at the open door, I pick up my things, hurrying to leave, because if Mr Sparks returns to the art room, I don’t know if I can pretend I didn’t see what happened between him and Zac – and with Meg for that matter. Something very wrong is definitely going on there. It sits strangely in my stomach and I wonder what, if anything, I should be doing about it. All I know for sure is that I need to get out of here. The painting can be finished tomorrow when I’ve had a chance to process this.

  Six

  Zac

  The electricity came back on today and Meg has been making good use of it. She’s been up in her room all day with her music blaring, refusing to come downstairs. She’s pissed off with me over what happened at school.

  That’s fine, I’m pissed off with her too. She has one year left of her schooling and she’s throwing away her chances at a future on that bloody fuckwit, Sparks. I’ve seen him around, you know. He used to enter the fights out at Londonderry. But he vanished from the scene a while ago. I guess fighting for cash and being a teacher don’t go hand in hand – well, neither does dating a student.

  The only reason I’m not reporting him is because we don’t want the attention an investigation would bring. And Meg swears black and blue that he hasn’t touched her. But she reckons she is in love with the guy. She’s barely seventeen. She doesn’t have a clue what love is. Hell, I’m eighteen, and I haven’t got an idea of what it is. All us kids, we’ve missed the boat where love is concerned. Because no one has ever given a fuck.