5 Aria
The school day hours crawled by like years, which was fine because I knew at the end of the day I would have to be at a doctor’s appointment, something I really didn’t want to do. I’d rather run from reality than face it.
Whenever Mike and his friends crossed my path, he made sure to never make eye contact. Most of his friends didn’t know we were related.
At lunch, I sat with Simon and watched him open and close his milk jug as his eyes stayed glued to his historically long crush, Tori, also known as the most popular girl in our junior class. Also, also known as the girl who egged Simon’s house last year. He was still in denial about that one, claiming it was Eric Smith who was behind the yolks.
Like all hopeless romantics, love blinded him from the truth. It was all very tragic, yet somehow hopeful all at the same time.
Simon kept talking about Tori as if she were his greatest dream come to life. “She sits three rows behind me in chemistry. I know you’ll probably disagree, but she’s smart, Aria.” His words were drunk on a fictional romance as he spoke of his imaginary lover.
Sometimes I wondered if he saw tiny birds flying around her like Snow White or something.
“You would be the one to crush on the rudest girl in our class.”
The way his smile spread across his face made me smirk. “She’s not rude, she’s just damaged. Those are my favorite kinds of girls, the flawed ones. It makes it easier for them to put up with my flaws.”
“Is that why I’m your best friend? Because I’m flawed?”
“No. Mainly you’re my best friend because you’re wearing a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle shirt with the faces of the four renaissance artists on it.”
I glanced at my favorite shirt and grinned. “It’s almost embarrassing how cool I am.”
“Almost,” Simon joked before he turned back toward Tori. “She’s so beautiful.”
“You’re too good for her.”
His elbows rested against the cafeteria table and his hands cupped his chin. “She’s the sun, and I’m the pale man craving her light.”
I chuckled. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say something so extremely awkward.”
“Imagine our kids…” He released a breath of happiness. “Stunning nerdy blond children with freckles and glasses.” He paused, looked at me, and frowned. “Sorry. Best friend personal foul. No kids talk.”
I wiggled in my seat. “You do know her hair isn’t really blond, right? It’s a bad dye job.”
“Says the auburn girl who was born charcoal black,” Simon cockily replied.
“Touché. But let’s not forget the main issue with the love of your life.” I gestured toward Eric, who was sitting beside Tori. “She’s off the market.”
“For now. Rumor has it that he’s going to break things off with her.”
“And where are these rumors from?”
His cheeks rose up. “I have my sources.”
“Ms. Givens?” I asked. He didn’t reply, but I knew that was his one and only source for school gossip. Ms. Givens was the librarian who spent too much time eavesdropping on the whisperings around the hallways.
“Let’s just say, Eric’s on his way out, and Tori’s going to be heartbroken, and then swoosh! Simon Landon’s in for the rebound.” The excitement in his voice was amusing.
“And then what? You’re going to magically swoop in and comfort her? The guy who can barely make eye contact with the girl, let alone speak to her? How are you gonna manage that one, Romeo?”
He nodded as if I’d made a point he hadn’t yet considered. When the bell rang for our next class, Simon’s fantasy came to a halt as he lifted his lunch tray and placed it back down over and over and over and over again. His lips turned down as he noticed Tori walking out of the lunchroom with Eric’s arm wrapped around her shoulders. The sense of defeat almost washed him away. I took the tray from his tight grip.
“She’s never going to want a freak like me, is she?” he asked, defeated.
“You’re not a freak, Si. Plus, rumor has it those two are breaking up soon. She already dated everyone else in our class, so be ready to swoosh in! You’re next in Tori’s lineup!” My voice was sugared with comfort and lies. He knew what I said wasn’t true, but he still smiled large.
“Swoooosh!”
* * *
I’d learned more about the new kid from the gossip of the hallways than from his actual mouth.
“Did you know he’s from the South?”
“Like, Brazil?”
“I hear he speaks French.”
“He’s sooo hot.”
“His mom named him Alabama!”
“He has tattoos on his you-know-what!”
“That accent is fake.”
“He’s already made out with some chick in the locker room!”
“I heard it was a threesome!”
“He’s a word wizard.”
“I saw him first!”
By sixth hour the sophomore, junior, and senior girls were already laying claim on the new guy while the freshmen lurked in the shadows. They surrounded his locker like lovesick puppies, twirling their hair and pushing out their chests. I felt bad for the guy. He didn’t have a chance at remaining mysteriously new with a face like that and a Southern accent like his.
I stood at my locker, glancing over at him and his fanatics. Every now and then he would say something to them, and the girls would turn my way and stare at me.
I’d never been stared at in the past, even with all of my different hair colors, dramatic makeup, and odd outfits. The students at Mayfair Heights high school were determined to keep me invisible, which was completely fine by me.
Until now. Now they were turning my way giggling, and flipping their hair over their shoulders before looking back at the new kid.
Is he mocking me?
Are they all mocking me?
It was amazing how a couple hair flips and sarcastic laughter could make a person want to climb inside of their locker and stay hidden for the next one hundred and seventy-nine days. Or at least until the final bell. I slammed my locker and went on my way in the opposite direction of the group of dicks and divas.
Bunch of assholes.
“Do you know where room one-twelve is?” Deer Boy asked, hurrying over to me.
I arched an eyebrow, a little annoyed with his smug ‘I’m sexy and I know it’ personality. “The swarm of girls attacking you couldn’t help you out?”
“So you noticed.”
“Noticed what?” I asked.
“You noticed them noticing me?”
Hesitation fell against my tongue. “…Yes…”
“Which in turn means you noticed me.”
I wasn’t amused. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Okay.”
“Okay what?” I asked.
“Okay, I won’t flatter myself.”
His eyes were filled with such ease and sincerity that I almost lost myself in them.
I blinked. “You’re weird.”
“Weird in a charming way or just…weird-weird?” he asked.
I wasn’t sure which it was yet. Maybe both. “Why were you guys looking at me?”
“Oh. I asked them your name. None of them knew it, though, and for some reason they thought that was comical.” He shrugged his shoulders.
Figures. I knew everyone’s name in our school and they couldn’t take the time to figure out mine.
“Why were you asking about me anyway?”
“I don’t know. I guess I get curious about girls who walk through the woods at six in the morning on Sundays.”
“Oh.”
“I’m Levi Myers.” He gestured as if he was going to bow before me when he delivered me his name. Then he went ahead and did it. He fully bowed. He was tipping over into the weird-weird territory.
“You’re Mr. Myers’ kid?” I paused, thinking. “I never knew Mr. Myers had a kid.”
“Yeah well, that’s my dad for ya.”
His eyebrows furrowed. A slight look of disappointment passed through Levi’s eyes before he blinked and the softness returned to his stare. “And you are?”
“Aria.”
“Really? Aria?”
“Yes…”
“Not Becky? Or Casey? Maybe Katie?”
“Nope. Aria.”
He crossed his arms, and my eyes took notice of the eye tattoo on his left hand, resting between his thumb and pointer finger. “I spent all day trying to figure out your name and Aria wasn’t in the top twenty names.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint.”
“No, no. I like it. Aria.” He smiled and placed his thumb between his teeth as he studied my face. “Aria.” His head tilted to the left and right. “Arrriaaa.”
Stop saying my name.
I shifted my body weight around. Now he was swimming in the weird-weird territory, and I had to admit, his weird persona was so far from his hot exterior. He was his own oxymoron.
If there were a list of the top five oxymorons in the world it would look like this:
Great Depression.
Tragic comedy.
Original copy.
Jumbo shrimp.
Levi Myers.
“So do you always walk around those woods at six in the morning?” he questioned. He rubbed the palm of his hand against his somewhat scruffy chin and then brushed his thumb against his top lip.
I lingered a few seconds, trying to take in all of his facial characteristics. My eyes blinked twice. “Sometimes. Do you always feed random deer at six in the morning?” I asked sarcastically.
“Always,” he said with confidence.
I couldn’t stare at his eyes anymore because they were making me lightheaded. Actually the whole hallway was making my head spin. I took a breath and closed my eyes. When I reopened them, his brown eyes were still staring at me. Crap. My stomach flipped. Clearing my throat, I gestured down the hallway. “Room one-twelve is over there. Right past the cafeteria.”
Food.
Ugh.
More stomach flips.
His eyes moved past me and he looked in the direction I was pointing. “Thanks, Aria.” He walked away. The farther he disappeared down the hallway, the calmer my heartbeats became, but the nauseous feeling rolling through my stomach didn’t stop as I brushed my hand over my lips.
Moving my feet as quickly as possible, I pushed myself into the closest bathroom and hardly got the stall door shut before throwing up my breakfast and lunch. Sitting back on the heels of my feet, I reached for the toilet paper and wiped my mouth clean.
I hated today.
6 Aria
The only thing I looked forward to during the school day was eighth hour. Eighth hour was my favorite, not only because it was the last period, but also because it was art class with Mr. Harper.
Mr. Harper and I had known each other since I stepped into his Introduction to Art class my freshman year. He was a skinny, pipe smoking, mustache wearing, sixty-two-year-old gay man who always attributed his love for art to a love affair he had with Leonardo da Vinci. Sure, the love affair might have been nothing more than an awesome acid trip that he’d experienced, seeing as how Leonardo da Vinci died four hundred and thirty-three years before Mr. Harper was born, but it was a love story for the ages the way my favorite teacher told it.
The class I was currently taking was an exploration class where the main goal was to discover a new way to look at art as a whole. Our classroom was set up differently than all of the other rooms in the building. Our desks were turned inward in a semicircle and there were at least fifteen extra chairs in the room. At the opening of the circle was a big chalkboard.
Mr. Harper scribbled the words Partner Exploration across the board.
“Shout out what you think of when you think of exploring. Ready? Go!” Mr. Harper said, holding his chalk in his hands.
The class started shouting out random words at the highest volume they could.
“Jungle!”
“Christopher Columbus!”
“Jet skis!”
“Sex!”
Mr. Harper wrote all of the words on the board and placed ‘sex’ in the biggest letters. He was never moved by any teenage antics, only taking them as a learning experience. “Ah! And words that you think of when you hear the word partner? Go!”
“Sex!”
“Sex!”
“Sexual intercourse!”
All of the words dealing with sex came from Connor, the most perverted junior in our class who was always talking about sex or making sexual expressions with his tongue. I was certain that he had a small penis and never had sex or something because a person who talked that much about sex was clearly compensating for something.
“Team,” I whispered softly, almost voicelessly. Mr. Harper’s eyes moved to me, and he smiled wide. I knew teachers weren’t allowed to say they had favorites, but it was a given that I was pretty high on Mr. Harper’s list.
In the biggest letters yet he wrote ‘team’.
“For the semester I am going to pair you up with a partner. You are going to explore the realms of art, taking both of your personalities and creating a final piece of work that showcases two worlds colliding into one. You will learn their likes, their dislikes, their dreams, wishes, and biggest fears. You should learn anything and everything you can think of about your partner.” He picked up the chalk eraser and began wiping away the words involving any form of sex. “But unfortunately you will not be allowed to have sex with your partner.”
Connor complained, stating that sex was the only non-boring thing about the class.
Mr. Harper kept clearing the board and said dryly, “Don’t be dramatic Connor. No one was planning on sleeping with you anyway.” The class erupted in laughter. Everyone was enjoying Mr. Harper’s humor as always. Well, everyone except me.
My eyes were darting around the room to try to figure out who I would be partners with. The one problem with team projects was the idea of working in a team. The worst feeling in the world was looking around a classroom and realizing that you knew everyone, yet at the same time you knew no one at all.
“Don’t act like I don’t see you all panicking and searching for who you will be paired with. Your partners aren’t here.” Mr. Harper held up a finger, silencing our questioning minds before leaving the room.
Connor huffed. “If he’s not back in two minutes, I’m out!”
No one cares, Connor. By all means, leave.
At a minute and fifty seconds Mr. Harper came back with Ms. Jameson only a few steps behind her. She was the music teacher who laughed too loud and had a beard that was too noticeable. One would think she would’ve shaved it by now seeing as how she taught at a high school with some of the most brutal bullies in the history of bullies, but I guessed she loved herself the way she was.
Behind Ms. Jameson came her classroom of students holding instruments. My cheeks flushed when I saw Levi walking in with a violin by his side.
I shifted my stare to the ground and tried to pretend I didn’t notice him.
I peeked up.
He smiled at me.
I didn’t smile back.
“Art,” Mr. Harper gestured toward our class and then in the direction of Ms. Jameson’s class, “meet soul.” He went on to explain how three days a week we would meet up with our music partners and work on our creative piece, but I’d stopped listening almost immediately. I tried my best not to notice that he was walking toward me. I tried my best not to notice that the seat beside me was empty. I tried my best to hope I ended up partners with Ellie Graze who talked too much and played the flute.
“Hi, Aria,” Levi said, taking the seat beside me. I’d never heard my name spoken so much in one day. Perhaps he had a strange addiction to the letters a-r-i-a. “I guess this is a sign, huh? You’ve been so ubiquitous since I met you.”
“What?” I blinked, glancing around at the rest of my class being partnered up. “What does ubiquitous mean?”
“It was my word of the day this morning. It means being everywhere. Very timely. The universe is obviously shoving us together and screaming, ‘Hey! Get to know each other!’”
“I don’t think it’s anything like that,” I argued. “It’s more of a coincidence. Having one class with someone is pretty common. Don’t look too much into it.” The look of pleasure on his face was showing me that he was indeed thinking too deeply on the subject. “Really,” I sighed. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Smiling.”
It had to be painful the amount of time he spent smiling.
“I’ll stop smiling the moment you stop frowning. We can switch expressions.”
“I’m not—” Pausing, I noticed how tight my lips were. Wiggling my mouth around, I loosened my face up and gave him a small, fake grin. “Better?”
His lips pouted out and nodded with the saddest look ever. “Much better.” He placed his violin in his lap.
“So the rumors are true?” I asked.
“Rumors? What rumors?”
“That you’re from the South—though I doubt it’s Brazil—and that you’re a word wizard.” I considered mentioning his tattooed private parts, but that seemed like crossing a line for what was only our second conversation. I’d save it for our third.
“I am from the South, but not Rio, and I do like words, but a word wizard? I don’t know about that seeing how I haven’t been placed in my Hogwarts house yet. Fingers crossed for Gryffindor.”
“You seem more like a Slytherin.”
“That doesn’t mean much to me coming from a Hufflepuff.”
I smiled, because Harry Potter references always brought out smiles.
“What other rumors are there?” he asked.
“Well, there was the threesome you had in the locker room with Jessica Bricks and Monica Lawrence during third hour.”
“Oh well, obviously that’s not a lie. It was an amazing threesome with name calling, hair pulling, and everything intense. I’m surprised you haven’t heard my nickname yet.”
“And what’s that?”
“Mr. Wild.”
Bull crap.
Art & Soul Page 4