Playing His Games

1.

"Yeah, well, even I know not to show up to my job drunk." Isaiah said after the bell rang and we were dismissed from last period. I shook my head with a laugh. I couldn't believe it had even happened.

"Not at all." I shook my head sarcastically, putting on my most serious face.

"Mr. Mutz was a dick anyways." Isaiah shrugged and I nodded. That was true. I beside him in the hallways on the way to the library.

"Yeah, no loss there." I shook my head.

"But I heard the new guy is supposed to be bringing his stuff after school. Maybe we'll see him setting up after practice." Isaiah nudged me with his elbow and wiggled his eyebrows. I rolled my eyes at him with a shake of my head.

"You're annoying." I pointed at him as he started walking into the locker room, ignoring what I said.

I stood there for a minute and smiled to myself. Thank the gods for Isaiah. I don't think I would've made it to senior year without him.

He's my best friend and he's stuck by my side through everything, despite what it put him through as well. It's gotta be hard being my best friend, with what everyone says about me.

My thoughts were cut off as a breeze blew by and a smell hit my nose. It was like evergreens and a little mint. Weird, there's no evergreens here. It smelled so good though.

I don't know why, but I closed my eyes and sighed, inhaling the amazing smell. For some reason, it warmed my whole body and a small smile formed on my face.

What just happened?

I turned to the left to see the school doors had opened. Some guy was walking in, but his back was to me. I couldn't see him. The air felt different though, and it kind of scared me.

I turned and ran the other way, heading straight for the art room. This was my daily ritual. Isaiah played basketball. He was into sports. I was not. I would rather go to the art room and spend my time there.

Nobody else was ever there and Ms. Lo always left her door open for me. She never had an eighth period so she left early. I liked to go there and be alone. Then, I didn't have to deal with all the staring and whispering. I wouldn't have to deal with the snickering and gossip that hadn't died down in the two years I've been here.

I'm still the walking shame of the entire school.

I grabbed a thick shear of portrait paper and taped it to my cardboard, placing it on the easel. I grabbed pencil and some water colors.

I sighed, letting my hand glide across the paper and etch little scribbles. When I was satisfied with the drawing, I grabbed a couple brushed and a few coups of water.

I dipped my brush in the water and then in the paint, taking it to the sheet and letting it drip and soak. I did that for a while before I decided it looked good enough.

I then waited for it to dry completely. I wanted to finish it. I sat on the table and turned on my phone. I flicked through and clicked on a play less titled 'I guess we just fell out of love' and let it play softly in the classroom. It fit the mood of my piece.

After I was a few songs in, I grabbed a fine point sharpie and went over my pencil lines. I waited for the sharpie to dry, before taking my pencil again and erasing the left over silver graphite.

I heard a knock at door and jumped, completely unaware of my surroundings as I was deeply concentrating on the sheet under my hands.

"Good god, Isaiah. You scared the shit out of me." I looked up with my heart on my chest, only to see it wasn't Isaiah in front of me.