paint palettes and cameras

sweet hearts and writers determination

I wake up the next morning. My art supplies are scrambled on the floor, along with the rest of my motivation. I pull my sweatshirt over my dark blue tee-shirt and jeans, followed by the swift motion of Rykä sneakers being tied in bows. I sling my backpack over my shoulders, followed by my fingers running through my chocolate hair. It's Friday, but that only means day thirty-five of writing. Along with my painting, I have books to write of my own, and essays to put together for English. I think about Oakley from last night. The music blasting through our ears as he walked me home in a quiet motion, like the rain that pours from the metal in the shower. The rain draining out every other sound that dares to interrupt its embrace. The school remains the same throughout the entire day--and then, there's Oakley. Gentle, welcoming, and humble. His hair is brushed out of his forehead today, and right before I melt, he turns around to face me. I smile, excitedly gasping from the inside. He smiles back, with a gentle wave. Now I've melted. I think as my heart plummets through my lower stomach, causing me to cough. He turns to face Mrs. Rein who is focused on the use of rhetoric that was discussed yesterday. Our essay is due on Monday, and I am in the middle of finding sources of evidence for my claims. We get time during class to work on it, and I pull through the essay, printing it on the big printer in the back of the classroom and then turning it in on her desk. "Done already, Mable?" She says, happily. "Yes." I smile, sitting back in my seat. The twelve pages that lay on her desk, typed and printed in Times New Roman, in a deep black twelve-point font. I sigh in relief, but also in pride that I didn't rush through it, but I feel it is exactly how she wants it. The bell rings as my body is slightly hunched over the cold, wooden desk as I grasp my book bag and place my things inside.

"Mable?" A familiar voice says, welcomingly. I pull my torso up, facing Oakley, as I gather my hair to the side. "Yes?" I say, with a smile. His eyes press into mine, with such expression and full of absolute perfection. I see my reflection in his glassy, glittering windows. "Photography room, after school, if you'd be available?" He questions, but without question--more lightly demanding as his chin points down and his eyes sink gracefully into mine. "Okay," I say, my voice deep and thick with slight insecurity. I clear it, as my eyes travel back down to my bag, and I get up and swing it over my shoulders. "See you then," he says lightly, walking out of the classroom. I begin to walk out after a few minutes when Mrs. Rein stops me.

"Mable, a word," she says, calling me over from her desk. I walk over toward her, letting my left hand grasp my left strap, and my right one tightening. "Yes, Mrs. Rein?" I say, interested. Her eyes are glued to my essay. "This is immaculate, Mable," her eyes remaining focused on the text stained on the pages. "Incredible.." She removes her eyes from the paper and into my eyes. "Mable, you have an amazing shot at getting a job related to writing—an author even; truthfully. You shine in my class and you have such potential." She smiles, very proudly. "Well, thank you so much," I say to her, looking back at the papers she holds. "I hope to be an author one day. I love your class, Mrs. Rein," I say with adoration toward the English, and the way writing laces my heart like vines, twirling around the branches. She nods almost vigorously, reading over my papers. "One of the best students I've seen in a while. Don't lose that spirit of yours, Mable. No matter what." She looks up at me and smiles greatly. "Perfect score on the essay, by the way," She marks it at the top, circling the A+. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Rein. your class has taught me so much. Thank you for bringing me where I am today." "And thank you for letting me have a student like you," She hands my essay back to me and tells me she will see me tomorrow.

I check the time and see it is only thirty minutes until school is over. I decide to leave school early and grab two vanilla iced coffins, and just as I glance at the time again, it is only five minutes until school ends. I walk back to school and down the halls, admiring the art that is painted upon the walls, and I smile to myself. The photography room is on my right. Walking inside, I close the door behind me and turn back around to see Oakley. "Hi," he says happily. "Hi, coffee?" I ask, passing him his coffee. "Ah, that's awesome, thanks!" He says, taking the coffee and sipping its sweet vanilla flavoring. "Mmmm," he says with delight. "I needed that." He walks over to his photographs that are sprawled out on the desk, with the light pointing down onto them. There are roads, trees, and beautiful places around town. "Amazing," I say.

"I was thinking," He clears his throat. "Maybe you would like to be a part of this project?" He leans his body against the table, tapping his fingers against the desk, his eyes diving into mine, gentle and big. "You want me to be a part of your project? I mean, that's huge, Oakley," I say, looking down. "Well, I want you to be in it. Come on, let's get out of here and take some photos." He smiles, grabbing his camera and opening the door for me. I follow him outside, and we walk to our first scenery.