Rejects // Punk Luke Hemmings

>Chapter One<

Art class. My favorite period of the day. The only period, actually, that I liked at all. It was the only period where I could just be myself and not be judged.

Well, if you count just sitting in a corner doing projects that were specially designed for my level of skill as not being judged, then that was true. I'm easily the most advanced kid in the class, and my old teacher knew that. So she made up assignments for me so I wouldn't get bored. Not anymore though.

My thing with art; it started when I was about two. I had apparently loved the shape of my hand, and I had covered my walls in little kid handprints. My mother hadn't been there when I'd done it, but she wasn't mad when she came home. She thought it was beautiful. So we made a tradition of doing that again each year on my birthday in different colors.

Ever since then, I've been transfixed with the concept of art, finding the beauty in even the ugliest of things. I notice the small, minute details instead of the big picture. The swoop of an eyelash, the point of a leaf, the weave of a basket. I've never liked looking at the whole picture, but I've always enjoyed the natural beauty of everything around me.

So when I moved to Australia, there were plenty of new details to take in. There were new people, new cultures, new landscapes. So much to see, but I never would really see all of it.

My new school was chock full of changes. The whole atmosphere was different. There were new teachers, new classmates, new judgments. I was used to the snide comments whispered loudly as I passed by in the hallway. They were nothing new to me. But before this year, I'd always known the people who talked about me, or I at least had an idea of who they were.

Now that I lived here, I had no idea who these people were. They had no idea who I was. So we were at a mutual understanding of the fact that I'd ignore them while they'd judge me.

Now that I lived here, the teachers had no idea what I was good at, what I struggled with, or if I had a bad reputation or not. So that meant I was stuck doing whatever the rest of the art class was doing. Of course, I already knew those things, so I had a 108 percent in art.

But still, art was my favorite class. It was the one time of day that I could unwind and take it easy as I pushed ahead of everyone else in the lesson. It made me feel good to know that I was a step or two ahead of everyone else. It made me feel somewhat special.

[Edited]