Falling

7

"You can't draw that for your final project for the value unit."

"What, why the fuck not?"

"Because you can't draw boobs for art class," Tolkien says, irritated that there was ever any question why Kenny couldn't draw that for drawing/painting.

"Oh, common buddy, it's not like it's really vulgar or anything. People draw tits all over the place here," Clyde says, tugging on the left sleeve of Tolkien's shirt. I'm not even going to lie; I still haven't come to terms with the fact for years I thought the boy's name was Token, but whatever, I'm fine.

"Yeah, on bathroom stalls and the tables outside on the south side of the building. Also, I'm only telling you not to do that for your project, so you don't fail and get in trouble." I haven't chimed in at all through this conversation since I'm pretty invested in my own art. If I were to say something, I'd actually have to be on the side of my slutty friend. Tolkien doesn't realize that Mrs. Anson is generally okay with any form of self-expression.

I really like her. To be fair, I like this class in general. I only genuinely enjoy drawing and painting, creative writing, and choir. Choir can sometimes not be the highlight, but it's cool cause I'm around music, which is all I really need in a class. And no, I don't sing, I mean, I sing, but I never go for solos, no matter how much it's encouraged. I like singing, I do it in my free time, but I would never perform in front of other people. By myself, that is.

"Stop, don't ask her; just let me create my piece as a surprise." I glance up and see Tolkien raising his hand, Kenny reaching across the table, trying to shove his hand down, and Mrs. Anson coming over to our table.

"Yes, Tolkien, what can I help you with?"

"Yeah, so it's about our value project," the blonde woman nods. "Kenny here wanted to draw something, but we're not sure if it's okay."

"Alright, well, Kenny, what did you want to draw?" the three boys at my table look at each other, all with different expressions. No one was answering, and Mrs. Anson was just looking at everyone.

"He wanted to draw boobs," I say, looking back at my paper. I'm not sure how people were looking at me, but I'm sure a little surprised I talked since I usually go without saying a word all period. But no one was saying anything, and I don't think they were going to.

"Oh," Mrs. Anson starts, "How exactly were you planning on creating this piece?" I look up again to purely just see Tolkeins expression. And just as I thought, he had a look of confusion and shock.

"Well, you know, they'd just be boobs," the blonde said, not completely understanding the question.

"What would you use for reference, and how much detail were you planning on going into?"

"Um," Kenny looked over at Clyde, who looked like he equally didn't know what to say. I sigh and continue with my drawing, and this time I'm not going to look back up or stay engaged in the conversation. Instead, I put my second air pod in my ear and let the music fill my ears.

I just have to make it through math, and then school will be over, and I can go get the drink I've been longing for all day. But it's okay since I'm not an alcoholic, I'm not—I'm fine.

I nod my head to Haunted by Taylor Swift as I erase the stupid disproportionate lines I've drawn. And yes, I like Taylor Swift guys can like her too! Okay, but that's not why people tease me about it. It's because I'm me, which means I only listen to indie alternative rock. Sure, I do, but I like my fair share of pop songs and all of Taylor's...

Honestly, I write most of my music in the pop genre. Sure, I've written many different genres, but I know that if people heard my music, they'd be surprised that's what I make; or that I even make it. But it doesn't matter. No one's going to hear it; I'm not good.