Sanity // s.m. [IN EDITING]

[3]

Shawn

***

Freshman year, I saw her. I knew what she was. She was an artist.

Her older sibling must've been in 9th grade, because she couldn't have been any older than 8th. She was painting a mural for the school displaying splatters of vibrant colors and swirls that revealed the school name and logo, above a gorgeous painting of a wolf, the school mascot.

Her eyes were full of concentration as she added touches of paint here and there to fix up rough spots, and I felt like such a creeper watching from the door the way I was.

Finally I managed to speak up, "That's amazing."

She turns to face me quickly, dropping her paintbrush on the floor as it slams onto the trash bag she'd laid out, green paint covering her bare feet.

"Thanks," she said slowly with a smile, "And. . . who are you?"

"I'm going to be attending this school this year. My name's Shawn."

"Elliot," she responded, outstretching her hand to shake as she gets closer to me. She stopped right before my fingers could touch hers and pulls her hand right back to her chest.

"Sorry, forgot," she laughed lightly. Her hands were covered in paint from her fingertips to her wrists.

"You're younger," I sank my teeth into my bottom lip, "aren't you?"

She nodded, her bright eyes fixating on mine. "My brother goes here. When they let him in, they somehow found some of my artwork in pictures I posted online, and asked me to paint a mural. They said they'd keep it up for a while depending on how good they think it is, so it should still be up when I go here next year. It really is an honor."

"Yeah, well, you're ridiculously good. How long have you been painting?" I asked, staring at the mural.

It must've taken her days just to get this far. I wouldn't have even known how to start.

"Um, a few years now. I've been drawing since I was little though."

"I can't even sketch a football, and you can do this. That's so cool," I complimented her, gawking at the painting on the wall in front of me. It was excellently done. I couldn't believe a fourteen year old was capable of that.

"Well if art isn't your thing, what is?" she asked curiously, not fully comfortable by my presence yet.

I paused, looking up at the painting. I shoved my hands into my pockets, raised my shoulders and returned my gaze to her before cracking a grin.

"Music."

Her pearly white teeth began to show as a lovely smile formed on her face.

"What do you play?" she tried to hide it.

"Guitar," I responded immediately, "and vocals."

She looked surprised. "Oh, you sing?"

I nodded, embarrassed.

"That's awesome. You know, I sing in the shower sometimes. My shower head thinks I'm good, others would have to disagree."

We both laughed at that, and my eyes met hers for anther brief moment.

There was silence.

But it's not like we were uncomfortable or anything, we were still smiling at each other I couldn't even begin to pull my eyes off of hers.