gloves | vinnie hacker

20.

Naomi Montana.

I park my car in front of Vinnie's house for the second time in the span of 7 days, which was two times too many for my liking. I didn't exactly enjoy spending time with the boy. I always felt as if I was on my toes, and I knew how much he liked to watch me squirm.

He wasn't at school today, which wasn't exactly out of the ordinary, but still caused me to raise a couple of wondering yet nosy questions in the back of my mind. I really need to learn to mind my business.

I take a deep breath before un-buckling my seatbelt, trying to mentally prepare myself for whatever bersion of him I would be getting today. I step out of the car and start walking towards the house. There were no cars in the driveway except for his black sports car. That thing is always loud for no reason, and whenever he sooms out of the school parking lot, I always know who's car it is.

I knock on the door exactly three times. One behind the other. No answer.

I wait a little bit, to give him time to open the door, but he never comes.

I knock another three times. Knock. Knock. Knock.

I give him a little bit more time.

Still no answer.

to Vinnie:  wya? ive been knocking for like 5 mins

Read 4:35pm.

What the hell is his problem?

I knock a last time, hoping he'll finally answer the door. I looked and felt dumb, and he was starting to get on my nerves. How hard is it to open the door?

It can't be that hard, I literally do it all the time.

I gave Vinnie a couple minutes to get the door, just like the two other times prior. Yet the door is never opened and he doesn't even answer my text.

I huff in defeat, annoyed that he agreed to work on the project today if he was just going to waste my time. Not that I had anything better to do today, but still. I stomped back over to my car, deciding that the best solution was to just go home and work on the project myself.

At home, I copied some of my research down onto the index cards by hand, putting them to the side whenever I filled up all the lines. I looked at poster, noticing the drawings on it. Beautiful flowers delicately entraced onto the paper with precision and grace. I wondered how I never noticed it before, or how I never noticed him even drawing these. I didn't even know he could draw for that matter.

There were two flowers; one showcasing the anatomy of a flower, and the other simply for show.

The drawing had each piece of anatomy labeled correctly. Which was surprising since he was almost never in class.

I trace my marker-stained fingers across the paper, admiring his artistry. One that was hidden, yet beautiful. I wondered why he had never showcased it before, in an Art class or club that the school had to offer. With work like this, I'm sure they would love to have him.

I didn't take him for much of an artist, but I guess everyone has things that they keep hidden from
others. My mom likes to sing even though she thinks no one knows. But I do, I know. My dad likes to pretend that he hates to cook but I know he loves it,
just like I know that if he had the time to cook for us every night, he would. Everyone has things that they keep hidden, even me. And sometimes I feel like I'll never truly know someone inside and out. I think it's sweet how we all keep secrets with ourselves that we don't share with others.

I returned to my index cards, reminding myself that I wad still angry with him and that although the flowers were very pretty, he didn't deserve my praise at the moment.