Wingspan(Paranormal, Young Adult) MAJOR EDITING**

fourty nine

i couldn't point my finger on it but something was bugging me and i couldn't be in Mr. honeycotts class and concentrate at the same time. 

possibly the one thing worse than knowing without reasonable excuse; having that sense of recognition in spite of appearance, that no matter how circumstances seemed by looking at them, that something, for some reason, was not right. 

what really got to me was how comfortable and nonchalant mason and Wesley acted around me. like nothing was off today. like the seat next to me wasn't empty and josh didn't not make it to class even though i'd seen him earlier in passing.

mason was back to his warm, caring, altruistic nature. 

he was his usual self cracking jokes and prattling about haphazard future plans that didn't resonate with flair or inspire representation of ingenuity or had to do with school in general. it didn't help that Wesley continually had mason laughing. 

i was glad to see mason felt better.   

as for me, well, i was figuratively stuck in the dark since they were mostly trading inside jokes.

today mr. honeycott had us drawing two dimensional buildings that depicted the emphasis of our inner selves. 

since the piece we were currently undertaking was subjective, each canvas could be as unique and dissimilar from the one propped next to it without there having to be flawed mistakes or improper visual judgement. 

each students artistic point of view could be demonstrated using any one of the available instrumental devices from the stockpile beginning at neutral charcoal to bright varicolored pastels, to a wide assortment of watercolor tubes. 

i picked out colored pencils because i had hoped that it would enhance my illustration only i seemed to have created the opposite effect.

wesley sits back in his seat with his arms over his chest. 

-i wasn't surprised that he was through with the assignment before me. To him art was synonymous to breathing. 

from what i gathered mr. honeycott internalized with Indian tribes and their affinity for nature so much so that he remained strongly influenced by native art in any corner of the world. 

"there's a power in art very close to earth, to their rituals and daily life, to the spirit, to the religion. and they reinforce the fact that we are all related." he had declared. 

i hadn't a clue what to make of his new age idealism. 

i had a similar thought process albeit with one small modification. 

-from an early age i could see beings; dead people are how i referred to them, who most of time hadn't realized they'd been dead for quite some time. 

"animals, tress, insects, birds...we are all family, we all live in the same planet, breathe the same air." his imaterialistic moral philosophy regarded the all-embracing worldwide doctrine of divinic synchronoticies and a cohesion of oneness.

but that was not the only fraction of culture he enlightened us with. 

the pinnacle had happened when i'd entered the studio and noticed a very big, very misplaced item that could have been in an art gallery instead of hanging on an aisle in some reformed high school that adults with money, both new and old, brought their kids to. 

mr. honeycott delighted us with an early Christmas present as he showcased one of his most recent paintings, and i must admit that it was stunning.

it blew my brains out spectacular, mind-boggled typical everyday attention so that all i could do was process, admire, marvel. 

i had never seen anything quite as good and right then, as i walked to my seat at the begining of class, i'd wanted to see more.

it was beautiful, exciting, stirring. a breathtaking piece of art.

like much of his previous work it contained universal stories in which vibrant colors, layered textures, and shapes drew you into a world without borders, where what was real merged into the imaginary done so expertly into a seamless blur. 

from what mr. honeycott had told us, it was his depiction of a favorite subject; the newest canvas which was a galloping horse that moves countryside to countryside searching for freedom, very much spoke to his heart. 

the proud and mejestical animal was symbolic in nature to his travel and experience.

"and i was born by the sea." he had related. "boats signify adventure-an escape from a world of borders and prejudices." 

it wasn't just a work of art but the life of an artist. 

"as an artist you have to become art yourself." he had proclaimed with such enthusiasm and vigor that i had started to believe in the potency of his words only to now ponder how i could have presumed there would be nothing to it.

somehow during all the commotion i was able to concentrate long enough to design a general commonplace building from memory. 

it was a replica of what had been my favorite juice and coffee house that i'd gone to with Chanel because she'd loved to eat their sweet bread. 

that was forever ago; before i had scared my then lab partner by blowing up a cylindrical tube, not by my entire fault, during mr. krenshaws science class only three minutes into what was supposed to have been a test run chemistry project that i'd ruined.

josh was absent and i kept on wondering if maybe he was avoiding mason. 

Chanel was of no help in the situation, either. 

i had asked her if she would have done anything differently and several times she'd asked me to describe what they looked like in great detail. it was then that i had given up on figuring the male species out. 

according to Chanel a replay of my boring day was how she placed herself within my 'authentic' world. whatever that was supposed to mean. 

as if i would even think about replacing her with any of these people. nice as most of them were i didn't belong here among to elite. the rich. the fabulous.

i didn't even own a cellphone. 

the sound of my name snapped me out of my memories. "What?- I tried to calm the rosetta mark that had crept its way up my cheeks.

"I said, so what do you think?" mason told me. mischief hovered in his eyes.