Sonder • Book 2 In THe Reality Series

Luke

The art room was familiar. Dimly lit and quiet it was the perfect place for me to sit tucked in the corner and work on my comic book.

Sometimes there was another girl in the opposite corner.

Her name was Katy. I knew that but I never used it.

Other days Olivia would sit with me and fill in background details.

But most of the time I was alone and that was the way I liked it. People in my humble opinion are a lot like pills, necessary and horrible.

Not everyone at school was loud, boisterous and obnoxious, but the ones that were more then made up for their quieter counterparts.

It was chaos all the time, terrifying and horrible chaos. It took every fiber of my being to be able to focus on the lessons being taught and keep myself from have a tear and vomit filled freak out and so I stayed silent.

I couldn't say anything weird or wrong if I was quiet. No one could judge me if I was quiet, I could fade into the background.

I knew there were some people that were convinced I was incapable of  speech and, as weird as it sounds I wanted to keep it that way. If I spoke once I'd be expected to speak again, to present my projects in front of the class, to answer when kids acknowledged me in the hallway.

It's not like I had anything profound to say, so I refrained.

They probably thought I was mildly autistic judging on the way I reacted but I'd kept up my charade of being a complete loner mute freak to be pitied not bullied for too long to end it so abruptly.

That was one thing I didn't like, talking. Eye contact was another thing I despised. Which was difficult since teachers love eye contact.

I could ignore most of their stares however I found my gaze drifting up to Miss Rachel Pilly's  desk every so often when I could feel her eyes locked on the top of my head watching me.

She would talk sometimes to herself, to no one in particular and to me. I felt like a cat. Listening to one sided conversations intended for me even though it was a known fact I wouldn't answer.

It was startling at first but it was nice, calming.

I learned that she was Korean and white. Her favorite color is the split second of bubble gum pink the sky is stained as the sun sets. She prefers Chinese food to that of her own native nation. I reminded her of one of her brothers. On November second she told me she liked my sweater, but mostly she talked about art.

Sometimes she would set up for class while she talked, distributing paints, pencils and notes on desks, leaving my desk bare until I left. Other times she surfed around on her uneven rolling office chair, hanging "masterpieces" her students had made, on the walls. And sometimes, she joined me.

A sketch book tucked under her arm and a pack of colored pencils clutched in her hand she wove through the sea of paint stained tables before sitting down at the table next to mine.

We'd draw then, completely independent of each other but somehow connected.

On a few occasions she'd ask to borrow a pencil or the sharpener, and wordlessly I'd oblige, but most of the time we worked uninterrupted, the only sound in the room being that of the hand washing station's leaky sink in the corner, the Queen of the Night's aria from the magic flute which she sometimes played on her phone, and her own endless, comforting chatter.

For an hour and twenty minutes every day without fail we both valued each others company in the art room until the bell rang. That was my cue to pack up and leave.

Every day I did this silently, not daring to speak, however on November seventeenth, I stopped in front of the door, hesitating.

The brass knob clutched in my hand I took deep breath and ignoring the part of my brain screaming at me to shut up and just keep walking, I glanced back at Miss Pilly, then the door in front of me.

"Um..haveanicewekend... Um Miss Pilly." I blurted out.

At first I was afraid that she hadn't heard it because she didn't answer and I was too busy staring at the door in front of me to look back at her, but after a moment I got my answer when she spoke.

"Thank you very much Luke. I'll see you on Monday."

Feeling my cheeks flush I hastily left the room, a bubble of pride growing and floating in my chest as I made my way to how room.

I'd expected her to comment on my awkwardly deep voice, or not hear me and I'd have to repeat myself, or even worse praise me for speaking, like a baby blubbering out "dada" for the first time, but she hadn't.

She hadn't acted like it was abnormal that I spoke, like I was abnormal. She acted like it was perfectly normal making me feel normal by default.

I decided to do it again.