I was good at art. Art was one of my primary subjects. I sketched daily and loved it as much as I loved music.
Mother had to be the artistic one in our family, as Dad didn’t have a creative bone in his body. But he supported my hobby.
I always had a sheet of paper, some drawing pencils, chalk, paint, and a canvas. There wasn’t time to take it when one of Dad’s paranoia trips kicked in. He’d always bought new ones. Leaving my art behind almost made me give it up, but it was the one thing that was constant in my life. It was a part of me, and giving up on it would be like giving up on myself. So, I’d gotten over the fact that the art I’d created in the past would be like pieces I left behind.
Mrs. Finn hadn’t differed from all the other art teachers. My art teachers were significantly in awe of my techniques. It didn’t matter what tools I used to create my pieces. It would become a masterpiece.
Mrs. Finn wanted to pull some strings, and it surprised her that my face didn’t light up when she’d mentioned Yale or Rutgers Art. Not even throwing words like scholarships sparked that glint in my eye. It was a dream that would never become a reality. I had to make peace with that, too.
At lunch, I scanned the handmade posters against the colorful mosaic mural advertising more school events.
Rows of long tables with plastic chairs covered the linoleum floor. A menu board listing items and prices hung against the wall closest to the food area.
I sat at the table close to the double swing doors entering the cafeteria. A line of jostling teens carrying colored plastic trays walked to their tables.
It took the rest of the school about a week and a half to discover I wasn’t that interesting to get to know. It was because of the walls I’d put up—not just for me, but for them, too.
I usually read while eating. And today was no different.
“Mind if I sit?” a dreamy, husky voice asked, and I looked up.
I froze. It was the new guy that enrolled a few days ago. The one who looked straight at me yesterday when I passed his table filled with the ice-hockey jocks and cheerleaders.
I froze because every single girl in this school spoke about him. He was part of the populars. One glance would make someone like me see that a mile away. He was smooth in his actions, and from the table that had laughed yesterday, funny too. But it wasn’t the reason the girls spoke about him. He was out of this world gorgeous. His chest muscles bulged against his shirt, wearing a thick coat with these peacock blue eyes that had the ability to look straight into your soul. In contrast with his raven hair, he was from a completely different planet.
His lips tugged upwards in the corners of his mouth as he still waited for my answer.
“You can speak, right?” His one eyebrow arched, and I shook my head to get released from his spell.
“Sorry, yes, I speak. Why?”
He frowned and looked unsure about my question. “Why what?”
“Why do you want to sit here?”
He pulled out the chair, extremely confident, and put his tray on the table. “I need a break.”
I couldn’t help the snort and hoped he didn’t hear it.
“You are the only one that I haven’t met yet. Name is Blake, Blake Leaf.”
“Leave as go away or trees?”
“Trees. I know, lame.” He took a bite of his burger.
He seriously could raise a heartbeat. Mine was thumping like crazy.
He pushed his food into his left cheek to speak. “You are?”
“Elena Watkins.”
“Nice meeting you, Elena.”
I did not know what was wrong with me. It was as if my mind didn’t function properly with this guy sitting so close. My stomach was doing many things, and my ears burned underneath my beanie. But my mind. All the manners my father had taught me disappeared.
My palms sweated as I looked back down at my book.
“So, what are you reading?”
