Art & Soul (4 page)

“You told them?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Mike’s making you take the bus?”

I nodded again.

“Are you all right?”

I shook my head, my eyes studying the curbside. “But if we could get through today not talking about it, that would be great.”

“Right. Well, I’ll make sure to bury you so far into my own issues that you’ll completely forget about your own. Trust me, I got a lot going on in this weird brain of mine.”

Before he could say anything else, a pair of blue Chucks appeared beside me. My head rose up to the person standing next to me. My eyes met the pair of brown eyes that smiled without even trying, and I got lost.

Deer Boy.

His lips loosened into a small grin, matching his eyes.

I smiled back. At least I thought I did. I couldn’t tell. His grin widened, making my stomach swarm with butterflies.

You’re beautiful.

He was so beautiful that it was almost offensive. He looked like a whisper sounds. Sweet, gentle, and romantic. It was making me dizzy.

I shouldn’t be looking at him.

Really.

Stop staring.

Maybe one more glance?

Maybe two more glances?

My head dropped again. I stared at our shoes. My hands gripped the straps of my backpack, and I pulled them closer to me, my elbows pushing against my sides.

“Hi,” he said.
Swarming butterflies
,
sweaty palms.
I wasn’t sure if he was speaking to Simon or me, so I remained quiet. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him still smiling. I’d wished he would stop doing that smiling thing. Except, not really. “Is this where the bus picks us up?”

I bobbed my head once before I started kicking around an invisible rock with my left foot. His blue Chucks started mimicking the movement. We kicked invisible rocks together until the school bus pulled up.

Simon was the first to get on the bus, but not before stepping on and off four times before he slid into the front seat. I stepped backward to let Deer Boy onto the bus before me.

He gestured toward the yellow caged vehicle. “Ladies first.”

“Thanks,” I replied, stepping onto the bus.

A small laugh was heard as he followed behind me. “So she
does
speak.”

M
y first class
of the day was calculus with Mr. Jones. If I had to pick my worst skill, it would be any math class. Being homeschooled, I pretty much avoided the math sections until the very end of the day. But now, with a premade schedule, I was forced to face it first thing in the morning. It was a special kind of hell.

Mr. Jones stood outside of his classroom, greeting everyone.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a voice warned me. I’d been about to place my books on a desk in the front row. Turning behind me, I saw a guy with spiky hair, a gold chain around his neck, and something that looked like a wannabe mustache. “Mr. Jones is the Sylvester the Cat of Mayfair Heights.”

“What does that mean?”

“You know.” He rasped up his voice and added a lisp with a ton of spitting. “
Sufferin Succotash!
He’s more into spraying it than saying it.” He patted the seat next to him in the back row. “You’re free to join me back here.”

I accepted the offer.

“You’re the fresh meat that every chick’s been gawking at, eh?” he asked.

“Nah, I think you got the wrong guy. No one has said one word to me yet.” Except for the girl at the bus stop who said thanks, but even that was like pulling teeth.

“Which is exactly why you are the fresh meat. They are studying their prey before they attack. And with that accent?” He whistled low. “Man. You’re going to get girls pregnant just by looking at them. Toss in a wink and they’ll have twins. Which is why you’re going to need me,” he said, patting my back. “The name’s Connor Lincoln, and I am your saving grace, my friend.”

“Is that so?” I said, pulling out a pencil and notebook from my backpack, even though I wasn’t going to take notes.

“Yes. You see, I am the eyes, the ears, and the voice of the student body. I know everything about everyone who matters, and I can help keep you out of harm’s way.”

“Well, isn’t that nice of you.”

“What can I say? I’m a humanitarian.” He held his hand out toward me for a shake. “You got a name?”

“Levi.”

“Where are ya from, Levi?”

“Alabama.”

“All right, all right, all right,” he said with a southern accent—or more of a Matthew McConaughey accent, which was in a league of its own. “You will forever be known as Alabama.”

Seeing as how Connor had saved me from the spitting teacher, I guessed he could call me Alabama.

The girl from the bus stop walked into the classroom and sat two rows in front of me, her head down the whole time. Half of her auburn hair was shaven, and the other half, dark red. She looked different than most of the Barbie girls in the hallways. Darker. Edgier.
Beautiful
. She reached into her backpack, pulled out a notebook, and started writing in it. She kept sweeping her bangs behind her ear, but never looked up from whatever she was doing in her notebook.

“What about her?” I asked Connor. “Who’s that?”

Connor’s eyes moved to the seat I was pointing at and his eyebrow rose. “Oh. That’s one of the oddities. Not sure of the name because most of the oddities aren’t worth my mind space. It leaves more room for people like
that
.” He pointed to another girl who had a face plastered with makeup and was wearing a tight black shirt that pushed up her tits. “Now
that’s
worthy of my brain. Hi, Tori,” he said, waving.

Tori turned around and flipped Connor off. Her eyes crossed mine, and she gave me a smile before turning back to laugh with the girl sitting next to her. “Ah, man, did you see that?!” Connor exclaimed. “Tori Eisenhower smiled at me!”

I didn’t tell him that she had actually been smiling at me, he seemed too thrilled about it.

“Well, okay, she was smiling at
you
, but since you’re my new main guy, it counts as a smile for me, too. Dude. Do you see it?” He waved his hands all around the room.

“See what?”

“The sea full of sweet, sweet pussy. It’s ours for the taking, my man.”

I laughed uncomfortably. Most of the time when I first met people I didn’t find the need to talk about using girls and referring to them as sweet pussy. With that one line, I was certain I didn’t like Connor.

Hopefully this would be our only class together.

The first hour bell rang. Mr. Jones walked in and began speaking, spitting on everyone in the front few rows. Connor kept whispering things about ‘banging chicks’ and ‘getting digits’ while tugging on his gold necklace.

I should’ve sat in the front row.

C
onnor followed
me to science class, and at first I debated the idea that he was a stalker, but then realized that the schedule gods really hated my guts. I wished there was a decent way to say, ‘leave me the heck alone and stop talking about sex’ without sounding like an ass.

When he pulled out a comb and started brushing at his nonexistent chin hair, I was determined that school really stood for freaking hell.

I considered calling him Eminem, but talking to him only encouraged his conversations about vaginas.

I zoned out for most of my morning classes—realizing that they were all the same. Syllabus, teacher goals, ice breakers. Wash, rinse, and repeat. Being homeschooled all my life, I was happy to see that high school was exactly the same as all the movies portrayed it to be: scuffed up navy blue lockers, pretty girls giggling by the drinking fountain, student clubs posters hanging up, and a lot of gossiping voices.

Every now and then I saw the Bus Stop Girl in the hallways, but she always kept her head down, or was talking to some guy with red hair.

Is he her boyfriend?

I didn’t know why I cared.

The guy made her smile, which was like a hidden treat. She didn’t do it often—she was more into frowning. It was weird, but her frowns made her more intriguing to me.

She and the guy never touched. She mostly hugged that same notebook I saw her writing in earlier.

God. Now I seem like the stalker.

I shuffled my feet and hurried off to my next class.

By this point it wasn’t a surprise that Connor was waiting inside my world history class.

T
he school day
hours crawled by like years, which was fine because I knew at the end of the day I would have to be at a doctor’s appointment, something I really didn’t want to do. I’d rather run from reality than face it.

Whenever Mike and his friends crossed my path, he made sure to never make eye contact. Most of his friends didn’t know we were related.

At lunch, I sat with Simon and watched him open and close his milk jug as his eyes stayed glued to his historically long crush, Tori, also known as the most popular girl in our junior class. Also,
also
known as the girl who egged Simon’s house last year. He was still in denial about that one, claiming it was Eric Smith who was behind the yolks.

Like all hopeless romantics, love blinded him from the truth. It was all very tragic, yet somehow hopeful all at the same time.

Simon kept talking about Tori as if she were his greatest dream come to life. “She sits three rows behind me in chemistry. I know you’ll probably disagree, but she’s smart, Aria.” His words were drunk on a fictional romance as he spoke of his imaginary lover.

Sometimes I wondered if he saw tiny birds flying around her like Snow White or something.

“You would be the one to crush on the rudest girl in our class.”

The way his smile spread across his face made me smirk. “She’s not rude, she’s just damaged. Those are my favorite kinds of girls, the flawed ones. It makes it easier for them to put up with my flaws.”

“Is that why I’m your best friend? Because I’m flawed?”

“No. Mainly you’re my best friend because you’re wearing a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle shirt with the faces of the four renaissance artists on it.”

I glanced at my favorite shirt and grinned. “It’s almost embarrassing how cool I am.”

“
Almost
,” Simon joked before he turned back toward Tori. “She’s so beautiful.”

“You’re too good for her.”

His elbows rested against the cafeteria table and his hands cupped his chin. “She’s the sun, and I’m the pale man craving her light.”

I chuckled. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say something so extremely awkward.”

“Imagine our kids…” He released a breath of happiness. “Stunning nerdy blond children with freckles and glasses.” He paused, looked at me, and frowned. “Sorry. Best friend personal foul. No kids talk.”

I wiggled in my seat. “You do know her hair isn’t really blond, right? It’s a bad dye job.”

“Says the auburn girl who was born charcoal black,” Simon cockily replied.

“Touché. But let’s not forget the main issue with the love of your life.” I gestured toward Eric, who was sitting beside Tori. “She’s off the market.”

“For now. Rumor has it that he’s going to break things off with her.”

“And where are these rumors from?”

His cheeks rose up. “I have my sources.”

“Ms. Givens?” I asked. He didn’t reply, but I knew that was his one and only source for school gossip. Ms. Givens was the librarian who spent too much time eavesdropping on the whisperings around the hallways.

“Let’s just say, Eric’s on his way out, and Tori’s going to be heartbroken, and then
swoosh
! Simon Landon’s in for the rebound.” The excitement in his voice was amusing.

“And then what? You’re going to magically swoop in and comfort her? The guy who can barely make eye contact with the girl, let alone speak to her? How are you gonna manage that one, Romeo?”

He nodded as if I’d made a point he hadn’t yet considered. When the bell rang for our next class, Simon’s fantasy came to a halt as he lifted his lunch tray and placed it back down over and over and over
and over
again. His lips turned down as he noticed Tori walking out of the lunchroom with Eric’s arm wrapped around her shoulders. The sense of defeat almost washed him away. I took the tray from his tight grip.

“She’s never going to want a freak like me, is she?” he asked, defeated.

“You’re not a freak, Si. Plus, rumor has it those two are breaking up soon. She already dated everyone else in our class, so be ready to swoosh in! You’re next in Tori’s lineup!” My voice was sugared with comfort and lies. He knew what I said wasn’t true, but he still smiled large.

“
Swoooosh!
”

I
’d learned more
about the new kid from the gossip of the hallways than from his actual mouth.

“Did you know he’s from the South?”

“Like, Brazil?”

“I hear he speaks French.”

“He’s sooo hot.”

“His mom named him Alabama!”

“He has tattoos on his you-know-what!”

“That accent is fake.”

“He’s already made out with some chick in the locker room!”

“I heard it was a threesome!”

“He’s a word wizard.”

“I saw him first!”

By sixth hour the sophomore, junior, and senior girls were already laying claim on the new guy while the freshmen lurked in the shadows. They surrounded his locker like lovesick puppies, twirling their hair and pushing out their chests. I felt bad for the guy. He didn’t have a chance at remaining mysteriously new with a face like that and a Southern accent like his.

I stood at my locker, glancing over at him and his fanatics. Every now and then he would say something to them, and the girls would turn my way and stare at me.

I’d never been stared at in the past, even with all of my different hair colors, dramatic makeup, and odd outfits. The students at Mayfair Heights high school were determined to keep me invisible, which was completely fine by me.

Until now. Now they were turning my way giggling, and flipping their hair over their shoulders before looking back at the new kid.

Is he mocking me?

Are they all mocking me?

It was amazing how a couple hair flips and sarcastic laughter could make a person want to climb inside of their locker and stay hidden for the next one hundred and seventy-nine days. Or at least until the final bell. I slammed my locker and went on my way in the opposite direction of the group of dicks and divas.

Bunch of assholes.

“Do you know where room one-twelve is?” Deer Boy asked, hurrying over to me.

I arched an eyebrow, a little annoyed with his smug ‘I’m sexy and I know it’ personality. “The swarm of girls attacking you couldn’t help you out?”

“So you noticed.”

“Noticed what?” I asked.

“You noticed them noticing me?”

Hesitation fell against my tongue. “…Yes…”

“Which in turn means
you
noticed me.”

I wasn’t amused. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Okay.”

“Okay what?” I asked.

“Okay, I won’t flatter myself.”

His eyes were filled with such ease and sincerity that I almost lost myself in them.

I blinked. “You’re weird.”

“Weird in a charming way or just…weird-weird?” he asked.

I wasn’t sure which it was yet. Maybe both. “Why were you guys looking at me?”

“Oh. I asked them your name. None of them knew it, though, and for some reason they thought that was comical.” He shrugged his shoulders.

Figures.
I knew everyone’s name in our school and they couldn’t take the time to figure out mine.

“Why were you asking about me anyway?”

“I don’t know. I guess I get curious about girls who walk through the woods at six in the morning on Sundays.”

“Oh.”

“I’m Levi Myers.” He gestured as if he was going to bow before me when he delivered me his name. Then he went ahead and did it.
He fully bowed.
He was tipping over into the weird-weird territory.

“You’re Mr. Myers’ kid?” I paused, thinking. “I never knew Mr. Myers had a kid.”

“Yeah well, that’s my dad for ya.” His eyebrows furrowed. A slight look of disappointment passed through Levi’s eyes before he blinked and the softness returned to his stare. “And you are?”

“Aria.”

“Really? Aria?”

“Yes…”

“Not Becky? Or Casey? Maybe Katie?”

“Nope. Aria.”

He crossed his arms, and my eyes took notice of the eye tattoo on his left hand, resting between his thumb and pointer finger. “I spent all day trying to figure out your name and Aria wasn’t in the top twenty names.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint.”

“No, no. I like it. Aria.” He smiled and placed his thumb between his teeth as he studied my face. “
Aria
.” His head tilted to the left and right. “Arrriaaa.”

Stop saying my name.

I shifted my body weight around. Now he was swimming in the weird-weird territory, and I had to admit, his weird persona was so far from his hot exterior. He was his own oxymoron.

If there were a list of the top five oxymorons in the world it would look like this:

Great Depression.

Tragic comedy.

Original copy.

Jumbo shrimp.

Levi Myers.

“So do you always walk around those woods at six in the morning?” he questioned. He rubbed the palm of his hand against his somewhat scruffy chin and then brushed his thumb against his top lip.

I lingered a few seconds, trying to take in all of his facial characteristics. My eyes blinked twice. “Sometimes. Do you always feed random deer at six in the morning?” I asked sarcastically.

“
Always
,” he said with confidence.

I couldn’t stare at his eyes anymore because they were making me lightheaded. Actually the whole hallway was making my head spin. I took a breath and closed my eyes. When I reopened them, his brown eyes were still staring at me.
Crap
. My stomach flipped. Clearing my throat, I gestured down the hallway. “Room one-twelve is over there. Right past the cafeteria.”

Food.

Ugh.

More stomach flips.

His eyes moved past me and he looked in the direction I was pointing. “Thanks,
Aria
.” He walked away. The farther he disappeared down the hallway, the calmer my heartbeats became, but the nauseous feeling rolling through my stomach didn’t stop as I brushed my hand over my lips.

Moving my feet as quickly as possible, I pushed myself into the closest bathroom and hardly got the stall door shut before throwing up my breakfast and lunch. Sitting back on the heels of my feet, I reached for the toilet paper and wiped my mouth clean.

I hated today.