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Laina’s eyes blinked once. She stared at my proffered class schedule before hesitantly reaching out and slipping the sheet from my hand. After frowning and pulling the piece of paper close to her nose, she began to talk to herself, saying, “History, Computer Applications, Chemistry. Art. You have Art first hour.”
Ugh. Swallowing back the groan that continued to reverberate deep inside me, I asked in a hopeful voice, “Do you take Art too?”
She shook her head. “Not this hour.” Spinning away from me, she started away with my schedule in hand. Hoping she was leading me instead of ditching out on me, I hurried after her. The girl wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but I was determined not to hold that against her.
Rushing a little more so I could ease up to her side as she trooped along with her head down, I cleared my throat. “Uh…so, do I need to stop by my locker and drop off my things? At…at my last school, we weren’t allowed to bring book bags to class.”
It took a second for her to answer, her nose still pointed toward the ground as if she were some kind of bloodhound sniffing out my class for me. Finally, she mumbled, “Number.”
Not catching on at first, I opened my mouth to ask what she meant, and then it struck me. “My locker number? Oh! Umm…” I shuffled through my bag for the locker assignment Mrs. Alexander had given me, then twisted it around until I could read it upright. “I’m in locker four twelve.”
She continued along for three more steps as if she hadn’t heard me before she came to an abrupt halt and spun around to gawk at me with wide eyes. “You have a locker in senior hall? I thought he said you were a junior.”
“Oh, yeah.” I rolled my eyes. “The secretary told me that was the only hall with working lockers available.” I shrugged with a rueful grin as if to add, What’re you gonna do?
“Wow.” Laina looked awed.
Happy I’d managed to impress her, I said, “Yeah. I guess.”
Memorizing the route she took, I noted every doorway and hall we passed, mumbling left and right under my breath when we made a turn. Finally, Laina jerked to another stop. I glanced at the row of lockers to our right and spotted the number 408. Realizing I was close, I ticked off a couple more spaces before I found 412.
“Thanks.” I swung my bag off my shoulder. “I’ll just be a minute.”
It took me three attempts to work open the combination. For my first crack at this particular lock, I thought that was rather impressive. I glanced over my shoulder twice to make sure my guide hadn’t deserted me, and thank goodness, she continued to hang around, not looking at me but staring longingly at her book bag, making me think she was tempted to pull out her novel and take up where she’d left off her on her story while she waited.
After extracting my laptop, a notepad, and pen, I shoved my bag inside and spun around with a deep breath. “Okay, I’m ready.”
Technically, I wasn’t ready at all, but if I had to proceed with this day regardless, I was as ready as I’d ever be.
Laina took off again, without speaking.
We trekked back to the far end of the hallway, then turned right and moved halfway down that passage before she slowed and finally stopped walking. Thrusting my schedule in my direction, she said, “Here.”
I took the page, glanced down until I found the class number for Art, then looked up to discover we’d actually made it. Turning toward Laina, I grinned gratefully. “Thanks. I really appreciate…”
She’d already left and was halfway down the hall, her hair gathered around her face as she stared at the ground. I found it amazing she still knew to dodge to the side and step out of the way of oncoming students without once looking up.
Shaking my head, I entered Art—ugh—and immediately got into trouble.
“How many times do I have to repeat, no laptops in class!”
I stopped in my tracks, my face draining of color. “S-sorry,” I sputtered, already backing toward the exit. “I’m new. I didn’t know—”
The teacher lifted her glare from the computer tucked under my arm and focused on my face. “Oh,” she said, her shoulders easing and mouth softening into a welcoming smile. “Sorry about that, dear. But next time, don’t bring your computer to class. There is no need for electronics in Art. That means cell phones and iPods too. You must be Grace.”
With a flourish, she swept toward me, her long, hippie flowered skirt billowing around her sandals and tattooed ankles. Seriously, the woman was wearing sandals in January with a below-zero wind chill going on. Why would I lie about that?
When she held out her hand as if I were there for an interview instead of attending my first class, I faltered a moment before taking her fingers in a shake. But she didn’t pump our wrists up and down. Instead, she jerked me toward her and lifted my palm upright, studying the skin. Expecting a fortune reading, I was a little surprised when she cooed, “Nice, capable fingers. Yes, I see promise here. I’ll make an artist out of you yet.” Then she lifted her face and narrowed her eyes before asking, “Quick. Which great artist cut off his ear before killing himself?”
“Uh…” Holy Hosanna, was knowing that answer some kind of prerequisite to taking Art 1? Thanks to Schy, I actually knew the artist’s name and how to pronounce it correctly. “Umm, Van Gogh?”
A slow, approving smile spread across the teacher’s face. She let go of my hand and took a step back. “Very good. I’m Miss Abernathy. Welcome to the wonderful world of art.”
* * * *
Schy would’ve absolutely adored Miss Abernathy, I decided an hour later when the bell ending first period rang. The woman was all about freedom of expression and artistic endeavors. Still, I felt dazed as I pushed out of the art room and entered the hall traffic. She actually expected us to come up with an art project to enter into some festival Osage held every year at the courth
ouse. So not what I wanted to do.
