The Pink Portrait, Ch. Twelve

Twelve

The rest of the day was unbelievably boring. I don’t necessarily depend on the company of my friends for something to be exciting, but the rest of my classes today just didn’t make me feel anything other than apathy. At least I can consider it an upside that I have no art classes, other than a digital arts class, to tether my talents down by the evils of merit and art teachers that have to make sure I am doing directly as instructed. In terms of electives, besides digital arts, I took up jewelry design.

Digital arts class seems promising. Besides introductions and discussing what we were going to be doing the first quarter, the teacher took an interest in what we might have already known about digital art. I have developed a skill for it, but it's not my preferred form of art. The teacher asked if I would be willing to show an example of some of my digital art, which I happily, if not nervously, accepted.

I sent him a link from my laptop and he displayed it on the Smart Board. It is a depiction of the football field with a grey sky featuring a flash of lightning and visible rain coming down at an angle, showing signs of strong wind. However, while the field is an accurate depiction of the actual field, it doesn’t exactly show what might expect from a football field. The field is a jigsaw puzzle of slaughter.  Whatever green that might have been on the field is now soaked in blood.  Pom-poms, jerseys, helmets, and cleats that still had feet in them, but were missing from whoever they might have belonged to, all littered across the field, making the place seem more like the results of a gladiator match rather than a brawl over a football. And in the middle of it all is Death in a ripped blue, black, and white cloak with the blade of his scythe perched above his shoulder and his wings high above him, the ends of them just coming level with his thighs. In the palm of his opposite boney hand is a single red rose.

I expected him to be disgusted, horrified even. Maybe felt it a show of disrespect towards school pride, but no.  I could not read his expression and I am an artist.  Maintaining his unreadable look, he told me that he liked my take on the school mascot. The school had always been the home of the Reapers, but it was only recently that the mascot went from a hooded, faceless farmer with a scythe to something reminiscent of the Grim Reaper. When the teacher asked me what the slaughter represented, I replied with two words:

“Teenage debauchery.”

Rather than asking me what that entitled, he walked away while my classmates either gave me or each other strange looks. I had trouble keeping a straight face at the reactions from the varsity. Well, I did pretty much spit on their image with this artwork. When the teacher asked me which part represented me, I again replied with two words:

“The rose.” That wasn’t entirely true. It was part of it, but I still feel that there is more to it.

The teacher simply nodded, probably seeing it as something of a more personal perspective. Worst part of all of it was I could not tell what he felt about it.  Maybe a show of professionalism?  Not expressing favoritism or disapproval in an open manner?  Not long after than, the bell rang, signaling the end of the day.

The girls and I promised each other that we’d meet in the main lobby right when school ended and that was where I went. My digital arts class is three doors door the south hall from it so I ended up getting there first.

I feel Pasha before I see her. She managed to throw herself on me a breathtaking hug before Jimmy did. Impressive. I return the hug, not caring about the gawking and unkind laughter coming from the people around me. They can go screw themselves for all I care; I love my friends and I show it proudly. Jimmy appears soon and her eyebrows are brought together in an all-too-hurt frown. I let go of Pasha and I drag her into my arms without warning. She hugs me back.

“Don’t get pouty on me this early in the year, Jimmy,” I warn as we part. “I’d hate to have to bring out my own pout.”

“You do that and you will get a taste of my fist,” says Talia, appearing.

Now it’s my turn to frown. “Oh, come on, Tals, you get that friendly, I might as well sweep you into a very sensual kiss.” I pucker my lips and she is standing close enough now that she gives me a playful punch to the shoulder.

“Make sure that I am there to film it,” says Pasha. We all laugh as Talia shoots her a nasty look, though her face begins to twitch as she soon has trouble not cracking a smile herself.

“So are we waiting for Ales or are we going to meet her?” asks Jimmy.

I scratch my chin as I give it some thought. “Well, her final bell is in five minutes; let’s walk over and wait outside the door for her.” The three of them fall in with me as I begin walking out the door. There is no sidewalk connecting the high school to the career center and we do not want to walk along the increasingly busy road, so we have to walk through the grass. It had just been cut and by the time that the four of use came out of it, we were all checking our shoes for grass clippings, and there were a few.

All the checking must have taken a couple of minutes, because the final bell rings just as we reach the front of the building. Within minutes—seconds even—students in the uniforms of their respective labs, as well as a few who might have brought a change of clothes with them, begin pouring out. It is not long before I spot Ales’ unmistakable red hair as she comes towards us.

I decide to meet her halfway and the girls follow suit. As we come closer, we see that while Ales looks just as excited to see us as we her, she is not alone. My face drains with color as I see that she is with Pauline. I slowly try to back away, hoping I can slip away unseen. Those efforts prove ineffective when Talia and Pasha both put out an arm to block my path. I make no effort to hide my frustration with the two of them. I look from one to the other and they share similarly cool expressions. I take a deep breath as I feel that right now is the time to gut up.

I take a deep breath and put on my best smile. I almost forget to add excitement to that smile before Ales sees. Besides my mother, sister, and the three girls that I am standing with, she is one of the few people who can read all of my facial expressions like a book. Thankfully, it looks like she didn’t seem to notice before she threw her arms around me.

“Come stai, migliore amico?” she asks.

“I’m great, amore,” I reply, returning the hug with as much ferocity to the point that I am lifting her off her toes. “Time to speak English, though.” I set her down and she regards my friends, almost critically.

“Are you ragazze taking care of my best friend here?” she asks, though it sounds much more like a demand. Also, I think she is trying to stir up trouble with the emphasis she places on “my”.

Talia speaks up. “We sure hope so, unless there is something sketchy that he hasn’t told us about.”

I look from her to Pasha to Jimmy, taking in each of their looks. I gulp. “I think—no I know that each of you are drop-dead gorgeous?” which is perfectly true, at least to me. Their faces lose most of their fire, but they still don’t look satisfied. “I was planning on stopping to get each of you Sasquatch’s before I drove you home.” Sasquatch’s Ice Cream has the best ice cream in town. They still don’t look satisfied and Jimmy ever-so-slightly flicks her eyes towards Pauline. I turn to her.

Pauline, who has been keeping so quiet, meets my gaze. I briefly take it her uniform—dark blue polo shirt with “Westland Career Auto Shop” sewn into the left side of her chest and black pants. The only things she can really brag about are her corral studded cowgirl boots, her dark silver elastic band watch, and her brown hair that she currently has in a loose bun.

“I-I-I-would you—” I take a deep breath and smile a little. “Would you like to join my friends and I for some ice cream?” I ask as smoothly as I can.

Her return smile is as beautiful as the rest of her. “I never had Sasquatch’s ice cream,” I and I think everyone else gapes at her, “it should be fun. But I need to do something first.” Before I can ask what that something is, she takes a hairband out of her hair, letting it fall and she grabs the sides of her shirt and takes it off, revealing a white tank top underneath that I think I see a black bra through. I shake my head a little, snapping myself back into focus. Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to notice as she stuffs the shirt into her backpack. “Okay, now I can do something fun.” She looks at my friends and frowns. “What?”

I look at each of my friends. They must have had a harder time hiding their surprise at Pauline’s little strip.

“It’s always a little cold in the auto shop; it’s good to wear something underneath.” Pauline pushes past us. “I’ll meet you guys at Sasquatch’s.”

“That girl has more than a few surprises,” says Talia as she watches her disappear into the parking lot.

“You all have no idea,” says Ales and we should believe her. She was the first person to befriend her when she moved in last year. I look at Ales and regard her. She catches me and gives me a questioning look.

“The pictures you sent me were one thing, but I think I am still trying to get used to your uniform,” I say, referring to her grey polo with “Westland Career Electronics” embroidered in the same place as Pauline’s uniform. The only things she can brag about are the silver teardrop earrings that I helped her come up with to satisfy her crisis on what to wear.

Ales shrugs. “I guess that I am not as smart as Pauline, bringing—or wearing—a change of clothes. Now are we going to get ice cream or not?” She doesn’t wait for our answer before she walks past us to her car. I share a look with everyone and we all share a look.

“I guess I better text my mother that I am going to be a little longer,” I say, pulling out my phone as we walk back to our parking lot.

“I probably should too,” says Pasha pulling out her own phone and Jimmy and Talia do the same.

“Sasquatch’s,” reminisces Jimmy. “I miss going there all the time.” Sasquatch’s was always our favorite place to visit with each other. Up until last year when I went to Norway, we went there almost every week, even during the winter months as it also had an outstanding coffee shop. I never ordered coffee, but the hot chocolate is always phenomenal.

“I ought to introduce you girls to the ice cream/coffee shop Kirsten introduced me to,” I point out; though I am not sure that was the best idea.

“I still don’t trust her,” Talia reminds me.

“Oh, spare me your jealousy,” I snap, waving my hand. “Kirsten is as trustworthy, beautiful, and as good a friend to me as each of you are.” Talia may be the one to show it, but I think that Pasha and Jimmy share her jealousy to a certain extent. They just haven’t fully forgiven me for leaving on such short notice, or even telling them about it before I made the decision.

We return to the parking lot, which is nearly emptied of students save for a few lingerers such as ourselves. My car stands out immeasurably, probably because it is the oldest car in the lot. Although, as we get closer, we see that he is not alone. Five guys lean against him. Anger surges through me as I see that two of them are Nigel Payson and Jake. Behind me, I hear Talia huff and puff a little, to which I surreptitiously wave my hand, while Pasha grips my arm for dear life. One of them speaks up,

“Oh, hey Talia,” uh-oh, he mispronounced her name. He says “Tah-lia”. “So is this the jackass that you said was better and hotter than me?”

I suppress an ohhh. This must be that guy that she was yelling on the phone with. Well, he isn’t bad-looking. Big arms, tousled hair that could really use a comb and maybe a little bit of product, a good stubble that I wish I could manage, an earring that I don’t really agree with—and nor does Talia. I wonder if he gott it only recently. Like a book with an alluring cover concealing the garbage that lies within its pages.

“Yes, he is,” replies Talia as she nearly knocks me off my balance with a one-armed hug arms my waist. “He’s no athlete, but he can do a lot more with a paintbrush than you can do with a lacrosse stick.”

I chuckle nervously. I love the indirect compliment, but that is not what I am worried about. That guy doesn’t say anything to her.

“I didn’t catch your name,” he says, turning to me.

I clear my throat, but it doesn’t do much. “U-um, Kieran.”

“Max; so you’re the famous BFF that Talia liked to talk about way too much?”

“I-I g-guess so.”

Max rolls his eyes, though his face suggests something a little more like pity. “Damn, Tals, how did you ever become friends with such stuttering retard?”

I take in a breath as my eyes threaten to tear up while my friends sound like they are about to pounce on Max. I think he sees this as he and his buddies hold up baseball bats. Were they holding those the whole time? Why didn’t I notice them until now? A shudder runs down my spine as I realize what they are threatening to do.

“This is a really hot ride, Swann,” I turn my attention to Nigel Payson. “Though the purple is pretty lame, no offense.”

“None taken; how’s life as a pariah?” I ask my anger too strong for any speech impediment to disparage.

“I got no idea what that means, but I had myself a sexy piece of ass before you upped up and stole it from me,” if Payson is angry because I exposed him as a rapist, I am more upset that he would refer to a girl as an “it”. I try to play it cool.

“Life sucks, doesn’t it?” why on God’s green earth am I making an effort to be conversational? “Now why don’t you step away from the car before you are labeled as a vandal as well as a rapist?” I hear the sound of a camera shutter behind me and I look back and see that Pasha has taken a picture of the jerks with her cellphone. I turn back to Payson and fight back a smile at seeing him falter a little.

“Your gussied-up whores won’t always be there to save you, you fucking bastard,” he hisses. “Come on, guys. This prick is too much of a pussy to face real guys.” He and his friends laugh at his choice of insults, while I and the girls he so kindly described try to restrain ourselves. They walk away, still laughing, but at least we can relax a little.

“Hey, Pasha?” I ask.

“Hmm?”

“I love you, but you’re hurting my arm.” Pasha loosens her grip on my arm and clears her throat.

“Can we go get ice cream now?” she asks.

I chuckle. “I’m craving it. Let’s get out of here ladies.” With Pasha still attached to my arm, the four of us reach Carlyle. My eyes roam over his shiny black finish, searching for any possible scratches. When I don’t find any, I get into the car and inhale deeply as he roars to life at the turn of the key. With the exception of Jimmy, everyone is quiet throughout the trip.

Jimmy throws an endless stream of questions at me regarding Norway. There are plenty of which that she already knows the answers to, but I have to give her credit for actually conjuring up questions that she never have asked me. Some of which are not generally appropriate. She asks me if I ever saw Kirsten without her clothes on. She asks me how the girls of Norway compare to the girls here in Ohio. She asks me if I went on any double dates. On a more personal level, she asks me if I felt homesick.

To that question, she sees me hesitate for a moment and the car falls silent. “Every day,” I reply.

“How did you cope?” asks Pasha.

“Some days were better than others, but Kirsten was really a saving grace for me in just about every way. A couple of months into my stay, I think I completely forgot about everything that had happened.” I take a deep breath. “I just wish it could have lasted longer.”

“Why?” the three of them ask in unison.

“Because as the school year came to an end, it all came crashing back down on me.” The three of them each lay a hand on me, to which I feel a brief but wonderful surge of comfort.

“We’re here for you, buddy,” Talia reassures. I stifle a giggle as hear a sense of declaration in her tone of voice. A few minutes later, Sasquatch’s Ice Cream comes into view and all of my thoughts are replaced by a craving for a brain freeze.

“Alright, ladies, ice cream’s on me; everything else is at your expense,” I remind everyone as I park Carlyle. “Though, I will buy us a box of peanut brittle to share.”

“That is why we continue to let you tag along,” teases Jimmy as we leave the car.

“Excuse me?” I exclaim in mock-hurt as I lock up Carlyle. “I’m a tag-a-long?”

“Yep,” she replies. “Nothing but a tag-a-long.”

“Oh,” I blink tearfully. “I guess I’ll just dump the three of you for some other group of unreasonably attractive girls.”

The three of them gasp in mock-horror.

“You do that and we will make your life a living hell,” Talia threatens.

“And I believe you. However, Pasha will probably be leaving her arm behind.” I look down at Pasha’s hand that she wrapped around the crook of my arm. She follows my gaze and frowns.

“Oh, but I like that arm; I’d like to keep it if you don’t mind.” She pulls an upturned pouty-lip on me that I grin at.

“Let’s get some ice cream, ladies.” I open the door with my free hand and let them file in. I soon spot Ales and Pauline waiting for us at a table. Ales gets up and comes to meet us halfway.

“What took you so long?” she asks her hands on her hips. I exchange looks with my friends. I clear my throat.

“Um, we got held up by some drama,” I say haltingly and everyone mm-hmm’s their agreement.

“What kind of drama?” clearly unsatisfied, Ales starts drumming her fingers.

I clasp my hands behind my back, not sure what else to say.

“Look, Ales, can we not do this right now?” oh, God, Talia you’re a lifesaver.

Ales slowly shifts her gaze to her and back to me again. She smiles. “Of course we can.” She whips around and she leads us to the table.

I look back and mouth a “thank you” to Talia to which she just smiles. We come up by the table and I see Pauline with an open notebook. Curious, I peer over and see words and scribbled-out words that almost take up the entire college-ruled paper. She looks up and sees me staring and hastily closes the notebook and stuffs it in her backpack.

“Traffic?” she asks, apparently sharing Ales’ concern.

I laugh softly. “Not exactly.”

“Okay, well now we can get ice cream.” Pauline gets up and I watch as she gets in line to order ice cream. My eyes briefly flick downward before I regain control of myself and return my gaze to the back of her head. I hear a little snort. Pasha is stifling a giggle.

“Shut up,” I grumble through half-open lips.

“I didn’t say anything,” she says quickly, still stifling a few giggles.

“You were totally staring at her ass,” comes Jimmy’s singsong but hushed voice.

My face heats up. “Can’t I please wallow in embarrassment without you two complicating things?”

“Why are embarrassed?” asks Jimmy incredulously. “It’s not like she caught you staring.”

“She has a point,” agrees Pasha.

I roll my eyes and exhale. “Let’s just order some ice cream.” I detach myself from Pasha’s grasp and get in line as well. I order a chocolate-covered waffle cone with a scoop of peanut butter chocolate chip ice cream and another of chocolate. I wait for Pasha, Talia, and Jimmy to finish with their orders so that I can pay for each of them. When they do I walk back up and pay the bill before joining everyone at the table. I don’t know what they were talking about, but one of them must have said something that got everyone laughing.

“What are we laughing about?” I ask as I take a seat between Pasha and Pauline.

“Oh, nothing, Ales was just telling us about something that happened at the career center today,” replies Jimmy between giggles.

“What happened at the career center today?” I ask, suddenly interested.

All the girls exchange looks and now I really wonder what it is that had everyone laughing.

“Are you sure?” asks Ales, picking her teeth with her spoon, one of her many nervous habits. Merely the fact that she is doing that is making my interest rise exponentially.

“Absolutely,” I enunciate.

“Okay,” Ales takes a deep breath. She straightens up in her seat and clears her throat. “So today one of my classmates came up to me asking about you,” she begins.

I blink, but I motion for her to keep going as I lick my ice cream.

“So I ask her what she wants to know and she asks me if I can introduce her to you.” I cock my head. “I know, I told her that you don’t like me introducing people—especially pretty girls—to you. She asked me what she should do,” my eyes widen, “don’t freak out on me, Swann! Just eat your di gelato and hear me out. So, I told her that she should be herself and find something dirty and lacy with lots of room for cleavage…” she trails off as the muscles of my face twist into an awful scowl. “It told her that everything she needs can be found in Stronzate.”

I swallow my ice cream wrong and let out a horrible cough. When I don’t stop, Pasha pats my back. As I stop coughing, I stare at the redhead.

“‘Stronzate’?” I repeat; it’s the Italian word for “bullshit”. Ales nods. “That’s not even a real brand name.”

“Esattamente,” smiles Ales.

Everyone is looking at me now, waiting for my reaction. I throw my head back in laughter and everyone joins in. I clap Pasha in the back to which she just laughs a little harder. Soon I stop abruptly and the table falls dead quiet. I study each of their faces, watching them gulp slightly as they fear the worst.

“While I agree that that was a very funny trick,” I begin smoothly, “what if this classmate of yours really tries to use such methods to seduce me? It’s not exactly the thing a girl wants to hear when they are trying that hard to impress a guy.”

“Which is why that is also the last time that I’ll ever say that,” Ales declares. “From now on, if girls seek my advice on how to talk to you I will be absolutely honest.”

“Why weren’t you honest with this one?”

“She was a bitch; I knew she would just drive you crazy and not in a good way.”

I laugh softly. “I appreciate the thought.”

The table is silent for a minute while we alternate between exchanging looks and eating our ice cream.

“What does impress you?”

All eyes turn to Pauline.

“What?” I ask.

“I mean someone like me already knows what you fantasize when it comes to meeting a pretty girl but what would impress you about a girl?”

I blink several times. I look from one of my friends to the next and take in their expectant looks. Each of them already know what impresses me about them respectively, but what would impress me romantically? I look at the scar on Pauline’s knuckles again and I smile.

“Ask me again someday,” I sure hope that this works. “I’ll have an answer for you.”

Pauline grins. I have been watching her on and off since I came to the table a few minutes ago. She smiled here and there of course, but not like this—not this parted-lip smile showing the whiteness of her upper teeth. It’s beautiful. Do I make her feel beautiful? Either way, I am tempted to kiss it.

And it scares me to death.