A short story as a "challenge" in my Creative Writing Club. Constructive criticism is, of course, appreciated.

--

“…and really, do you need to be going any faster than you already are?”

Aurelia Kurr laughed at her horoscope, before smoothing out the paper and laying it on the ground. She wanted to work on a painting, and even though she wasn’t planning on even getting to the painting part of it for another few hours or so (she still had to make the sketch, and make sure she had all the paints she needed, then go to the store and get any she didn’t have, and clean her paintbrushes—she could extend the list to infinity), she wanted to be prepared. She even had a piece of cardboard—her alternate canvas of choice—cut out perfectly, with the edges taped so she wouldn’t go too far out of the designated square.

The blue-haired, blue-eyed girl was definitely obsessive-compulsive in most people’s eyes, though she tried to shut her own to the signs she gave. After all, if certain things are such ‘rituals’, of course they make sense to the doer—without them having to see how strange it is to others. It was this way to her, and when she heard a knock on the doorframe—the only time she closed her door was when she was changing clothes, or if someone in the house had guests over—and turned around to see her boyfriend, Behr, she blushed slightly, coming to the semi-realization that she was having an OCD moment.

His broad shoulders looked slightly menacing, filling up the whole doorway, and his strong jawline added to the effect, but his shaggy blonde hair (with teal bangs that made her think ‘sheepdog’) and soft brown eyes took away from that somehow. “Aaah, get out of the doorway, it makes you look scary!” she told him.

He gave a confused laugh and shook his head. “What are you doing, there?” he asked, sitting down across from Aurelia, who had taken to a lying position, arm extended so that she could draw on the cardboard.

“Painting,” she said, smiling awkwardly.

“Um…” Behr chuckled. “You do realize, you’re holding a pencil, and there are no paints in front of you?”

Aurelia blushed again. “I’m going to get to that later. Obviously.”

“Oh yes, of course. How could I miss that! What are you painting, anyway?”

“Well…I have no clue. Do you have any ideas for me?”

“…No? I didn’t prepare for being a source of inspiration today, you know.”

“Oh, shut up. You’d make a terrible Boy Scout. Now, what makes you smile?” Aurelia pinched his cheeks, trying to make Behr look like he was smiling.

Behr grabbed her arms and gently pushed them away. “Okay, I was going to say you, until you did that…”

Aurelia rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut up, you sound completely cheesy. Seriously, what makes you smile?”

“Mmmm…a good song. Like ‘Satin in a Coffin’ by Modest Mouse…what? Stop giving me that look!”

She stared at him skeptically for a few seconds more before giving him a playful shove. “No! I’m not going to do a happy painting about a song called ‘Satin in a Coffin!’”

“Well, screw you then. You want the truth? You really want to know what makes me happy? Unicorns. Unicorns make me happy.”

Aurelia rolled her eyes again, grinning, and started making a sketch on the cardboard. “Well, you gave me a good idea for a Modest Mouse-inspired picture…but God help me if it’s based on ‘Satin in a Coffin.’”

“Alright, then,” Behr said, before getting serious. “Hey, you finished your homework and stuff, right? You really shouldn’t get behind like last year.”

Aurelia rolled onto her back, hid her face in her hands, and bleated at him.

“…Fantastic answer, dear. Care to make sense, now?”

“No. No, I did not finish my homework.” Aurelia’s words, spoken into her pale, rough hands, came out muffled.

“So do you want help or not?” Behr pulled a few fingers away from her face, and she stared at him blankly.

“…If you could make it not exist, that would be incredibly helpful.”

Behr flashed his ‘concerned’ face. “I’m serious; how much do you have to do?”

“All of it,” she mumbled.

Behr laughed and pulled the cardboard and newspaper away, as Aurelia glared at him.

“Alright, Aura, come on. It’s about time to finish this stuff, now that it’s,” Behr checked his watch. “Three o’ clock. On a Sunday. Keep your pencil—but where are your books? I’ll help you.”

“They live under the bed. God, it sucks having a boyfriend with the same schedule as you…especially one with such a maternal nature…”

Behr laughed again, and they somehow managed to finish her homework at about 7:30, even including the break for dinner.

And Aurelia wouldn’t tell Behr, but she stayed up another seven hours to “paint” and waste time in various other ways. Because pretending she could play her sister’s guitar at one in the morning was a seriously addicting boredom-killer.

--

It wasn’t until she actually entered her third period class (technically second of the day, with the block scheduling—a recent development at the school that confused everyone—English III was her first class) that she remembered she had a precalculus test. In other words—she was screwed. There was a reason she had an obsession with creating ‘art,’ and that was because it would drive all the confusing thoughts out of her head—like precalc-thoughts.

Precalc, she thought. You did the work with Behr yesterday. Now what was it about

It didn’t take long before she gave up on her “Swiss cheese” memory. She went to her seat—next to Behr, luckily—and poked him.

“What’s it about!”

He sighed and passed her the open textbook, as she smiled at him. “Thank you.”

She scanned the chapter, worrying more by the second. Well, I just hope it’s multiple choice.

She went over it with Behr on the way to Art III (she knew the day was going well if she could make it that far—art was her fifth class) and judging by what he had put, she had managed a low C on it. That was probably bad; she was doing horribly in that subject. But they reached the art classroom and she stopped thinking about it.

The art project they had received for the two-week period was exactly what she had been working on yesterday—something that would bring a smile to someone’s, anyone’s, face. The perfect project for the holiday season, which was drawing closer quickly. She pulled out her sketch and contented herself with defining the lines before finding the paints she would need for today.

Then onto French III, where she drifted in and out of attentiveness. It didn’t matter—languages in general were a strong point for her, and Behr’s presence was a real plus. Paragraphs were written; questions were answered, and then home, where she ran to her room and escaped from her mother’s questions into sleep.

--

The next day, Tuesday, her fears were confirmed—she had done even worse than she thought she would, in fact. The amazing Mrs. Janson had graded their papers, and she had made a 67 on the test, a D. Her mother was going to kill her if she found out…

She slept through the rest of the class, and physics as well. Unlike French yesterday, it probably did matter…but she had avoided homework all night last night…until eleven, when she realized how much it might annoy Behr. It’s not as if he would be angry with her, like her mom would, but…he really did try to look out for her, if only in school; she managed herself quite well outside of that. And the least she could do in return was keep his worries at bay. So she had caught up on all the work, at the price of her sleep. Once again, and as always, she felt her lack of sleep was something he could go without knowing.

Theatre Arts III. Translation: drama class. It was sixth period, and in her mind, the day was technically over. Très fantastique, she thought.

Home meant sleep again. But not as successful, because this time, her mother went to talk to her in her room, and saw the precalc test sticking out of her backpack.

“Relli,” Miss Dufrene struggled to wake her daughter from her slumber. “Aurelia, wake up.”

Aurelia woke up and saw the test in her mother’s hand. She groaned, remembering the last time her mother had found her stockpile of bad tests. She had barely managed to force herself to stay home. “This is going to be bad, isn’t it?”

“You bet. I know that you’ve had far too many of these lately. Care to explain?”

“Well. Basically, my brain, plus precalc, equals enormous explosion. And really, that is the best kind of math I can manage.” Aurelia sat up on her bed and stared at her bare feet (with toenails painted blue, of course).

“Have you tried getting help?” Her mother asked. Aurelia could see that her mother thought she wasn’t even trying. She took a deep breath.

“Yeah, Behr’s helped me so much, but—”

Angrily, her mother cut her off. “Oh, no. Besides Behr. I mean real help.”

Aurelia was appalled. “What’s that supposed to mean? Behr’s certainly helped me more than that idiot teacher!”

“But he’s your boyfriend. And don’t think I don’t know what that means…”

Aurelia was starting to feel sick. “Mom, get out.”

“No!”

“Get out of my room,” Aurelia said, standing up to pace the length of her room. She had no clue what to tell her mother next. “If you think you...if you think you’re at all justified saying that, you don’t know Behr. And you most certainly don’t know me.”

Identical looks of disgust played across Aurelia’s face and her mother’s simultaneously. Aurelia’s mind was reeling; her only decipherable thoughts were “get out” over and over again. And she was starting to understand that she didn’t just mean to rid her room of her mother.

But she also saw that for her to run away, she would have to do it when her mother wouldn’t catch her. And she saw that she meant to go through with her plan this time. She ended up giving her mother the cold shoulder until she left Aurelia’s room and stopped bothering her completely.

A few hours later, she was on a Greyhound bus, headed for some nowhere town in Tennessee. When she reached the bus station at eleven-thirty (walking, so her mom would at least have a car), it was the first bus she would be able to catch.

Her only possessions consisted of a few changes of clothes, some art supplies, her MP3 player, and her laptop. On her desk, she had left two letters: one to Behr, and one to her sister, Mar. One to her mother had been started (“Dear Mom,” and nothing else) before she realized it had all been said. She thought her mother understood her choices and actually knew her, but apparently not. That piece of paper was sitting in the bottom of her trashcan in crumpled pieces.

After what felt like an eternity—luckily, one where her mother did not find her—the bus pulled off, dragging her out of her half-asleep daze. Realizing that she wasn’t going to fall back into one of those anytime soon, she took out the painting she had started with Behr’s help, three days ago. It was a real painting now, and she stared at it sadly. It would have been Behr’s Christmas gift, had she the courage and perseverance to do better in school. Regardless, she had held onto it for whatever reason. Someday, she would see Behr again. It just wouldn’t be tomorrow.

She peeled the tape off the border—it certainly wasn’t needed, now that the piece was ‘finished.’ It demanded a few final additions, but she wasn’t going to add them. The painting was an Asheville painting, and her life was being renewed now.

She added her trademark checkered border to the empty space—the usual confirmation of a finished piece. And that would be the end of it.

Halfway through, she noticed a man, probably in his twenties, studying the picture. She did the same.

It was the portrait of a dissolving redheaded girl, with a hand coming in from the left, trying to grasp what was already gone. Below the hand, in the left corner, she had written, “‘she ionizes and atomizes/then turns to sunlight’” in small cursive letters. Modest Mouse, just as she had told Behr. She felt sick as she saw that it described the way she wanted to get away, and Behr trying to keep her close—to keep her sane.

She looked at the man, still stealing looks at both her and the painting, then shoved the painting into her bag and looked away.

“You’ve got talent,” a coarse voice told her. She shrugged, but wouldn’t turn around.

“You look a little young to be skipping town. What’s up?”

She looked back over at him, warily. “School sucks. My mom sucks. I’ve had it. That’s about it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “There’s nothing stronger than that to hold you back?”

She stared at her backpack. “Well…there’s a guy…”

“Oh?”

“…My boyfriend. And…my sister. But…I just can’t do it. School is not my thing.” Aurelia sighed.

“It isn’t, for most people,” he told her gravely. “But most people make it through. What’s so different about you? Why are you giving up?”

She looked away again, annoyed. “I’m not giving up. I’m just…making different plans.”

“Uh-huh? And what are they?” The man’s voice was unbelieving; skeptic.

“…I don’t know yet.” Aurelia was thinking things through, much too late. Her hands were shaking, and she put down her pencil, trying to disguise it.

“I know you’re scared. And I know how much you hate school right about now. But, you’re what, sixteen?”

She nodded.

“Then you don’t have much longer. One and a half years, and then you can work things out however you want to. But for now, however talented you are, without a high school diploma, you have nothing. Right now, you’re going too fast, kid.” He paused, giving Aurelia a strange flashback to Sunday’s horoscope. “Listen, once we get to freakin’ Timbuktu, Tennessee, I’ll pay your way back. Just as long as you do go back.”

Aurelia looked at the kind man. He had warm brown eyes that reminded her of Behr’s, and she saw that he was right. She didn’t know about her high school diploma, but without her friends, she would never make it. “Thank you,” she said. “But you don’t have to pay. I have enough money, and I will go back.”

The man laughed. “But you stole that money from your mom, right?”

Aurelia was surprised, and her cheeks turned red. “Yeah,” she answered, sheepishly.

“Then please, let me. And don’t be surprised. Just because most people make it through high school, doesn’t mean they haven’t tried getting away at one point or another.” He gave her a sly smile.

She smiled and, for the first time in weeks, fell asleep without any problems.

She spent the next day in the bus station, checking emails and wasting her day on the internet. Her sister must have sent her a hundred emails, but she saw none from Behr, and almost started second-guessing her decision to go back. And what would her mother say when she came home? She spent the waiting time until her 9:00 PM bus stressing. When she gave thought to other subjects, it was mostly trying to place the man who had convinced her to go back to Asheville. Was it possible for strangers to be that kind, or did she already know him from somewhere else?

He had helped her find out what the next bus to Asheville was, and introduced her to his wife—another person she could swear she already knew. And maybe it had been just her imagination, but she was pretty sure the woman had given her husband one of those ‘knowing smiles’—as if they shared a private joke.

“I’m glad you decided to go back, kid,” the man told her. “Especially during the holidays. You need to at least be with your family and boyfriend for that. Say, I never got your name…”

“It’s Aurelia,” she told him. “Most people call me Checker, though.”

A wide grin spread across his face. “That’s a beautiful name,” he told her. “Well, goodbye then.” He began walking away. “And good luck in school!” He added.

“Goodbye, and thank you!” She responded, before turning around to find a bench.

--

By early Thursday morning, Aurelia was back in Asheville—amazed to see Behr sprawled out on one of the benches in the bus station. She ran over to him and shook him awake, overjoyed.

“Behr! You look like a homeless person! What are you doing here?” She grinned into his sleepy expression.

He pulled her now-crumpled letter out of his pocket. “‘Dear Behr,’” he read, his voice proving his tired state as much as his mussed hair did. “‘I’m so sorry for leaving. I’m sick of school, I’m sick of Mom and her perceptions of you and I, and I’m sick of this stupid town. I love you, but I really can’t take it. I’m weak. I know that. But this is something I have to do.

“‘I’ll be back someday, for sure. And maybe I’ll see you. But for now, this is goodbye. Love, Aura.’”

He sat up and shook his hair out of his eyes. “I know you,” he said, wrapping an arm around Aurelia’s waist. “I knew you, most likely, wouldn’t make it too long on your own…oh, and that guy on the bus? My cousin. He recognized you from the family reunion I took you too and called me.”

“But, Behr!” She cried. “This was something I was supposed to do on my own!” She sat down and kicked her feet a few times. “This was my epiphany!”

Behr laughed. “Whatever, Aura. It was your choice to take his advice. I’d say that’s enough of an epiphany.”

Aurelia giggled. “Nope. It’s not. Now I have to do this whole thing over again. I’ll see you in a day or two…”

She stood up, grabbed her bag, and started walking through the station. Behr laughed and ran after her, kissing her in the midst of all the benches, travelers, and…homeless people. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

And when she finally made it home, she was amazed when she survived her mother’s angry ranting, and finally, tearful embracing.

“He realizes and itemizes

Pulls harder than gravity…”

(Lyrics from "Ionizes and Atomizes" by Modest Mouse.)