"Strawberry Sorbet"

Karasu 122108

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Chapter Two

"Where did you go, Clara?" Dag caught up with me at my locker before fourth block. I had AP Studio Art and he had AP Chorus (or whatever it was called), so we saw each other (and occasionally accosted each other's teachers) every day.

"I went to the art room, of course," I slammed my locker and turned to smile at him. I also conveniently left out the part about Daniel and I concocting a scheme to get both of our portfolios and the paintings on the walls done. We were to meet up at whoever's house was convenient, work on our stuff, bounce ideas off of each other, help each other when we needed it, and basically just hang out. I needed a break from my guys, and he needed a break from his girls.

"Well, I just got a text from Oli saying that Lucien's still pissed at you. So," he looked at me out of the corner of his eyes as he saw Daniel wave at me before slipping into the art room, "I wouldn't be seen with Mr. Chicken for a while, okay?"

I felt my face flush as anger took over me. At first, I thought I could work through this whole Lucien thing, but it really was getting to me. "Well, you can tell Oliver to tell Lucien to suck my cock because Daniel and I are best friends and that's not changing anytime soon."

"Whoa, chickadee, don't shoot the messenger," Dag held up his hands defensively.

"Dag," I stopped and turned to face him, "I'm going to tell you this, and you can tell it to Lucien, tell it to the others, or keep it to yourself. Whatever. I really don't give a shit. But. I will be friends with whomever I choose to be friends with. Daniel and I have to finish our stupid portfolios so we don't fail AP Art. I'll probably be seen around him a lot more than normal because of that. So Lucien can just suck it up or be a fucking baby and not talk to me."

Dag slipped his arm around my shoulder, "Clara, not to sound like a bad fag or anything, but I couldn't give a shit who you hang out with. I just don't want you to get your heart broken by Danny-boy. I wanna look out for my hag. And you gotta look out for me, right?"

I smirked, "I guess. If it wasn't for me and my constant reminders, you'd already have AIDS or herpes, or something equally as bad."

He grinned back to me as the warning bell rang through the "Boheme Building," as we liked to call it, "Of course. You take care of my sorry whore-ass. And I love you for it."

Dag pecked me swiftly on the cheek as he ran off to flirt with his Choir teacher. My gaydar, of course, is ninety-seven percent accurate, and after he enlisted my help to make sure Mr. Williams was gay, he went after him headfirst. It was cute to see Dag flirt with him, but at the same time, it was creepy as fuck.

But I didn't dwell on it. That was Dag's business unless he asked for my help.

"How far did you get on the piece you're working on last night?" Daniel smiled up to me and my heart pounded in my ribcage. I set my things on our table, and sighed heavily.

"I didn't get as far as I wanted to, unfortunately," I spread out my paper, a tiny piece of a close-up on my fountain. Daniel whistled appreciatively, picking it up to look closer at it.

He set it back down after he got his fill, "Wow, Clara. It's great."

"And what do you have, Daniel?" I blushed like the fucking girl I was, tying my hair back so it wouldn't get in my face as I scrutinized my piece.

Dan reached into his bag, and produced a large piece of metal. My eyes widened as he placed it on the table.

"W-what're you going to make it into?"

Daniel had inherited his cousin's love for 3-D. He, himself, was making things out of scrap metal he found lying around wherever he was at the moment. He once made a large flamingo family out of old pink lemonade cans (provided by moi, at his request, of course). It turned out fucking awesome, and he was lucky that Bunker got a picture of it before the stupid dickhole freshmen decided to take MySpace pics with them.

Now their legs didn't bend properly, and one of the babies was in pieces.

If I ever found out who it was, I would've personally kicked the living shit out of them.

“I haven’t really decided yet,” Daniel stood back, examining the large hunk of metal. I made my way around the table and to his side, tilting my head to get a better, “artistic” look at it.

“Maybe you could make, like, a robot or something awesome like that,” I nodded, looking up at him.

Daniel seemed to consider that possibility for a moment, “It would be wild if I could make a robot that worked. Even if it just works like those little robot dogs that were all the rage when I was younger!”

“You mean those Tekno Robotic Dogs?”

He nodded and I couldn’t stop the laugh that racked my body, “I had one of those! A long-ass time ago! The very first ones they had out! And the puppy one!”

Daniel grinned to me, “I did, too! Did you name yours?”

I felt somehow… close to him as we talked on, “Nah, I just called him Tekno. That was, like, his name or whatever, wasn’t it?”

“I called mine Bones.”

Part of me wanted to make fun of the name he had given his robotic dog. Part of me wanted to compliment him on it. I chose the former, of course. “Did you ever slip up and call it Boner?”

He slapped my arm, “You’re so vulgar.”

I walked back around the table, taking my seat as Bunker waltzed in the room (today she was wearing her famed tiny blue tubetop… over a black shirt, of course). “You love it,” I whispered before Bunker started her class.

“Kids!” Bunker spun around in a circle in the middle of the room, clapping her hands together to get our attention. It worked, of course, even though I heard Eileen groan because she was concentrating on her self-portrait. (Yeah, AP Art was one of those classes where kids were here because they wanted to be. It was actually really cool to only have eight other kids in there with me.) “Today, we’re going to do something a little different.”

That got my attention. I shot a look to Daniel, who grinned.

“I want you to split into teams of three. You can pick your partners, of course,” Bunker winked to us and I loved how at-ease she was in her own classroom. You know, most teachers are all stressed out and junk because they can’t control their students. But Bunker was different. She was awesome and in control at all times. “We’re going to play a little game, since it’s a Friday and I have to have some really stupid papers into the Vice before the block ends.”

Eileen raised her hand, and Bunker looked at her, a sign that she should speak her piece and do it quick, “Can’t we just keep working on our portfolios? Some of us are behind.”

“Well, I thought about that,” Bunker smiled, “and I decided that you guys deserve a day off. And while I genuinely love that you ask for my help, I can’t give it today. Because I’m behind. So I’m going to set up a game to get your creative juices flowing, then you can go home and get your shit done. Sound good when I say it that way?”

Eileen nodded, exchanging a look with her friend and tablemate, Colleen.

“Good,” Bunker clapped her hands together one last time, grinning to all of us. “Here we go. I’m going to write some things on the board. Your job is to find something artistic within those words, and draw it. Write it down. Do whatever. Just be creative. Have fun. Get to know each other.”

Oh, she was a sly devil. See, Bunker was my go-to teacher for practically everything. Whether I needed some help working on one of my pieces, or I just needed to get something off of my chest, I talked to her.

Not only was this game a nice break from the repetitiveness of the past twelve or so weeks, I knew that she was trying to get me to break out of my shell with Daniel. My… romantic shell.

“Hey, guys, do you mind if I join your group?”

My mouth dropped open. The Aime Preston was asking to join mine and Daniel’s group.

He shot me one of those looks, and I knew it was up to me to decide whether or not I wanted the prettiest Art Gal in between Daniel and I.

“Uh,” I thought quickly as her large green eyes fixated on me. “Sure. Why not? Being paired with Eileen all the time gets annoying.”

“I heard that!”

I stuck out my tongue at Eileen. We had been close in middle school, but some things (mostly her starting the rumours that I was a slutcake) had torn our friendship to pieces. We’d repaired some of it… but it was still in that awkward phase.

“Thanks,” Aime set down her sketchbook and Prismacolours. I was immediately ashamed by my own, smaller pack of Prismas. I knew I was a good artist and all, but compared to her… I was just average.

Daniel grinned to her as well as we moved our table to join the semi-circle of three tables. Bunker stepped back from the board, dusting the chalk off of her hands and going back to work on her papers or whatever.

“So who’s going first?” Eileen asked, eyeing all of us. She was almost a… leader of sorts when it came to our class. Which was a good thing because most of us were pansy art students anyway.

“I can, if that doesn’t bother anyone,” Aime offered, a smile blooming on her face. I could almost hear the sighs that everyone let out. Nobody wanted to be first, as per usual. Even though it had been a full school year since we started in the class, we were still… afraid of being critiqued by one another.

But as soon as Aime got up there, that feeling lessened a bit. Aime wasn’t the most popular girl in school (because we all know that that’s how you’re measured in high school), she wasn’t the best artist in the class (that went to Barbara Reid’s sister, Melaney), but she was the most confident person I’d ever met in my short span of life.

Aime flicked back her hair, examining the words on the board. Somehow, I just knew which one she was going to pick. Aime and I weren’t close, persay, but she was one of those never-change-my-ways kind of people.

I liked that about her.

When she started sketching away on a notepad, I grinned. Daniel nudged me, and I looked at him.

“What?” I whispered. I didn’t want to be disrespectful and interrupt Aime’s drawing process.

“Which one are you going to choose?” Daniel’s eyes were wide with what looked like fright. Which was odd, because Daniel is almost as confident in himself as Aime was.

I shrugged, “Dunno yet. None of them really sound appetizing.”

He nodded and went back to watching Aime.

Finally, she held up her piece. On the piece of paper was a really artistic word: rat.

“For my exercise, I want to know what a rat makes you guys think of,” Aime grinned to us all, propping up her sketchbook on the easel. “Give me anything that comes to mind when I say the word ‘rat.’ Word association, really.”

Eileen’s hand went up, “Dirt.”

“Skank,” Colleen answered, giggling.

“Cheese!” Melaney squealed, clapping her hands together.

“Disneyland!”

“That’s Mickey Mouse, Chandler.”

“So?”

I held up my hand, and Aime pointed to me, a smile on her face, “Rats make me think of you.”

She looked taken aback, but I had a reason.

“You’re crafty and cunning, in a good way. You have street smarts. You’re cute and fluffy, but you have teeth that can gnaw through anything,” I let my mouth fall into a smirk as hers did, too.

“Well, thanks, I guess,” Aime blushed as she went back to letting everyone call out answers. But she kept her eyes on me.

“Mousetraps.”

“Glue!”

“Formaldehyde!”

“Ew,” I scoffed in Daniel’s direction, “that’s really gross, dude.”

He shrugged, grinning. He was having a good time. And, I had to admit, I was as well. This was a new take on getting your creative juices flowing. I loved it.

“Brains!”

“Blood! Blar!”

Everyone laughed at Chandler’s attempt to do Dracula’s Romanian accent.

“Dracula!”

“Way to go, Melaney!” I laughed as she curled her arm around her face, as if she really was Dracula, holding his cape up.

“Romania!”

“Mountains.”

“Goats!” Yep. That was me.

“Horses!”

“Cream-coloured ponies!”

“Crisp apple strudels!”

I flung my arm out, singing, “Doorbells, and sleighbells, and schnitzel with noodles!”

Daniel joined in, standing up and twirling me around in my seat, “Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings!”

“These are a few of my favourite things!” I stood on my chair, walking along the semi-circle of tables as the rest of the class joined along. Because, come on, who doesn’t know that song?

Just as I was hitting that last high note, of course, the principal decides to step in.

And give us all a detention.

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Author's Note: I really wish this was how my art class went. D: I never got to sing and walk along desks. I guess... that's a good thing. In a way. XD;; (I did get to stand on the desk a couple of times, though. x'3)

Other than the unrealistic quality(?) of this story, it's sort of semi-autobiographical. :3