The Art of Life (7 page)

               
I
can’t help but smile all day.
 
To say I
am looking forward to the weekend is an understatement.
 
Grabbing my books, I get ready to leave right
from art class.
 
It takes me a while to
get to the bus, and then the grocery store and back home again.
 
I slam my locker door and jump a little.
 
Eric is standing there, staring at me.
 
“Hi,” I say slowly.

               
“Hey,
your name is Isabelle right?”

               
“Yeah,”
I reply in shock.
 

               
The
corner of his mouth twitches.
 
“I just
thought I would say happy birthday.”

               
“Thanks.”

               
“So,
that guy…” He starts.

               
Suddenly,
a voice yells, “Eric!”
 
I close my eyes
in defeat.
 
Sonya comes over and puts her
hand on his shoulder.
 
“What are you
doing?”

               
Getting
a perplexed look, he answers, “Talking to
ummm
…Isabelle.”

               
Sonya’s
eyes turn to me.
 
To save myself some
dignity, I mutter, “Bye,” and walk away.
 
Seriously, that chick is grating on my last nerve.
 
I just have to get through art.
 
We are finishing our paintings and then I am
free from my prison for a couple of days.
 

               
To
avoid another encounter with my demon-possessed tormenter, I grab my painting
and art supplies, before I even sit down.
 
When I get to my seat, I spread everything out onto the table.
 
My eyes look down at my painting.
 
It’s alright, just a simple lake scene.
 
I am great at drawing, but only average at
painting.

               
Suddenly,
the tell tale shadow passes over my desk again.
 
“
Soooo
, Eric told me it was your birthday and
you got sung to last night.”

               
“Yup,”
I reply, not even looking at her.

               
Leaning
forward on the front of the table, Sonya laughs.
 
“How cute, are you five?”

               
“That
was all on Jeremy.
 
It was his idea.”

               
She
taps her chin and draws out, “Jeremy, Jeremy, Jeremy, oh, your pay-by-the-hour
boyfriend.”

               
“I
must be rich, because I spend a lot of hours with him,” I retort, painting a
line on the page.

               
The
bell rings and our teacher
saves
me by beginning the
class right away.
 
Sonya is forced to sit
down.
 
Good, at least I have a while to
finish this project.
 
After my teacher
stops talking, everyone starts to work on their paintings, too.
 
Thankfully, Sonya is a horrible artist and
has a lot to finish on hers.

               
Twenty
minutes into class, there is a knock on the door.
 
Everyone of course looks up.
 
The teacher walks over to answer it.
 
There is a guy standing in the hallway.
 
When I look carefully, I see it’s a guy
holding a bunch of flowers, roses to be exact.
 
He walks forward and hands them to my teacher.
 
My teacher looks down at the card.
 
“Isabelle…
ummm
…you
have flowers here for you.”

               
There
is instant whispering in the classroom.
 
Oh no, Jeremy, I am going to kill you.
 
I begrudgingly walk up to the front of the room.
 
My teacher hands them to me, a little wide
eyed.
 
“Thanks,” I whisper.

               
As
I make my way back, I have to smile.
 
They are beautiful red roses and they smell fantastic.
 
Trying to not smirk too
bad
,
I sit back down.
 
There is a card and I
take it out.
 
I fiddle with it for a
while.
 
When I look up everyone is
staring at me.
 
Awkward.
 
I finally turn away from everyone and
open the card.
 
Before I can read it, it
is snatched from my hand.

               
“Sonya!”
I yell, “Give that back!”

               
But
it’s too late, she already has it open.
 
“Isabelle,” she starts loudly.
 
“I
had a great time last night and can’t wait to see you on Saturday.
 
I hope this helps with the…..guillotine.
 
Guillotine…..what in the hell is a
guillotine?”

               
“Something
you really need to check out,” someone yells.

               
With
a disgusted look, she gawks at me.
 
I
grab the card back and say, “I am going to keep that, thank you very
much.”
 
Sonya just continues to stare at
me.
 
“What?” I snap.
 
“Have you never gotten flowers at school
before?”

               
Daniella
and Jessica start to laugh.
 
Daniella
is the one
to say, “No, she hasn’t.”
 
Sonya turns
around and gives her a look of death.
 
The other two girls look back down at their projects.

               
“I
am going to figure this out,” Sonya seethes.

               
“What
is there to figure out?” I practically yell.
 
“Do you want these?
 
Here, have
them, if that will shut you up.”
 
I shove
the flowers at her.

               
Turning
away, she replies, “I don’t even like roses.”

               
“Sure!
 
That’s it!” A guy in front of me shouts.
 
I burst out laughing with everyone else.

               
To
my relief, Sonya ignores me after class.
 
My face turns red though as every person that I pass turns to look at me
and then the flowers.
 
Talk about having
all eyes upon you.
 
It’s like I have a
big red beacon on my head.
 
I decide to
go home first and drop everything off.
 

               
The
house is empty.
 
Thank god for small
favors.
 
I set the flowers on my bed and
stand there for a minute.
 
I don’t even
think we own a vase.
 
We do have that
glass pitcher though.
 
I go downstairs
and grab it, filling it with water.
 
With
an artistic flare, I arrange the flowers.
 
I have never had flowers given to me before.
 
This is great.

               
My
mind is giddy for the rest of the night.
 
I know he didn’t send them to me for romantic reasons, but it feels
great none the less.
 
As I lay there
staring at the ceiling, I get an idea.
  
Rolling over onto my stomach, I grab my
sketch pad.
 
A scene comes to mind and I
start to draw.

               
At
11:45 the next day, I am sitting by my window, staring at the street.
 
I have the helmet ready on my bed and my
backpack on my back.
 
My mom is still
sleeping from her prior drunken stupor, but I don’t want to risk her seeing me.
 
Suddenly, I hear the rev of the bike’s
engine.
 
I spring across my room, grab
the helmet and fly downstairs.
 

               
Jeremy
is barely stopped before I run up next to him.
 
“Hey.”

               
He
takes his helmet off and laughs.
 
“Eager
are we?”

               
“No,
I want to go before my mom wakes up,” I state, ushering with my hands.

               
“Okay,
okay,” he replies, “get on.”

               
I
throw on the helmet and climb on back.
 
“Where are we going?” I yell.

               
“You’ll
see.”

               
As
we drive I can’t even register where we are going.
 
When we finally pull up, I pop open the
visor.
 
“You have to be kidding me,
right?”

               
Chuckling,
Jeremy shakes his head.
 
“Nope, you said
you would trust me.”

               
I
climb down and yank the helmet off.
 
“I
said I was going to trust you, but I have no idea what to do in there!
 
I get my hair cut at the mall, for like
twelve dollars.”

               
“I
got this,” he says, getting off the bike.
 
“I know what I am doing.”

               
“I
sure hope so,” I moan, as he pushes me forward.

               
We
walk into the salon and I know I am in way over my head.
 
There is a perfectly done up receptionist and
the shampoo probably costs more than my usual haircut altogether.
 
“Hi,” Jeremy chimes.
 
“We are here to see Debbie.”

               
The
receptionist gives him a really flirty smirk and looks down.
 
“Isabelle,” she says, looking up at me.
 
Her eyebrow immediately rises.
 
She looks at me and then at Jeremy.
 
“Your little sister?”

               
A
shocked look crosses my face.
 
“No,”
Jeremy states.
 
“My very close female
friend, anyway, we are here to see Debbie.”

               
“Yeah,”
she replies, looking at me.
 
“I will go
get her right away.”

               
When
she walks away, I turn to Jeremy and hiss, “See!
 
I get that every day!
 
We need to leave now!”

               
“Relax,”
Jeremy emphasizes, putting his arm around me.
 
“No one is going to bite.”

               
“Yeah
right,” I mumble, crossing my arms.

               
Suddenly,
this perfect blonde beauty comes around the corner.
 
“Jeremy!” She yells.
 
He lets go of me, to go and hug her.
 
She gives him a kiss on the cheek.
 
“What are you doing here?”

               
“Debbie,
we require some of your expertise.
 
This
is my friend Isabelle.
 
She kind of…well….needs our help.”
 
Jeremy gestures to me.
 

               
“Thanks
Jeremy,” I snap.

               
Debbie
eyes me up thoughtfully.
 
“What do you
want done?” She asks me.

               
“I
have no idea,” I reply.
 
“This is
horribly embarrassing.”

               
“Nonsense,”
Debbie laughs.
 
“I love giving a
make-over.”

               
The
receptionist jumps in.
 
“She has you
booked for four hours.”

               
“Four
hours!” I snap.
 
“Jeremy!”

               
He
starts to back up to the door, with that incredible killer smile.
 
“You will be fine.”

               
“You
dirty rat!
 
You are leaving me here
alone!”

               
“Debbie
will be nice to you, I promise.
 
Anyway,
I want it to be a surprise, like opening a Christmas present.
  
My credit card is already accounted for, do
whatever you want.”