Heartstrings

There were many things I enjoyed doing on a Monday morning. It often consisted of a trip down reverie lane and doodle land for the first three hours of school.

I disregarded the current Pre-Calculus lesson taught by a teacher whose monotonous voice could never capture my interest. But I pretended to listen to the lesson with genuine interest, while I concealed my math notes with doodles that clearly showed how I treated this class as another hour in Art. Many often underestimated the power of illusions, but that could be a good thing on my part. The advantages were always endless, and guaranteed me another A for this class, as long as I continued to listen attentively, of course.

“Cassandra, what is the answer to the question?” my Math teacher, Mr. Evans asked, pulling me further away from my beloved reverie lane.

Oh, shoot. Okay, so maybe illusions worked only for so long, and my Math teacher wasn’t as blind as I gave him credit for. Goodbye A. I’ll certainly miss you. “I’m sorry sir, but do you mind repeating the question?”

He gave me an annoyed look before he said, “Already dosing off in my class, Miss. Sinclair? It’s only the start of second semester, and my lessons bore you to tears when it’s not even fifteen minutes into the class.” He sighed, not bothering to hide his disappointment in me and most likely wondering if it were possible to change my first semester grade into a D instead of the A that I clearly didn’t deserve. “Now, if it’s not too much to ask, I’m sure the whole class would greatly appreciate it if you would stop daydreaming in my class, and answer the question: What is the inverse function of the equation on the board?”

I was sure that I must have been blushing after he announced his accusation of me daydreaming in his class. I glanced at the board and saw a complex equation written in his illegible handwriting, but my mind was too blank to come up with an answer. I bit my lip before I said, “I’m not sure, sir, but I’m sure that Scarlet knows the answer.” It wasn’t my fault that my brain couldn’t determine the answer within ten seconds; I wasn’t a human calculator!

She glared at me in response before she said the answer. She was always good at math, and I never knew why she liked to repudiate it, but it was her choice to live in denial. I, on the other hand, was surprised that I even made it to Pre-Calculus this year. Then again, I might have taken advantage of successfully pretending that I paid attention in Math class. All right, so maybe it didn’t always work, but it worked for the most part!

“It looks as if someone has been paying attention in my class. I suggest that you do the same as well, if you don’t plan on taking this course again next year, Miss. Sinclair,” he warned.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I muttered under my breath.

“What was that, Cassandra? I could have sworn that you said that you would like to repeat this course. Am I correct? If so, I’ll have to tell your advisor just how much you seem to love Pre-Calculus this year. You seem to show your fondness for it well by doodling in my class.”

I groaned. I almost forgot how much he enjoyed tormenting at least one of his students during every class period. And of course, he just had to assume that I daydreamed and drew in his class. Did he have to be so observant? “No, sir.”

The class snickered at the scene we were starring in, and I disliked every one of my peers, except for Scarlet, of course. I wasn’t a cynical person, but there were times when I doubted that any of my classmates would fit under the category of positive adjectives, especially when they were snickering at others, namely me. High school was overrated, and I sometimes envied Jason, for this was his last year before he would go off to college. Well, that was only if he would receive an acceptance letter, of course.

The truth was, I never doubted Jason’s ability to get into a university—he was incredibly intelligent and somehow managed to maintain a perfect grade point average throughout his years in high school—but it was always fun to tease him with the possibility of rejection. I was probably digging my own grave right there, because he would most likely plant those thoughts in my head next year. After all, karma was a bitch, and I was her favorite victim.

The warning bell rang and finally allowed me to enter the cafeteria, while Scarlet scolded at me for dragging her into the unwanted attention in Math. I would never understand that girl and why she always disliked attention so much when she herself enjoyed being in the spotlight during our school’s theatre productions. Then again, it was my fault for choosing such an eccentric girl for a best friend, and making me ponder her odd personality. But the abnormal ones always did turn out to be the best friend in the end.

“Cassandra, that was extremely embarrassing for me. I can’t believe that you made me answer it in front of everyone,” she said in a less exasperated tone, running a hand through her hair.

I rolled my eyes. “You must realize, Scarlet, that you weren’t the one who made a fool of herself. You were at least able to answer his question, and weren’t caught daydreaming in his class.”

“But you don’t even care what others think of you, so why should it matter?” she retorted.

“Then, perhaps you should become more like me,” I suggested, shrugging my shoulders before sitting down at our table.

“As much as I love to act, it gets exhausting after a while when I pretend to be someone I’m not.”

“Yet, you continue to devote your after school hours to memorize hundreds of lines, and to the never-ending rehearsals you always seem to be complaining about.” I smiled before I shook my head.

Jason entered the lunchroom shortly after we started eating our boring peanut butter and jelly sandwiches—yes, we did enjoy eating them for lunch, even though our elementary school days had been over for years. He began ruffling my hair as his afternoon greeting, while I scowled in return, and placed my sandwich back on top of the flattened paper bag.

“I really do wish that you’d stop disheveling my hair. Can’t you take some time out of your precious life to find another way to greet me? Or you can always say hello like a normal person and leave my hair alone.”

“But I don’t want to be a normal person.” He grinned. “Being normal is overrated, and I prefer to stand out.”

I scoffed. “Trust me on this one, Jason, you’re anything but normal.”

“Now I just find that insulting. You always find a way to wound my fragile heart, Cassie.” He placed a hand over his heart and mocked pain.

“You have a heart?” I wondered incredulously.

“Cassie, you’re still insensitive towards Jason?” my friend Erin said, sitting down beside him and grinning. “You must understand that my boyfriend has feelings.”

“I thought that the word ‘feelings’ was a foreign word to him?”

Scarlet laughed before she said, “Cassie, you are undeniably heartless.”

“Oh, not you too. But of course your brother would corrupt your mind and make you think so as well.” I harmlessly glared at Jason and sighed.

“Don’t worry, Cassie. I don’t believe that you’re bitter,” Erin assured me. “You’re quite the opposite actually.”

“That’s only because you haven’t known her for that long as we have,” Jason muttered.

“I don’t know if you’ve realized this, but I am sitting directly across from you, and the last time I’ve checked, I’m not suffering from hearing loss.”

“I’m sorry. You know that I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine, really. But I apologize if I did truly hurt your feelings, Jason,” I said, smiling to reassure him that I was okay.

“Apology accepted. See? Sometimes all you need to do is say, ‘I’m sorry,’ and everything will be back to normal,” he noted.

“Perhaps you’re right.” I sighed, not sure if I completely agreed with that statement, but I wasn’t in the mood to argue—my energy was beginning to drain away. “I’m really craving a cup of coffee right now.”

“You’re always in the mood for coffee,” Scarlet said before the bell rang. “Fortunately for you, school is over in two hours.”

“Oh, thank goodness for that! I don’t think I’ll be able to survive Art next period.” I sighed. I didn’t want to go to Art, and I was disappointed when I found out that I couldn’t switch out of it, for there were no other open electives that I could have taken instead.

“But you love Art,” Jason said before Scarlet hit him on the head.

“She used to love it, you idiot,” Scarlet scolded, hitting him once more, while Erin looked at her with confusion and worry.

“Ow. You don’t have to keep hitting me on the head. You know of my forgetfulness for things.”

“Oh, don’t we all,” Scarlet muttered. “You tend to ‘forget’ to do your chores at home or take your shift at the coffee shop, so I have to do all of your work.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Scarlet. I always do my work!” He grinned before he grabbed Erin’s hand and left the cafeteria.

I shook my head. “I still can’t believe that he’s older than us.”

“Don’t worry. I question his age too sometimes.”



Art was the only elective that I could take without wanting to pull my hair out.

There was no one else in the classroom except for me and the art teacher Mrs. Matthews. Everyone else must have been too busy chattering with their friends in the crowded hallways of the school, but I was content with coming to class early. Mrs. Matthews and I were on friendly terms, and she didn’t mind letting me spend my lunch hours in her classroom to work on my next addition to my portfolio.

As the class began to file into the classroom, she told us all to sit wherever we pleased, and gave a brief introduction to her class. I had already taken this course last year, and ignored her and the rest of the class, for her introduction couldn’t have been anything out of the ordinary.

Mrs. Matthews told us to paint or draw whatever we wanted, but warned that her class was not a free period. She prompted us to start creating a portfolio for the end of the semester, because they were due in less than three months. And she didn’t want to be responsible for our failing grade in her class, nor did she want to receive phone calls from angry parents.

I remembered that she was actually a tolerant teacher if the class would use their time wisely, and she would only let out an exasperated sigh if someone broke one of the art supplies. But her nearly silent response was enough to terrify anyone, for there never seemed to be any words to describe how vexed she would feel. And let’s just say that I was hoping that no one would be stupid enough to break or lose a paintbrush.

I began to set up my art easel, and gathered all the materials I needed to use for my next project. I wasn’t sure of what I would draw, but then I saw the clock on the wall. An idea began to form in my mind, and I started to use a thin piece of charcoal to outline the circumference of the clock towards the left side of the paper. I drew three more circles inside the basis of the clock, creating darker hues near the edges to create volume. I lightly used the charcoal to create a soft layer of tone, noticing how the different hues began to form a dull gradient. I wrote the first twelve Roman numerals in the inner section of the clock, and gently shaded any leftover space inside the clock, making the white space begin to disappear gradually.

When I finished drawing the clock—with the exception of drawing the hour and minute hand—I blended various shades of gray with white or black acrylic paint before I dipped the filbert brush into the muddled pool of despair and perplexity. I transferred the paint onto the paper and watched as it concealed the any hints of charcoal with each careful stroke of the brush.

Mrs. Matthews then told us to start cleaning up, because class was going to be over in ten minutes. I hung the unfinished painting on the drying rack, and the easel looked as if any artwork had abandoned it, leaving it alone with the plain stack of paper. I walked over to the sink, and thoroughly washed the paintbrushes and pallet, making sure that no paint residue was still visible on the bristles.

My hands were soaked with water, so I went to get a paper towel, but I should have watched where I was going, because I suddenly bumped into someone, making blue paint splatter onto his shirt. The pallet also fell onto the ground, and made the tiled floor become tainted with various vivid colors. I picked up the paint pallet, and looked up from the ground, only to see Paint-Splattered-Boy with an amused smirk.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make paint splatter all over you,” I apologized, handing him back his pallet, while avoiding his gaze.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad that I didn’t choose acrylic paint, and the paint on my shirt is washable,” he joked, trying to lighten up the mood, and using a paper towel to clean up the mess on the floor.

Just as he finished, the bell began to ring, and Mrs. Matthews dismissed us all from her class. Paint-Splattered-Boy smiled briefly before he walked away and left the room with the rest of the class.

I smiled after him before I shook my head and whispered, “Me too.”

Who knew that Jason was actually right about something for once?