Saving Sloane Winters

Sloane Erin M. Winters
Keywords: grey, miserable, Teak Richardson, painting

Grey.

Like the feathers of an African Grey Parrot, the violent waves in a storm, the Woodridge clouds when it's about to rain, eyes in a charcoal drawing, wet boulders glistening in the sunlight.

My nails found their way to the lower part of my arm, digging into the already violated skin, dotted in the little crescent shapes. I grimaced, it seemed that my hand knew its way to my arm so well, that I didn't need to direct it's way with my active brain anymore-- it was all subconscious.

I could feel the goosebumps in my arm too, I always got them when I was being scrutinized, and this time; it was a painting of mine getting all the narrowed eyes and tongues in the corner of Bess' lip.

Sarah spoke up. "Isn't this painting about T--"

Bess slapped her on the upside of her golden head, trying to look at me as furtively as she could. "Sarah!"

Nodding absently, Kay murmured, "Yeah, it's definitely about Teak. All that grey, swirls, sea, paint and emotion."

"Do you even know what you're talking about?" Sarah sent Kay an odd look.

"No, seriously Bess; it's alright." I muttered, as Bess when to slap Kay on the head too.

The three all turned to look at me, and I could imagine what they saw. Me in my dirty paint splattered t-shirt that I stole from dad, paint in my hair that I hadn't washed for days and paint all over my face. But I knew that's not what they were looking at, their eyes were on my crescent dotted arms, and the hopeless look in my eyes.

"Oh, hun." Sarah sighed, moving to hug me.

I stepped away to avoid her arms, "No, I'm fine, Sar. Just... I don't need any help."

And then their emotions were all over their faces, that told me they thought the opposite.

"Sloane," whispered Bess, tugging on my arm, "Go get changed, we'll go to La Rogue."

So here I am, half an hour later, in an old long shirt, leather jacket and old combat boots, with a pecan pie and hot chocolate in La Rogue cafe.

Bess starts talking about Riley, "So, remember that music competition? Turns out they didn't win, came fourth out of like... thirty entries."

"What does Riley even play?" Sarah laughed, munching on her strawberry cheesecake, she's got a whole lemon meringue and lots of truffles on her plate.

"Well... he's on bass, and they had two other guys from some other Xavier campus on guitar and keyboard. I'm not really sure about anything else though." Bess shrugged.

I noticed they avoided saying Teak's name, I was grateful, but at the same time I was not. They avoided saying it because they thought I was still torn up because of him, and that was weak.

Pull yourself together, a voice whispered in my ear, you've had nearly two months to do it, better start doing it now. That's why you shouldn't have fallen for him, he makes you weak. Love is weak.

"Jaiden took me to the movies yesterday." commented Kay nonchalantly, but inside the excitement is shivering in her hands as she takes the packet of sugar for her decaf.

All this talk about boys is sickening me.

Stand up, "Going to Woollies, Bonnie says we ran out of Vegemite." I'm out the cafe before they reply, at Woolworths going to walk through the electronic sliding door 'things' when suddenly I'm on the ground, clutching my head.

"Shit, mate. You nearly killed 'er!"

There's a warm hand on my head, "You alright?"

I sit up, and the world's dizzy. "Yeah, I'm not dead yet, at least."

"Need help?"

"Nah, I'll be fine." Pick my legs up, and I'm standing. Turning to thank the person, there's a tall teenage guy in front of me. He's tanned, a mop of chocolate hair on his head, and a nice smile. It's the soccer boy in the supermarket with dirt smudged on his face.

"Hey, you're that Sloane girl, aren't ya?" his friend says, who's about the same height as me. He runs a brown hand through his thick black hair, and grins. "The one with Richardson? What happened to you guys anyway? Are you like a couple or some shit?"

The guy with the nice smile shakes his head, sticking his hand out, "Don't worry about Aryan, he's a dick." He ignores his friend's protests, "I'm Tristan, I'm in Richardson's homeroom."

"You're a year twelve." I state, not knowing what to say.

He smiles, "You're a year eleven." His smile drops a little bit when I don't take his hand, and he shrugs, his dark brown hair moves too. He pushes Aryan forward a bit, then his smile is big again, "See you 'round at school then, Sloane."

He's ten metres away from me, and knowing he can't hear, I shrug too and say, "Catch ya."