Kind Of Real, Not So Fake

I lay on my bed on Thrusday morning; no school, no books, no phone, no T.V., no music, no laptop, no outside, no flavoured foods, no friends, no interview, no life. The worst one of these was the 'no interview'.

After Mr Geraldson suspended me and let Bianca walk free, my dad had gone ape shit. He had banned just about everything. He told me that I needed a lesson in attitude. Yeah like taking all my stuff off me and locking me in my room with no social interaction is going to make me a model citizen. NOT!

I missed school already and I was going to miss the interview. I rolled over and looked at the digital clock on my bedside table. 2:37 pm. The interview wasn't at any particular set time, but the school closed at 5:00 pm. I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling as if the answer lay in the constillation of babyish glow stars that were gathered there. I sighed and wondered what would happen if I snuck out to go the interview. Dad couldn't take anything else off me, although I wouldn't be surprised if he found something.

Fuck it, I thought and stood up on my covers. I reached for the window and unlached it. Lifting my right foot I closed my eyes and booted in the screen covering. As soon as I did that I jumped out the window and landed on the soft grass. I scambled to feet and ran down the street. When I had reached a fair enough distance away I stopped and doubled over, gasping for breath. Then I continued on.

I reached the school half an hour later and bolted in the front gate. I reached the galss door to the office. I skidded to a stop in front of it and quickly tried to flatten out my hair. I looked down at my outfit. Scraggly jeans and a black hoody I had stolen from Jason. I noticed that I wasn't even wearing shoes. I sighed and stepped into the office, now dreading the interview.

"Hello..." greeted the office lady in a cheery voice which trailed off as she took in my appearence.

I walked over to the desk.

"I'm here to see the headmistress." I told her.

She pointed towards a rainbow coloired door. I looked at it with doubt. I shrugged and walked over to the door. I knocked but there was no answer. I could hear The Beatles loudly blasting from inside. I raised my eyebrows. I knocked again, louder this time. The door swung inwards to reveal a short, plump woman. Her white hair was streaked with multicoloured paints. She was wearing black tracksuit pants and a baggy Family Guy shirt, both were spalttered with paint. Glasses perched on the tip of her nose which was also paint covered. Well it seemed everywhere was paint covered.

I glanced behind her and into her office. Well it was more like a studio. White sheets covered the walls and the desk was shoved to one side. On top of it was an old style boom box and Beetles music was pouring out of it. There were sheets on the floor too, along with cans of paint. I looked back at the woman who was smiling warmly at me.

"Um I'm Krystal Harper. I'm here for the interview." I told her doubtfully. "Do you know where Mrs Anderson is?"

"I AM Mrs Anderson." she said laughing.

I stared at her, open mouthed. She laughed again and ushered me inside. She shut the door behind her and turned down 'Can't Buy Me Love'.

"So you're the talented young Krystal." she said looking me up and down. "Well...let's see what you've got."

"Huh?"

"Paint."

"Where?" I asked, confused.

"Anywhere." she replied pulling down the white sheets.

All over the walls were beautiful paintings. On the right wall was a flower. The stem reached up from the lower left corner and wound its way up, bursting into a flower. It was lilac in colour and it's petals fanned out luciously.

On the next wall was a horse. It's blue pelt almost seemed to bristle and golden smoke bellowed from its nostrils. It was reared up, its metalic hooves kicking in the air. It's mane flowed down its back in beautiful waves and it's tail wound down around it's legs.

The wall next to the magestic horse was blank. Just an average white wall. I felt myself being almost pulled towards it by the urge to paint on it. I felt something being pushed into my hand. I looked down. Mrs Anderson was pressing a brush into my palm.

"Paint." she whispered, clsoing my fingers around the brush.

So I did.

***

I looked up and noticed the room had become significantly darker. I looked over at Mrs Anderson who was sitting on the desk. She had a look of awe on her face. I stood back and looked at my painting.

I had painted a woman. Her brunette hair was flying in the wind. She was wrapped in a gorgeous white material that flowed around her. She was pointing to the woods behind her, her long pale arm gleaming. A wrench was at her feet, her dress torn and dirty. She wore no shoes and her red hair was a tangled mess. The tall woman looked down on her, her green eyes showing no mercy. The wrench was looking back at her, her lips pulled back from her teeth in a half snarl half plead.

I jumped when Mrs Anderson spoke.

"You're in."

I smiled.

I got home at seven thirty and got a killer of a lecture off my dad. I went to bed with no dinner not really caring. I laid down and looked at my little stars, feeling like a first class rebel.