Sunburn

I spent every Art and English lesson for the next week trying to get Jessica to talk to me.

She finally cracked on Friday, after doing an applaudable job of completely ignoring me.

“Why do you keep on bothering me? Why can’t you just leave me alone?” she snapped at me in English, slamming her pen against the table.

“Because I want to get to know you, that’s why,” I replied, with as charming a smile as I could muster up.

“Well I don’t want to get to know you, especially not after you’ve irritated the hell out of me all week,” she spat, glaring angrily.

“Well, to be fair, I wouldn’t have to irritate you if you would just let me talk to you normally,” I said, mildly.

She groaned in frustration, and cradled her head in her hands. “I foresee this going in circles,” she muttered before looking back up at me wearily. “Fine. If I have one normal conversation with you, will you leave me alone?”

“If it doesn’t work out, then yeah. I won’t bother you anymore. But if it goes well, then I don’t think I’ll be able to leave you alone,”



As we had lunch right afterwards, I suggested we have our trial conversation then. Jessica reluctantly agreed.

I followed her to the Art room, not complaining about not being outside. It was freezing, after all.

I watched her take out her sketchbook and lay it out on the table.

“So what are you working on?” I asked as she flipped through to the her current work.

“A drawing,” she replied shortly. Clearly she did not want to make this easy for me.

“Of what?” I asked, gently.

“A plastic bag.”

“What’s your theme?” I asked, crossing over to the side of the room where our drawers were. I figured, if I were going to spend my lunch hour in here, I might as well make it productive.

“Waste and decay.”

“A light subject then,” I joked, and couldn’t help but grin when I elicited a smile from her.

“I guess I sort of find it fascinating. I don’t know why.”

I looked at the drawing before turning back to my own work. “Your art is amazing.”

“Thanks. It’s about the only thing I’m any good at,” she murmured.

“Well clearly it’s not. You’re good at English too. You’re in the top set after all.”

“Yeah, but being good at English and being good at Art aren’t the same thing,” she said, and although she didn’t word it well, I understood what she meant.

I began to finish off the piece I had started in my last lesson, content to let there be silence.

Our Art teacher, Mr. Winters, wandered in after a few minutes. “Hey Pri,” he said good-naturedly, not looking over to us. “No music today?”

“No,” Jessica replied, seeming much more at ease. “I was having a conversation with Matthew.”

“Oh- really? Good on you,” Mr. Winters replied, beaming at us. “Hello Matthew.”

“Hi sir,” I replied, feeling awkward.

Neither Mr. Winters nor Jessica seemed to notice.

“Pri can you put on Charlie Darwin? I feel in the mood for The Low Anthem,” he said, and Jessica nodded. I realised that he’d called her Pri before, too, and wondered why.

I watched her get up and bounce lightly over to the store cupboard. I’d never seen her this at ease. She seemed- dare I say it- happy.

Soft music filled the room, and she glided back out again, smiling slightly. I did not miss how her face dropped ever so slightly as she saw me sitting there, watching her.

I decided not to say anything, although I badly wanted to. Instead I smiled at her, and put my head back down.

After a few minutes of the floating music, she broke the silence, something I was not expecting.

“So, what’s your project theme?” she asked me, awkwardly.

“Fragility,” I replied, feeling embarrassed about it for the first time.

“Can I flick through your sketchbook?” she asked, and I nodded and nudged it over to her.

“You’re good,” she commented.

“Not like you,” I replied. Next to her work, mine seemed like the scribbles of a child.

“This is amazing,” she said, ignoring my rebuttal.

I peered over her arm so that I could see the page she was looking at. It was a watercolour of my mother.

“Thanks,” I murmured.

She handed my book back to me, and we both returned out attention to our work.

Neither of us made anymore attempts at conversation that lunch.



We had Art immediately afterward.

The class filed in in ones and twos. The people I knew cast me odd looks when they saw me sat next Jessica already, but said nothing.

“So… why did you move?” Jessica asked when everyone was settled in. It was much harder to hear over the loud hubbub of the classroom.

“My dad got a new job. Decided to take it, my education be damned,” I said trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

“That… sucks,” Jessica said after a long pause.

“It does, doesn’t it? But It’s okay here, so I guess I can get over it,” I said, shrugging.

“So you like the area?” she asked, moving the conversation to a more neutral topic.

“Yeah. It’s so much more lively than where I used to live.”

“Where was that?”

“Tunbridge Wells,” I said and then, when she clearly did not know where that was I added “it’s in Kent.”

“Where do you live now?”

“Nelson Road.”

“Nelson Road off Weston Park?” she asked, sounding confused. I nodded unsurely.

“Yeah, I think so. Why?”

“I live there,” she said.

“How comes I never see you before or after school?” I asked, my voice a little high with surprise.

“I usually come in early and leave late. I like to spend the time working in here.”

“Wow, that’s dedication!”

She chuckled lightly and went back to her work.



“So are you going to leave me alone now?” she asked at the end of the lesson.

“Yeah, I guess,” I replied. I didn’t want to, but I didn’t want to push her anymore either. No sense in making a friend who hates me.

“Okay,” she said, nodding.

“Well. I guess I’ll see you on Monday. Umm, bye,” I said, finishing packing up my stuff and putting it back into my drawer.

“Yeah. Bye,” she murmured in reply.

I felt like I’d failed awfully, like I’d given up too easily, but I told myself that it was okay.



I double-took when I got home that night.

My dad was sitting in the arm chair by the window, reading the Financial Times.

I wanted to say something. I wanted to say something so badly, but I didn’t. Instead I said hello to my mum before going upstairs. I didn’t want to be in the same room as him.

Instead I made my way up to my room. I still hadn’t gotten round to unpacking it all so it was a maze of stacked boxes and sundry items littering the floor. My mum even started to do it for me, but I stopped her. I would do it, eventually.

I lay on my bed, the only area of calm in the whole room, and shut my eyes.

A knock on my door sent my eyes flying right back open.

“Matt, are you okay?” my mum asked, probably confused because I didn’t sit downstairs with her.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, trying not to grumble.

“Do you want anything?” she asked, after a long pause.

“No thanks mum,” I replied.

I practically heard her hesitating at the door, wondering if she should push the subject before sighing. “Okay then love. Tell me if you want anything.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, rolling over and burying my face into my pillow.

I didn’t want anything, except for my dad to go away.