Tame Chapter 1

The lecture turned out to be worst than I thought it would be. The principal basically gave the same lecture he did last year. It was as if he had recycled the speech he had used last year hopping no one would notice, but I noticed, mainly because I was probably the only student actually listening to it.

All the others were either half sleep, texting on their cell phones, talking amongst their peers, or day dreaming. Heather was doing none of those things, but instead staring over at the teachers who were sitting in the center of the gym, pretending to listen to the principal’s lecture, despite the fact that they were doing some of the same things that the students were.

I felt uncomfortable sitting next to Heather, watching her undress Mr. Richwood with her eyes. I was secretly hopping that she had only been kidding early when she said she was going to steal his heart, but based on her persistence in staring at him, I began to realize that maybe she hadn’t been joking.

The principal concluded his long, boring speech by telling us all to have a great school and then dismissing us to class. The students didn’t need any other invitation to escape and everyone rose from the bleachers, eagerly to flee from the crowded, hot gymnasium.

Heather and I stayed close together and then made our way into the hallways where we began to examine our schedules. We shared three classes together and our first class was Art with Mr. Richwood was our teacher.

“Ou, we get him when he’s fresh,” Heather joked and then began to laugh. “Come on Amanda, we have to run so we can get good seats.”

Before I could protest, she grabbed my arm and began to run through the hallway, pulling me along with her. A few teachers scolded us about running through the hall as we nearly collided into them, but Heather ignored them. I wasn’t use to have teachers scold me which led me to wonder if all friendships consisted of people sacrificing their reputation for their friend.

Heather’s running paid off because we were the first two students in the class, even managing to beat the teacher. Most students enjoyed waiting until the last minute to enter class because they didn’t want to appear too eager to get to class and be on time since such behavior was regarded as “uncool”.

Heather choose our seats, which happened to be in the far back of the classroom. I took the seat that was in the far corner, while Heather occupied a desk stationed on the left side of me. Once settled in my seat I began to examine the classroom that I hadn’t set foot in a few months. I had this exact same classroom last year when I had taken art.

The classroom had several desks lined in rows while the art room’s equipment surrounded us. There were easels, paint brushes, stationed in croners of the room and hanging from the ceiling were art projects that were d dangling from string that was attached to ceiling.

I stared straight ahead at the desk I had sat at last year, which was directly in front of the teacher’s desk. Since I was shy, I usually took a seat in the back to avoid having attention drawn to me, but I had come in late and the front seat was the only available seat for me.

“So where is he?” Heather asked, while texting on her phone. “I want to hear his voice. I bet his voice is just as attractive as his face.”

I felt slightly uncomfortable with the way Heather spoke about Mr. Richwood. She was unaware that I knew him a year before she did and it made me uneasy to hear her talk about him like he was just another boy at our school.

He was older and just different. Plus, every time she said something like that, I could feel my jealousy toward her become more active. I realized that unless I told her how I felt she would continue talking this way and unknowingly upsetting me.

“Heather, you really shouldn’t talk about him that way.”

“Why not?” she said not looking up from her phone.

“Well,” I couldn’t tell her the real reason, so I thought of a phony one. “Someone might hear you and you’ll get in trouble.”

“I don’t care,”

“Please, Heather, don’t talk about him like that.”

“Fine,” she said staring over at me with sudden curiosity. “Why are you overreacting like this?”

I was saved from having to answer that question when the rest of our class began to trickle inside barely three seconds before the bell was about to ring. The students entered examining the classroom and searching for their new spots for the school year.

The Art class consisted of all grade levels, therefore Seniors, Juniors, Sophomores, and even a few Freshmen occupied our class. Once everyone was seated the bell rang and we directed our gaze toward the front of the classroom to find that our teacher was late.

“Oh well,” announced one boy barely two seconds after the late bell had rang. “If the teacher doesn’t have to show up to class, then I shouldn’t have to either.”

A few of the girls giggled at his lame joke and he looked over to see which of the girls laughed, probably trying to find out who would be his new love interest in our class. The students began to talk amongst themselves and explore the web on their phone. My mother couldn’t afford a phone for me and even if she could, I would feel guilty accepting it because she was already struggling to pay the bills and adding an unnecessary phone bill wouldn’t help us.

To keep myself occupied, I began to draw in my notebook. I hadn’t really become interested in drawing until last year when Mr. Richwood introduced Art to me and made me realize how talented I was at drawing.

I recall how last year, I was sort of a loner and kept to myself. I remember how last year at the beginning of the school year I had been absent from school for a week when I came down with the flu and when I returned, I was forced to face Mr. Richwood. I usually avoided my teachers since they often put students in the spoke light, but on that day I had no choice, but to confront him.

After class, I went to him and asked him what I had missed over the week and I remember the general compassion he had in his eyes when I spoke to him. I told him about what had happened and he didn’t make a big deal about it or accuse me of lying to get out of work like a few of my teachers did.

He said to me. “It’s a lot of work. I’m on my lunch break now and have the classroom to myself. How about you stay and I’ll help you catch up? Then I’ll write a pass for your next class, explaining everything.”

I remember when he asked me this I was completely against it. I didn’t want to stay behind in his class with him. I felt slightly uncomfortable about missing my next class, which was lunch, but I reminded myself that he was doing me a favor and agreed to stay behind.

He explained to me the assignment and then I took a seat at my desk. I began to work on it. I had to draw a portrait of some one. It could be anyone in the world: actors, my mom, friends, or even myself. None of those felt suitable for me since I had no predilection for actors, I didn’t have any friends, I didn’t have a photo of my mother, and I felt uneasy about drawing her from memory, and the idea of sketching myself was nerve wrecking.

I drew the only person I could, which was Mr. Richwood. He sat directly in front of me, but was working on some Art project of his own. I studied him carefully and when I drew the portrait I spent nearly fifteen minutes shading his image. He hadn’t been paying me any attention, therefore he was unaware that I was staring at him and recreating his image on paper.

When I completed he portrait, which surprisingly only took me forty-five minutes, I walked over and handed it to him. I remember the way his mouth dropped open. People usually drop their mouths open in comedies or cartoons to add humor to the situation, but the way he did it was genuine and reflected his true emotions.

“This…is amazing,” he said gazing the at the portrait. He held it in his hands as though it were a delicate, ancient artifact. “Do you draw a lot?”

“Uh, no. I only draw when school projects require it.”

“Really?” he placed the art work on the surface of his desk and then directed his undivided attention toward me. “Amanda, you have a real gift. It’s amazing how you can draw like this. Have you ever considered joining the school’s Major Art Club?”

The look he had in his eyes can’t be described in words, but I’ll try my best to do so. He had this look you find on children’s faces on Christmas morning when their parents tell them they can open their presents. It was as if he can stumbled across an artist in the making.

“No, I’ve never joined it.”

“Well, I’m in the one who hosts it and I really would love it if you join us. I always say that when someone has a gift or talent, they should nurture it and display it for the world to see. For a gift to go unused…that’s like taking away the beauty in life. Will you consider joining?”

This was all happening so quickly and I hadn’t had time to consider. I remember wondering what had happened. I had simply come to him and asked him for the work I had missed out on and now here I was being encouraged to join the art club. I had never seen an individual take such an interest in me, therefore I felt obligated to agree to joining. Besides, if he was going to be hosting it then I felt that it would be okay.

“Sure, I’ll join.”

“Great,” he said, sounding relieved. “I’m sure that you’ll love it. It’s really fun and there’s about ten other students and they’re all very nice. Wow,” he said marveling my artwork. “It’s so realistic. It looks like you printed an image of me in gray scale.”

“Thank you,”

I was overwhelmed with joy by his comments. Mr. Richwood then wrote the note for my next class he had promised he would and told me to feel free to use his lunch period any time to work on my art.

I thanked him, but had no intention of ever skipping my lunch period, despite the fact that I didn’t really like lunch. The food never tasted any good. It was when I joined the Major Art Club that things began to change.

I remember on my first day to the club’s meeting Mr. Richwood introduced me to the group of students that were already in the club and then began to go over some topics that weren’t discussed in regular art class, since it was more for those who had a passion for the artistic world.

Later he said to me, when all the other groups of students went home, “Amanda, since your kind of shy, I think the best way for you to express yourself is through your art work. I see great things in you and I hope you’ll soon see them too.”

Eventually, I became more comfortable in the Art Club and in his class in general. A few weeks after he made me the offer to stay during his lunch break, I took him up on it and brought my lunch to his empty classroom and began to work on some newly learned art skills I was testing.

Since it was just us two in the classroom, I slowly, after a few months began to open up to him about my life at home and the problems I had with my mother. He listened attentively and appeared to understand.

Slowly, I realized that I was beginning to fall in love with him. My heart suddenly raced when around him and I found myself trying to impress him. I had never felt this way about a person, but somehow managed to keep my feelings a secret from him. It just felt so great to be understood by someone.

I was lured from my thoughts when the door opened and Mr. Richwood entered our classroom.