Pansy

Pansy
The new teacher at our school was pretty. She had red hair and lots of freckles, like confetti thrown all over her face. Everyone thought we looked alike, almost like relatives. I guess I did kind of look like her, except for the pretty older look she had in her eyes. Her face was full and grown up, and she had high cheek bones and sparkling mysterious eyes. Her eyes had an excitement mine would never get. My face was dull and awfully normal; I could never look like her. She was the art teacher, and unlike our previous teacher, she was a real artist, not just assigned to teach the class. She looked as if she actually wanted to be there. She let us call her Pansy. She didn’t write her name on the board, like most new teachers, she figured we could spell it ok, and most of us could. Pansy always wore bright colours, and sometimes the patterns clashed, like spots and stripes, but even then, it looked like that was how she had planned it. There was something different about the way Pansy dressed, like she didn’t care how she looked, but always ended up looking great anyway. The first art class, I was thinking just that, and somehow, it was like Pansy could read my mind. She didn’t use me specifically, but her introduction started with, “There is a difference between fashion and style. “Fashion is when one person chooses something and decrees that it will be the new trend, Style is when you choose your own fashion, and don’t let what everyone else pick out be what you wear. Style is on the inside, not the outside, you’re born with it.” I looked guiltily down at the top I was wearing, Sara, Brooke and Maria were all wearing the same one, but in different colour and pattern, I wasn’t stylish; I was just a sheep, following the leader around. I was not born with style. I decided that Pansy had style; she was not a white sheep, but a black one, who did what she wanted to do. Pansy told us to sketch a picture of something that made us happy. I didn’t want to draw the average butterfly or flower, like Sara or Brooke would draw. They had no artistic talent, but I didn’t have much more than them. I stared at the blank page for the rest of the period.
At lunch, I sat with the rest of the nobodies, me, Sara, Kaitlin, Andrew, Vick and Lance. Andrew was reading some kind of magazine, National Geographic? He was that kind of kid. Sara talked the whole time, so it was easy to just pretend I was listening. I ate my sandwich slowly; my father hadn’t had time to supply me with any lunch money. When the bell finally rang, Sara stopped talking and packed up her food, which she hadn’t touched. Her mom never gave her lunch money, ever. I was first to leave the lunch room and head to my social studies class.

Two days later, I was back in Pansy’s art room. Instead of giving me back my sketch, she gave me paint. “Sometimes ideas come quicker with a new material.” She was right, I finally thought of what made me happy. I painted a thick blue sky and some green grass, when the period ended; I had a beautiful half-finished painting. I never thought I could paint like that. Pansy told me I could stay for Lunch, so I grabbed my lunch kit and brought it to the art room. I painted for another fifteen minutes before I started to get frustrated. The acrylic paint I was using just seemed so dry and lifeless against the paper. Nothing great was coming out of the brush. “It’s your frame of mind.” Pansy told me. “Alice, we have almost the same painting style, this advice always works for me.” She said. “Change the way you’re looking at it, and maybe it will look better from that direction.” I tried really hard to look at it from a different perspective; I even tried to flip the painting upside down. It was no use; the painting looked the same, except the grass was where the sky was supposed to be. Pansy saw my frustration and took the painting away. She put it on the drying rack. “It will look better in the morning.” I helped her organise the art room until lunch was over. I can say, I really didn’t miss sitting with Sara the blabber mouth and the rest of the Nobody kids.
When I got home that night I pulled out an old sketch book from my closet. It only had one page used. I flipped to a new one and began to sketch, but the picture never looked as good as it did in my head. I drew a couple good cartoons, but they were small, and there was so much empty white page left to fill. I needed to ask Pansy for some advice, but I didn’t have art for two more days, and I wasn’t sure if she wanted me to come back during lunch hours.
I suffered through the next couple days. Finally I went to the art room with the rest of the kids. I had brought my sketch book to school that day, and I flipped it open and marched to her desk. She helped by telling me how best to fill out the page, and how to place my drawings better. “Haven’t seen you for the last two lunch hours.” She said. I decided that it was close enough to an invitation. When the lunch bell rang, I went to my locker to get my money. Dad had given me enough for three weeks’ worth of lunches. I chose some chicken nuggets, a salad and a bag of Chips Ahoy cookies, and then I went to the art room. I sat at one of the desks and chewed on a chicken nugget. Pansy came into the room with a glass terrarium in her arms. She placed in by the sink in the back, and filled it with some dirt, then placed a hut and a food dish inside. “What animals is that for?” I asked. She wouldn’t tell me. I added more to my country side painting and hen helped her organise her art supplies. My painting was really starting to take shape. The background was finished, and I was just starting on the details. I had to admit, it looked amazing. When the bell rang I hadn’t cleaned up my supplies, I was going to be late for math. Before I could start scrubbing, Pansy pulled the rag from my hand and said, “Go!” She shooed me away with one hand. I dumped what remained of my salad in the garbage and rushed to grab my book. I made it to class just on time. I listened to the teacher drone on and on about algebraic equations and sighed. I wanted to go back to art.
I had never been very great at art, and it certainly wasn’t my best subject. It usually never turned out my way. With Pansy, art was different; it seemed to turn out great, even when it wasn’t how I planned. I came to the art room the next day excited, excited to finish my painting, and even more excited to see what kind of animal she was bringing. I dropped my bag and rushed to the tank, (I had learned to bring my books with me for the class after) Inside was a tiny little turtle! He was no wider than an inch by an inch. His toe nails were long and pointed and his eyes were beady black. The patterns in his shell were unique and beautiful. “It’s a turtle!” I shrieked. “Not a turtle, a tortoise.” She corrected me. I held him in my hand and stroked his little shell. “What’s his name?” I whispered. “I think Taco would be perfect for him.” She said. I agreed. She brought Taco over to a table covered in coloured paper, and I followed. She set him down on a piece of bright pink. The tortoise opened his mouth and tried to take a bite of the paper! Pansy giggled. I chose a piece of blue paper, and she began to teach me how to make a paper crane. I folded mine juts like her, but the paper didn’t seem to work, and it began to crease and fold the wrong way. At the end I had a messed up looking crane. “Don’t worry; it takes a lot of time and skill to make them.” Pansy told me. “Did you know that in Chinese tradition, for a celebration, a girl is chosen to fold a thousand of these cranes?” “Wow.” I said. I couldn’t even fold one! After lunch I struggled through the rest of my classes, knowing the weekend was the very next day.
I woke up Saturday morning with an awful head ache and queasy stomach. I stayed in my pajamas all day and watched movies. Sunday morning I slept till nine and then tried to sketch, but I was still too sick to concentrate. My dad worked all weekend and my mom tried to take care of me, and run hundreds of errands. By Monday, I was feeling better, and my parents shipped me off to school once more. I went to math, then science, and then finally art. I took my sketch book from my locker and headed towards the art room, which was quite a long walk. I was also going in the opposite direction of traffic. By the time I reached the art room, I was breathing hard and very exhausted from my long climb up tons of stairs. I entered the art room, expecting Pansy to be sitting at the desk, and Taco’s tank to be sitting next to the sink. Instead I was shocked to see no Taco, and no Pansy. The woman in the art room was writing her name on the white board. Her hair was brown and drab, tied into a limp pony tail. She didn’t seem to be half as interesting as Pansy. When she finished scrawling her name in blue marker, she turned around, to face the desks. Her face was very round and robust, and her eyes were bright blue. Tiny round glasses were perched on her huge nose. She reminded me of a librarian who lifted bar bells. I lifted my hand and asked the obvious question. “Where is Pansy?” “Mrs. Pansy has resigned from her post as art teacher.” The librarian/barbell lifter barked. “I have been chosen to take her place, my name is Mrs. Sparks.” The rest of the class dragged on. We didn’t do any art that day, only listened to her long introduction. After class I stumbled to my locker and put my sketch book away. I felt empty and lost. The little bit of fun and inspiration Pansy had put into my life was gone. I wanted to cry. The bell rang and I knew I should go to my next class, but I didn’t feel like it. I stared into space; Pansy was no longer the art teacher! I noticed for the first time that a square of white was taped to my locker, it was a note. I peeled it off the smooth metal and unfolded it.
Dear Alice,
I’m so glad I got a chance to meet you. I wasn’t supposed to stray so far and sign up for a job, but I felt I needed to meet you, to see you the way others saw me. This may make no sense to you. All you need to know it that my name is Alice. I am from the year 2042. We are the same person. I wasn’t supposed to come here and see you, or even talk to you, but I couldn’t resist. I needed to know how others saw me as a child. Do you understand? I bet this is really weird. Another thing you need to know, it that in my time, someone I am really close to made a machine, and I volunteered to be sent back. His name is Darren, and you will meet him soon, but I do not know the exact day I met him, or more like, you will meet him. DO not tell anyone about this, it might mess something up in the universe. It’s even a chance to tell you.
Pansy aka Alice.
I folded the note gently and put it in my pocket. The ground was spinning. I didn’t speak for the rest of the day. The words in the note were swimming in front of my eyes. At the end of the day I packed all my things in slow motion, and went out the front door. The sun was shining, and it warmed my face. I was utterly in shock on the inside and outside. My feet padded the sidewalk. I stopped for a minute and pulled the note out of my pocket. Using my knee as a table, I folded the note into a little paper crane. He folds worked perfectly that time. I held to crane to the wind and let go. The crane fluttered in the air, then lost momentum and swirled disappointingly to the pavement a few yards away. I turned away from the crane, and kept walking home. A few blocks from my house, I saw a boy sitting on the sidewalk. He was reading some kind of book, kind of like Andrews national geographic. I watched him for a while, then kept walking, staring into space as I went. What broke my concentration was the concrete pressing against my face as I tripped and fell. “Are you ok?” he asked, and rushed to help me up. I realized that I had tripped on his bag. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have left my bag there.” He said. “No problem.” I replied. My voice was kind of squeaky, seeing as I hadn’t used it since art period. I sat beside him and examined the gash on my knee. He unzipped his backpack and passed me a Band-Aid. As I put it on, I broke the silence by asking. “What are you reading?” “Oh, just this time travel book I got from the library.” I froze, and stared at him for a long time. “What’s your name?” I asked. “I’m Darren.”
I fingered the piece of paper in my hand. It had Darren’s phone number on it. I couldn’t believe the events of the day. Pansy was gone, or I guess, myself from the future, and I had met the person who would someday invent the time machine. This time travel stuff sure was confusing. I passed some cars that were parked along the street, and caught a glimpse of myself him one window. I froze and took a step back. There in the car window was me, except it wasn’t me. For one split second, I looked just like Pansy.