Lost

“Why?” that one word raced through her head, over and over again. She was so deep in thought that she didn’t even see the person bent over in front of her picking something up, and when she did notice it was because there had been a collision and now they were both on the floor. The other person glared at her muttering vulgarities that were common in the school she attended. She didn’t pay any attention, she just slid herself into a corner where she wouldn’t be in the way of oncoming traffic, pulled her bag out of the middle of the walkway, and by the time the other person was up and walking briskly away she was curled into a ball with her arms around her legs and her head tucked safely away from the on looking world.

"Why does he do that? Why must he do that? Everyday- it’s everyday now. What does he want? From me? With me? I don’t understand, just don’t understand it." Her thoughts were racing.

She remembered the first day it happened. It had been a normal day; in fact, it might’ve been more boring than usual. She had gone and sat at her spot, as always, but on this day some guy, (must’ve been new, she had thought) sat near her at the lunch table. He was at least a foot away, but it was closer than anyone had purposefully gotten to her. He had shocked her, but she didn’t let it show. Showing that kind of emotion could be disastrous. She had ignored him and gone on with her ritual, her gift, her love- drawing and music, flowing into one. It was her chance to escape, her way of separating herself, and this guy kept interrupting the precious moment.

He had noticed her, and very obviously watched her, then moved closer, watching her draw. She had tensed when he moved closer and tried to look at her diary not made of words. He hadn’t noticed, he looked transfixed in place with awe. She desperately wanted, no needed, him to go away, to give her back her moment, and her space. But she could not bring herself to say anything to him. She avoided confrontation with all of her being, and this was no exception, despite the temptation to try to change the situation.

She focused hard, ignoring him, pretending he was not there, did not exist. Over time though she wasn’t as scared as she was confused, annoyed, and bewildered, but after the weeks she still had not worked up the courage to say something to him about it. He never said a word to her, and she would never initiate communication of any sorts. Over her years she had learned better, the hard way. But she could not figure out why he kept coming back; whatever he was looking for, he obviously couldn’t find it by spending the time with her. What was he looking for anyways?

She got up and made her way to her class when she heard the late bell ring. Her unwritten law was to stay as invisible as possible, and he had unwittingly made her break that rule, and she couldn’t stand it. It was the one thing she knew, and she didn’t like being surprised… hated change as well. She was used to her routine, it was how she kept going day by day, the constant knowledge of what was going to happen next.
She made herself forget about it for the moment, or at least tried to. She had to go into her class late, again. It seemed like this happened a lot. The teacher made a sour face and marked her tardy as she sat down in her seat in the back of the room. Then the broad made her way to the front of the room and started another seemingly never-ending lecture.
She pulled out another paper and began doodling. Her masterpieces were reserved for when she had her music as well. By the time the bell rang again she looked at her paper and realized she had unconsciously draw a portrait of the boy, a pretty good replica, too.
She shoved it into her backpack before anyone could see it, if by chance someone (other than him) decided to see her or her artwork; though it was highly unlikely, she didn’t want to take the chance. She dashed out of the room and headed toward the exits of the school when she accidentally crashed into someone for the second time that day. This was really not her day. She glanced up and saw that it was him. He had knelt down to help pick up the papers that had scattered, but was now staring, a bit open-mouthed, at a particular paper in his hand. It was the latest one she had done… of him.

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. She stared at the back of the paper, refusing to look at the real him. But through the paper she could see the details of his precariously drawn eyes, his shaded lips, and glossy-looking hair. She shook those thoughts away, trying to figure out what to do. But she felt glued in place and didn’t think that she could move no matter how she tried.

They both sat there, the halls had cleared around them. But neither of them moved, it reminded her of lunch; except this was much worse. He could obviously tell that the drawing was of him; unfortunately there was no mistaking that. What must he be thinking? He’d probably stop sitting with her at lunch. And though it had been what she wanted, it seemed like a loss, and it made her less happy then she would have thought. She had grown used to his presence; it had become a part of her routine. He had become a part of her routine.
“Wow,” he breathed “Its… Amazing.” He moved the paper closer to her, within reach of her grasp.

Suddenly her instincts took control; she grabbed the paper and ran. And he didn’t bother to follow. He watched her round the corner. Then he turned back to his own items strewn on the floor, and tossed in among them he saw one of her drawings, the one from lunch that day. It stood out from the rest of his papers, almost seemed to shine compared to them.
It was a beautiful drawing of a single girl crouched in a massive forest. She looked so small and insignificant compared to the vastness of the habitat surrounding her. She wore a plain white dress and where at first it looked as if she were hiding and scared, now he noticed something in her eyes, she only looked defenseless. Her position, though it looked like one of submission, was really that of one ready to pounce, like a tiger cub, ready to make its first kill. There was a determination, and although it was only a drawing he could feel all of that energy hiding within her.

He put the paper away in his backpack. The sudden insight into that much emotion had startled him. He pondered it as he walked, daring to take a few quick peeks as he sat outside the school waiting for the bus. When the big yellow vehicle arrived he put on a stony face, preparing for his arrival at the place he unwillingly called home.