Sparked up, Sparked up Like a Book of Matches

When I woke up on that fateful Friday in December, it seemed like just another ordinary day. I had an oral report due in Language Arts, and a test in Calculus. If I had any idea how that day would unfold, I would've stayed in bed until my last period. But, I got out of bed and dragged myself to school.

The first half of the day was normal enough. I was pretty sure I failed my Calculus test, even though I had studied for two hours last night. I just didn't get it. French was not my best subject either, but it definitely wasn't my worst. I managed to average a B or a B+, and sometimes I could even scrape an A. I had a study hall next, where I finished my science homework.

Science and social studies dragged by and finally it was time for lunch. I ate my salad slowly and worked on my drawing for art class. Art was the bane of my existence. I lived for art. By the end of the period, my rough draft was nearly finished and my salad was nearly untouched. I was in the back of the cafeteria, because, to be honest, I was a loner. I didn't have many friends and the eyes of my male classmates passed over me as if I was invisible. But I didn't care much. I didn't crave acceptance from my peers.

Next I had gym, which was almost as bad as Calculus. The teacher hated me, and favored the jocks. We played basketball nine out of the ten months school was in session. As fate would have it, I was 5'2" and klutzy. But today we played tennis, which was a sport I was decent in. I should've known hell had frozen over by then, but I just thought it was a stroke of good fortune.

My language arts teacher smiled at me when I finished my oral report on Wuthering Heights, something she only does when you scored more than a ninety five percent on it. I had been averaging B minuses, so I felt elated.

The last class of the day was art. The teacher, Mrs. Barrett, was an elderly woman who was like my grandmother. She critiqued my work often, but it was all constructive criticism, which helped me do better as an artist. She let us do whatever form of art we desired, whether it be drawing, painting, sculpture, printmaking, photography or whatever you desired. I mostly drew, and sometimes I colored with colored pencils, but not much.

The bell rang at the end of the period and everyone cleared out. I helped Mrs. Barrett put away half finished projects.

"Hey, whose camera is this?" I asked, picking up a camera with one of those large lenses you only see used by professionals and a digital screen.

Mrs. Barrett glanced over at me. "Oh, that's Andy's. He must've left it here by accident."

"Andy Mrotek? He lives right around the corner from me. Do you want me to bring it to his house?"

"I really shouldn't allow it but since the semester's almost over and I wouldn't want him wasting the weekend not working on it… yes. I trust you. Don't let me down."

I took the camera and packed up my bag. On my way home I pulled into a parking lot and turned the camera on. I know, I know, curiosity killed the cat, but I was curious enough to risk death.

I looked through the pictures and felt my jaw drop. They were all pictures of me and they were all really good. There were pictures of me balancing eating and drawing at lunch, one of me drawing with my eyebrows furrowed and a frustrated expression on my face and one of me looking at my drawing with a huge smile.

I suddenly felt as if I was intruding on something private, even though if anyone's privacy had been intruded upon, it was mine. I felt flattered, not angry. Something made him want to take numerous pictures of me, even if it was for a project and not because he liked me.

Plus, Andy is an attractive guy. With curly light brown hair and gorgeous brown eyes he was certainly a sight for sore eyes. He did have a habit of wearing crazily patterned pants and had a few tattoos and a nose ring, which made some of the snootier girls think he was an emo or a freak. But to me, that made him seem more unique.

I pulled out of the parking lot and drove to Andy's house. He answered the door shortly after I rang the bell.

"Hey Charlotte, what brings you here?" He asked, his voice blasé. If he had a crush on me, he certainly didn't show it.

"You, uh, left your camera at school and Mrs. Barrett wanted to make sure you had it over the weekend since the semester's almost over."

He took the camera from my hands and checked it over, making sure it was still in the same condition it was an hour ago. "Hey, thanks," he said, a smile gracing his features. He moved to close his door.

"Wait," I said, nervously. I had no idea what had come over me to make me say that. He paused with his hand on the door. His smile disappeared and was replaced by a questioning look.

"Do you…do you want to see a movie with me tonight?" I asked him.

"Um, sure." He said, the smile returning to his lips. "I'll pick you up round seven."

"Okay, see you then," I smiled at him and got back in my car.

I drove home with my hands shaking. What on earth had possessed me to ask him out? The camera was what probably emboldened me.

I fretted what I would wear for the rest of the night. I didn't want it to be too dressy, but too casual sent the wrong message. I finally decided on dark blue skinny jeans, purple flats, and a purple off the shoulder neck top.

I ate dinner quickly and left a note for my mom. My dad had died when I was eight and my mom usually worked late.

At 8:03, my doorbell rang. I answered it and looked at what Andy was wearing: a white v necked shirt and tight purple and red plaid pants and red converse. On any other person it wouldn't have worked but on Andy it worked pretty nice actually.

We got in an old Chevy Camaro and he pulled out of my driveway.

"So, what are you doing for your project in art?" I asked him curiously.

"Well, you know how some people get totally into art and they don't eat or sleep while in the middle of a project?"

"Yeah."

"I found a few people like that so I'm taking pictures of them and making it into a collage."

"Oh, that's neat." So I guess it wasn't just me.

"Yeah, it's mostly this one person in particular, they just fascinate me with their level of dedication. But it would be slightly awkward to have it just about them so I have pictures of other people too."

"That sounds cool. Will you show it to me when you're done?"

He glanced over at my face and then back at the road, "Maybe."

The movie was a horror flick. I, of course, am a giant nerd and deathly afraid of horror movies. It was okay until this one part where I was clutching the armrest and Andy put grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze. He then bent over and started commentating in a funny voice, which made it better for me.

When he was driving me home, we just talked about all sorts of random things and made plans to get together later that weekend.

We ended up hanging around each other a lot and the news of our "dates" spread like wildfire through the school even though they were nothing more than casual. There wasn't any kissing going on and only minimal amounts of flirting.

We ignored them for the most part. Sure girls would make catty remarks to me but I'd ignore them. That was part of the reason I didn't want a girl friend. I had no need in my life for catty drama queens.

When the end of the semester neared, he invited me over to his house and told me to bring my project.

I just grabbed my folder of all my drawings, not bothering to sort through it to find all of my pieces.

I drove over to his house, and he welcomed me in with a smile. He led me up the stairs to his room and paused before the closed door.

"Remember on our first date when you asked to see my project."

I was a little flustered he called it a date, but I managed to look normal and nod.

"Well, you can see it, but only if you let me see yours," he said, putting the hand that was not resting on his doorknob out in front of him.

"These aren't all my projects. Only the colored ones are." I told him, placing the folder in his hand.

He opened the door and I entered his room. On the floor was a large collage. In the middle was a picture of me drawing with my tongue between my teeth. There were other pictures of me, and some of other kids in who took art and were as dedicated as me. But there were more pictures of me than anyone else.

"I…I'm the person who fascinates you with my dedication," I said, sitting down on his floor in front of the collage.

"Mmhm," he replied from his seat on his bed. He was flipping through my drawings. "These are all really good."

He commented on his favorites and stopped when he got to the last one. I could see it in my head, the one I only finished yesterday. It was a detailed black and white portrait of him, with the smile that was nearly always on his face. I think it was my favorite thing I've drawn.

"Did you do this…from memory?" He asked, his voice astounded.

"Uh, yeah. Well, I got a little help from last year's yearbook."

"But those pictures are tiny."

I shrugged. "It was mostly for the shape of your face and stuff like that."

"You're amazing."

"Not as amazing as you."

"I take pictures and put them together in a bigger picture. Big whoop. A monkey could do that. You are an amazing artist, especially from memory."

I blushed slightly and he joined me on the floor. "Charlotte, I know you weren't going to go to the Winter Formal and I'm not going to make you buy a dress and shoes and whatever else girls need for it in three days. Also, I don't want to wear a suit. Anyways, do you want to hang out, maybe do something special?"

"Um, sure," I said, smiling.

"Okay, one more question. Will you be my girlfriend?"

"Y-yes," My smile grew and I wrapped my arms around his neck.

He pulled away from my hug and took my face in his hands. He brushed his lips against mine softly and pulled away to lean his forehead on mine, smiling his amazing smile.