Doodling Butterflies
The bell rang, symbolizing another day dead and done.
Students poured out of their designated classrooms, the popular jabbering about exciting weekend plans, while the not quite so popular discussed dreaded tests and homework assignments. All around there was a wave of relief that the weekend had finally come.
A group made their way through the crowded hallway, and the other high school students immediately parted when they saw them approaching. The group consisted of six of the most popular guys in the school, three of which had a girl hanging on their arm. They were what every lowly nerd or outcast in their high school longed to be. Rich. Popular. Jocks. Attractive. And while everyone admired them and longed to be them, they were also abhorred for the way they treated every other student who was not like them. They locked geeky boys in their lockers, they laughed when quiet girls tripped on their way to class, and they mocked all teacher's pets constantly.
Yet they were kings of Ridgemont High.
Their leader, Sam, was at the front of their group. He was muscular, strong, and incredibly handsome, though not the brightest student to ever attend the school. He had his girlfriend, Jessica, draped over his left arm, clinging to it as she blabbered on about what Fran did to Cheryl, while Sam pretended to listen.
They continued to make their way down the hallway, when suddenly a boy from their group dropped one of his folders. The popular kids stopped to watch as the papers spilled across the hall floor. This was an act that nerds often performed, and in response their papers would be kicked or stolen by the jocks.
Lucky for Byron Lewis, he was one of those jocks.
Byron wasn't scrawny, but he didn't have the muscular build that the other boys in his group possessed, and while his friends failed their classes, Byron was one of the top students in their high school. He probably would have been ignored all together by the jocks if he hadn't possessed two things: a large sum of wealth and a handsome face. Because of these things the jocks took to him immediately. Byron didn't complain, and to appease the boys he even started playing baseball. Though he felt terrible whenever the guys would pick on other students he remained quiet and watched, anger slowly building up inside of him. It just wasn't right, and his insides screamed for him to do something about it. But always he remained silent. He was too fearful of losing his place amongst the popular kids.
As Byron bent down to pick up his fallen papers, he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Hey, we'll help," Sam offered.
He smiled and nodded. Byron was just thankful that he wasn't receiving the same treatment that any other student in the school would get if they were to drop their folder.
The other boys began to help scoop up his fallen documents. There was a little bit of teasing for the effort he put in his homework as they glimpsed over some of his paperwork, but besides that he received all of his papers back.
Until...
"Hey, Byron, did you draw this?"
He could feel his heart beginning to race in his chest as the words were spoken to him. He looked to see what his friend was talking about, but in his gut he already knew.
Slowly, he brought his eyes up only to find Tommy, an annoying jock in his clique, holding a detailed hand drawn picture of an Emperor Gum Moth.
In his mind he began to play hypothetic scenarios that could happen if he were to ever admit that the drawing belonged to him. He could see it vividly. The obnoxious laughter and the prolonged taunting that he tried so hard to avoid. He knew that if were to ever confess his social rankings would drop quicker than he could even imagine. The group put up with his actual effort in school and his somewhat lacking love of sports, but this? This would put them over the top.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and gave the picture a good long look. Then he shrugged.
"Nah. I must have picked up by accident," he said in a very convincing voice.
Sam walked over to Tommy, taking the paper from him. He glanced down at the artwork. "You sure?" he asked skeptically. "I've seen you draw before and it looks like something you could have drawn."
Byron tried to show no fear. Sam and he had grown to become friends, but at first Sam really didn't want him a part of the group. He was fearful that Sam would revert back to those thoughts if he showed any signs of weakness. Byron took a breath and just kept trying to play it cool.
He shook his head. "It wasn't me, man. I sit next to Sally Sheedy in biology and she loves to draw crap like that. Maybe it got mixed in with my papers."
Sam looked at him for a moment before glancing down at the picture. "Good to hear," he said, returning his gaze to Byron, "because no friend of mine doodles stupid butterflies. You hear me?"
Byron suddenly felt something snap inside of him. As thought someone had punched him in the gut and he could no longer take the abuse. "It's not…" he began, his voice filled with anger, but he stopped himself before he got any further. He couldn't continue. If he were to, he'd be lower than any of the nerds on his high school's social ladder. Loathing himself for giving in so easily, he took a deep breath. "…It's not mine."
Sam smiled and crumpled the paper up in his hands.
"Good."
The ringleader tossed the squashed paper behind him. He then placed an arm around Jessica's waist, pulling her close, and continued down hall with everyone else from the group in tow.
Everyone except Byron.
He stares down at the crumpled piece of paper on the ground but his conscious won't allow him to pick it up. Exactly five classes had gone into perfecting the moth's wings, eyes, legs, and features. He wanted to pick it up and stuff it in his pocket, but a few students who had overheard the conversation still had their eyes on him, wondering what he was going to do next.
After releasing a frustrated sigh, he gazed down at the piece of crushed paper for the last time.
"It's not a butterfly."
He then turned to catch up with his clique, leaving the picture of the moth on the ground, where it stayed unwanted, forgotten, and alone, until a janitor picked it up later that night and disposed of it.