Chapter 1

By Jimmy Whispers

In small towns people talk, but Clarke Griffin wasn't from a small town and in this particular one, this certain cliché was turning into a nightmare. In small towns people tend to play reality make-believe. What is unachievable in their lives, they pretend it's happening in others'. But honestly, of all the people here, of all the people at Sky High School, they had to choose the new art teacher from the city?

Clarke pulled her ashy gray Toyota pickup in the faculty parking lot, rested her head on the worn steering wheel and took a deep breath. She was late. Class started in 5 minutes, but she had gotten hardly enough sleep the night before.

She had parked on the opposite end of the parking lot and had a distance to walk, but she was convinced that taking the long way to class was the only way she was going to survive today. The quickest way to room 100 was through the east door, passing the adjacent room 102 on the left. But today, Clark took the South door and began weaving through two different halls and a sea of students to get there, despite the fact that the tardy bell had rung and she was only halfway there.

She quickened her pace and focused on getting to the haven that was her classroom 100. Little did she know what she was about to face as she stepped through the door, looking at her feet and saying, "Hey, everyone. I'm sorry I'm late, but I'm sure we all know how Friday morni-." She stopped. This was a high school drawing class, first thing on a Friday morning. It was too quiet. She looked up and soon saw why. Mr. Bellamy Blake, World History teacher from room 102 was at the white board.

"Oh. Good Morning, Miss Griffin," he said capturing her petrified eyes with his and nodding a little. The sun shone through the window and caught on his eyelashes in such away that made Clarke blush and look at her shoes thinking, "Damn those eyes."

"Good morning, Mr. Blake. Why are you here?" She realized how she sounded, but didn't feel bad. This was supposed to be a place of social safety, not emotional imperilment.

Those eyes turned down with confusion for a moment, but rather than being offended at the obvious statement of disdain, he smiled because he knew it was misplaced.

"Octavia was saying that you might not be here until second period."

He motioned to a seat on the very front row that supported the smart ass, beauty queen that was Bellamy Blake's baby sister, Octavia Blake.

Clarke shot Octavia a two second glance that could shatter glass. Octavia smiled wide and avoided eye contact. Bellamy caught each moment and smiled almost wider, freckles accentuated, dimples deep. Clarke blushed deeper and nearly every girl, besides Octavia, stifled giggling.

"But since you're here now, I think I'll continue prepping." Bellamy said as he began to leave the room. Clarke stepped aside, leaving plenty of space between him and the doorway. He was just passing her when someone called from the back of the room.

"For what?"

Bellamy ignored the nervous laughter of the other students and instantly checked to see if Clarke was okay. Her face was twisted with mortified anger. He stepped in front of her.

"For my next history lesson," he said, chin raised, chest high. "And I expect you to be there this time, John Murphy."

Everyone catcalled John Murphy and he sat back with a sick grin on his face. Bellamy understood that kids were perverted, but Clarke's feelings were genuinely hurt. So, with just as much genuity, he replied to the snark that made her uneasy.

"Or I'll flunk you."

Mr. Blake didn't yell, but his voice shook the room and everyone in it. They were silent.

"I hope you heard that."

He turned and gave Clarke a little smile mixed with concern and apology and without another word, left the room briskly.

Still blushing, Clarke swallowed and pretended nothing had happened. What else was there to do? But something did happen. Something was happening and what had kept her up for two nights now carried over and swam in her mind all day.

Before Tuesday, both classes of rooms 100 and 102 had been making jokes about her and Mr. Blake since school began two months ago, but she never let it sway her feelings. She never even had a premonition. It's just what high school kids did. But after Tuesday, things changed.

Tuesday Morning was just another morning. Nothing irregular.

"Okay, guys. A lot of you have been coming to me wondering about the best way to draw hair. It's better to draw hair by shapes, like we practiced last time, rather than strand by strand."

Clarke was just ready to do her job to the best of her ability, sharing with the youth of America what was an outlet for her, but teenagers don't make anything easy. They all gave blank stares. Some not even at her.

"Here, I'll show you. Can I get a volunteer?"

The class had never been more silent. Clarke rolled her eyes.

"Come on, guys. I'm just going to pick one of you if no one volunteers."

Just then, Bellamy Blake popped his head in.

"Pick me!" He chimed, eyes seeking the attention that his huge smile was getting from every female in the room.

Clarke smiled. "Do you not have a class right now."

He beamed back at her and Clarke couldn't help but wonder how someone could glow like that.

"Naw, it's my prep period. I don't know about you Miss Griffin, but sometimes, mainstream curriculum teachers get bored."

"Whatever, you're such a nerd," Octavia mused from her usual seat in the front row. Everyone giggled a little, including Clarke and Bellamy grinned at his sister with skepticism, but endearment.

"Anyway," she negged. "Miss Griffin does not wanna draw your hair, big brother."

The history teacher's smile turned down a little and he rolled his eyes. It wasn't unusual for his sister to poke fun at of the way he parted his hair to the side and combed it flat against his head.

"It's part of my job to look professional," he muttered under his breath. Clarke smiled and took him by the hand.

"No, you're perfect. Just come stand over here."

Suddenly Bellamy knew just exactly what Octavia was trying to do. She scrunched up her nose and snickered at the victory.

"So, he has really thick hair and you can see that he has a really nice head shape because his hair is combed flat. The trick is knowing what that shape is as kind of a guide."

She drew a side view of Bellamy's skull on the paper easel with a pencil, then another time as a portrait.

"Alright," she said heaving a sigh. "You don't mind messing it up a little do you?"

Bellamy was surprised, but he slowly started running his fingers through his thick dark hair, exposing curls and volume that took Clarke aback. But she didn't think much of it. She stepped forward to him and fixed pieces here and there. He smiled at his shoes.

"So can you see this shape here? I like to start either at the base of the neck or behind the ear and work my way around. Kind of like this." She spent the next few minutes sketching on paper, ignoring the stifled laughter coming from several different spots of the room.

"See how that's done?"

The room fell silent and the more smug faces she came across, the more irritated she became.

"Okay, I'm not sure how many of you actually paid attention, so I'll just leave this up here."

She turned to her coworker who was nervously shifting from foot to foot and pulling at the back of his neck. Looking at him, Clarke couldn't help but smile.

"Thanks, Miss Griffin."

"For what?" She laughed a little at this.

He simply smiled and looked at his shoes again.

"Would you be alright with me taking my lunch in here? Um," he stuttered. "That is if you'll also be in here?"

The comfort that Clarke once felt began fleeting and she was surprised at the sudden feeling of her heart racing in her chest. What did he mean? She took a step away from him and quietly responded without thinking.

"Yeah, of course."

Mouths all over the room had corners turned up, but none even compared to the angle to which Octavia Blake's countenance was glowing. Her eyes shone brighter than the sun that had just peaked through the wall of windows on the far side of the classroom.

"Perfect." He couldn't hide his enthusiasm and because of that, Octavia had to hide her face and choke back delighted giggles. Fortunately Clarke didn't notice, unfortunately Bellamy did.

"Um. Well, back to room 102." He cringed. "Idiot," he thought. "I'll see you then."

Despite the fact that Bellamy rushed out the door as quickly as possible, Clarke was still feeling pleasant, but uneasy.

She called to him, "Thank you, Mr. Blake."

He stopped and turned halfway around, just to meet her eyes. The rosiness of her cheeks matched the resting smile on her lips and her blue eyes froze him. He smiled at his shoes for the third time and ran his left hand through his newly ruffled mess of hair.

"You're welcome."

As he took five long strides down the hall and into the vacant room 102 that belonged to him, his heart skipped and he found himself more than excited for the bell to release his students at 12:15 and for the afternoon glow to illuminate the wall of windows on the far side of room 100 to make those steel blue eyes freeze him again.