"Divide your canvas into nine, like this..."
Mr. Bill Kaulitz, 10th Grade art teacher. I watched as he deftly drew four straight lines on the blackboard with a piece of pink chalk. Two lines down, and two lines across. He stepped back slightly to admire his work. Mr. Kaulitz knew that he was pretty damn good, and he enjoyed every moment of it; that was the first thing I liked about him. He set the chalk down in its holder and continued speaking to the class.
"According to studies, not mine, the human eye looks from left to right and up to down, every time it sees a picture for the first time. It also notices the objects on these grid lines first. So..."
I looked at him closely, his deep, silky voice ringing in my ears. With a simple jerk of his head, he flicked his jet-black hair out of his eyes and I felt the sudden, agonising urge to run up to him and run my fingers through it. He had let me touch it before, and it felt just as good as it looked. Everyone else thought he'd look better with his hair cut short. I didn't agree. When he came to school one morning with it cropped almost to his skull, I'd told him that I preferred it long. He never had it cut short again. Mr. Kaulitz rolled up his shirt sleeves, exposing more of the ghastly white skin on his arms. It was ghastly, but I liked ghastly. It made him look like one of those creative geniuses who never got much sun. He tilted his head slightly and examined the grid on the blackboard before turning around and scanning the classroom. We made eye contact. I looked away.
"For example," he said out loud. I heard the sound of chalk on the blackboard, scraping away. He was sketching something. I let out a sigh that only I could hear, wondering what he was up to this time. I only looked up when the sounds of scraping had stopped. Staring back at me was a rough outline of my face on the blackboard complete with four grid lines on it, and a Mr. Kaulitz who looked irrevocably proud of himself. He winked at me. It was gesture that only I noticed. I felt a corner of my lip turn up slightly. He continued.
"If I were to look at this drawing for the first time, I'd start by looking here," he said, pointing to the spot where my right eye met my nose, "here", at the same spot on my left, "here, and then finally, here," the two sides of my jaw. I merely stared at him, speechless. He continued to address the rest of the class, throwing me a glance every few seconds, as I tried to stop my lips from curving into a huge grin that would give me away. His charm was maddening. I stared painfully at my blank canvas instead, trying to force his image out of my head. I was helped when the devil himself clapped his hands together.
"You may begin," he announced. I had absolutely no idea what the hell I was supposed to be beginning. A glance at someone else's canvas told me I should be drawing grid lines on my own. I started doing just that. As I began my first stroke, a familiar scent of perfume wafted past me. It seemed to fog up my brain. His perfume had the same effect that only breathing in pure carbon monoxide could have had on me. I had to stop myself from freezing as I felt him draw closer.
"Are you okay?" he whispered from behind. I turned back towards him slightly and muttered a quick reply, before turning back to my canvas. He was still standing there when I'd finished all four lines. It occurred to me that I was acting cold again, as I almost always did towards him. Regretting it, I looked back at him, waiting for a comment of some sort. He didn't give me a comment. Instead, he picked up my eraser and nonchalantly erased my work. I opened my mouth in silent protest but closed it again upon seeing the smirk he had on his face once he was done. I couldn't stare at his eyes to save my life so I looked down at patch of chalk dust on his shirt sleeve. The pink blended into the peacock blue of his shirt to create a faint purple colour. Mr. Kaulitz brought his face closer to mine.
"Grid lines," he muttered into my ear in a hushed voice so the other students couldn't hear, "are for beginners."
I let out a small laugh, taking the eraser back from him. He didn't hold it out for me to take it; I just pulled it out from between his fingers. His hands were rough; the result of years of getting them dirty in his work and scrubbed clean again afterwards. He just stood there, almost taunting me, almost as if he knew all about my physical, mental, over-obsession with him. I turned to stare at my blank canvas instead with my hands in my lap, unmoving.
"I don't have any ideas," I told him simply.
"If you don't finish at least a rough sketch by the time this lesson ends you're going to have to stay here after school until you finish it," Mr. Kaulitz replied slowly, scratching his head. He put down his hand. I gathered enough courage to look back at him, shifting my gaze from one of his eyes to the other. Both had the same expression - a subtle longing.
"How much time do I have?" I asked, still staring. He looked at his watch, then at me again.
"Thirty minutes. Twenty-five if I dismiss the class early," he said. I nodded, turning away. He straightened up slowly and walked to the front of the classroom, back to his desk. He stopped for a while to look at another student's work. I stared at my own blank canvas motionlessly, waiting for my time to run out.