Chapter 2: On Fire
Ryan laid back in his chair and blew out a breath." Lizzie I've had enough…you win. I yield!"
"You better" Lizzie said smiling as she rolled her eyes," You knew I was going to win anyway, why do you put yourself up for the humiliation?"
Ryan smiled, after losing 26 games of chess and 2 games of internet chess you'd think he'd be a sore loser. Now, there had been arguments in between, (such as the one about how the horsey thingy cannot jump 17 spaces, and the one about how the king can't score a touchdown), but she was having fun and that's all that mattered to him." Listen here Liza if you tell anybody at my school that I let you win I'll kill you"
"It's not like you have any friends" She said before she could stop herself. Ouch, little sister mode kicking in.
"It's dumb things that you say like this and you wonder exactly why your playing chess by yourself on the weekends instead of going to parties" Ryan said as he stood up, sliding in his chair and began walking up the steps towards his own bedroom. "If Karen comes home give a yell in advance".
He didn't wait for a reply and continued walking up the steps. He knew that it was slightly mean that he was avoiding his step mother Karen, but if he wanted to get any peace of mind tonight he couldn't see her. Because if she saw him she'd probably ask him to baby sit the twins, or watch Robert when he goes to the bathroom or clean out the house. It was bad enough when you have a little sister who was smarter than you and skipped two grades (back to back) but when you have another two twin baby brothers, a 7 year old brother, and a 12 year old baby sister things got a little out of hand. And in all that confusion he had only one control: Painting.
Painting was a gift that he would like to thank his dad for. When he was little, before the airplane accident, his dad had given him a brush for his 5th birthday. He had no idea what to do with it but always carried it around with him wherever he went. The crash within it's self was a miracle and a disaster rolled up into one but, he didn't dwell on the past. Just thrived on the future.
He turned the light blue door knob that he had painted himself and walked inside his room, slamming the door shut behind him. He often thought of his room as his favorite place in the house because it just fitted him. All the posters that were pinned against the walls, all the poems that he had ever wrote, and all the pictures he took. His room was a dark purple, which was strange for a boy but he wasn't exactly 'normal' .He had lyrics from all his favorite songs painted in thick dark letters on one wall that started at the top and reached all the way to the bottom. All of this was painted and created by himself of course, he didn't want anybodies help.
His favorite place in his room was next to the window where you could get a perfect view of the sky at night and all the stars. He would always paint there, just from pure inspiration from the view it's self. He sat down in his white chair (which stood out in the room) and turned on the radio. Flipping through the stations he came upon "Where have all the cowboys gone" and listened to that for a while. Then he switched it and threw in his mixed CD and waited for another song to come on. He was still slightly shocked that he had actually talked to Marco DelRossi. The Marco DelRossi, the same Marco DelRossi that wrote such articles as "Coming Out" in which the first sentence stated "When I went into the closet I told my mom I was looking for a hanger, when I came out I had a boyfriend" and the touchy subject of cutting called "Razor Blade Dreams" dealing with his friend's trials. The same writer that made you feel like he was talking to you, and not the whole public and how he knew exactly how you felt.
He knew that he should be getting dressed and that Natalie would be there in an half hour to take him to the gallery to start things up but he didn't feel like getting out of bed, actually, he felt like painting. He looked around his room to see if a brush was handy but it wasn't so he pulled a pen from behind his pillow, (He always kept one stashed there) and his sketch book, ( which he kept on the side of his bed) and began making large strokes here and there, followed by various scribbles, scratches and grunts until he was satisfied with his creation. Smiling he put the book down and decided that he should take a shower before his wallpaper started peeling off. He would color the picture in later.
-
"Okay, now that's not funny" Ryan said with his arms crossed over his chest and a stern look on his face. He watched as Natalie crossed over from table to table, assorting the candles and placing a folded napkin next to them. Natalie works at a catering company called "Delicates" which she though of the name herself, and was catering the gallery on Friday, she was just here to start setting up things ahead of time.
"Yeah, it was, besides you know its true doesn't he Mark?" Natalie asked, folding another napkin.
"Hey, don't bring me into this." Mark, a new intern said as he placed a glass on the table.
"Is it my fault that I want everything to be perfect for Friday? I mean, how many times will I get a chance to have a sponsor at the art gallery, I mean, I could actually get a chance at selling my pictures for big bucks. Like, professionally" Ryan said, defending himself. "So escuse me miss Natalie if I don't seem calm"
"First of all, if you want to sound professional don't ever say "Bucks" again and second Mark be careful" Natalie said knowingly, polishing a glass.
"Why?" Mark asked before accidentally dropping the glass onto the floor." God, how do you know every time?". Muttering under his breath, he picked up the tiny shards of glass as Natalie shrugged and turned around to go into the kitchen to get more glasses. "You're clumsy"
Once she was out of ear shot Mark said to Ryan." You know, her joke wasn't that funny"
"Yes it was!" Her voice chimed out from the back.
"How did she-"
"Don't ask" Ryan said shaking his head," It's really better if you didn't ask"
Laughing Mark picked up another box of glasses and began to walk to the next table, Ryan to follow with napkins in his hand. "So I didn't know you were into the whole catering thing now" Mark said as he polished another glass.
"Me, catering? Oh, God, no. I'd probably break every glass, there is a reason why she has me doing napkins." Ryan said as he held up the triangular folded napkin and moved onto the next one. "I just wanna make sure you all don't screw up and if you do-" he paused as Mark dropped another glass and caught it before it hit the floor,"- I'm here to catch it"
"Thanks" Mark sighed. "I'll never get hired at this rate"
"Yeah," Ryan said shaking his head. "Probably not. But I always did want a painting assistant."
"Painting assistant?" Mark repeated. "Is that some type of title or something or does it actually mean something?"
"My, aren't we sassy" Ryan remarked, raising an eyebrow as he did so. "And yes it does have a meaning. You can like…carry my stuff around and give me inspiration-" He paused for a second when he felt something vibrate in his pocket. Flushing slightly he pulled it out and looked into the green light up screen.' MOM' it said in bright letters with a little picture of a phone next to it ringing over and over again. He was thinking about weather or not he should answer it when Natalie came through carrying some silver balloons and black streamers. "Mark, stop staring at my boss and help me with this, flirting is for later". Under his bangs Ryan cracked a smile as Mark nodded numbly and moved over to help her while he still tried to decide if he wanted to pick up the phone. Shaking his head because he knew he was about to regret it he picked up the phone." Ryan Adrian Saunders where the hell are you young man and do you know how worried I've been. I swear I should just c-" The rest was cut off as he shut the phone closed. Hearing his mom yell at him was one thing, using his full name was another.
Sensing his sudden agitation Natalie called from across the room," Problems?"
"Yeah, multiple problems, multiple levels." Ryan answered back as he pulled his jacket from off the floor and placed a palm to his head." I'm heading home to see if I can make peace with my siblings and I-"He paused as he placed a soft kiss on her lips,"-will see you tonight. Around eight right and Mark, think about my offer, I was serious. Think about it, okay?" .He didn't wait for an answer before he was gone, muttering under his breath about a new car and bus fare.
Once he was finally on the bus, having spent a good dollar more than he wanted to, he reluctantly pulled out his cell phone and dialed his home number. He listened as it rang 5 times and on the 6th someone picked up. "Hello?" The voice sounded dry and cracked .Ryan cracked a smile.
"Hey Ma-"
"Ryan? Is that you, oh my God, all I ask is for one simple favor and you can't even do that. All you can do is have your head stuck in some stupid art book. You were supposed to pick up Sarah today! "His mother's shrill voice rang out. He winced slightly and pulled the phone away from his ear.
"No," He defended himself, "That was yesterday and yeah, I did pick her up"
"It was for today Ryan! She was waiting at the bus stop for a good hour before one of her friend's parents took her home, now she's crying and upset!" His mother yelled once more, though tiredness slowly seeped into her voice.
Ryan though about this for a second. Did he have to pick her up today too? And then it hit him.
"Oh yeah ma….I'm sorry about that but since you did wreck my car thus forcing me to take the bus here and there unless I hitch a ride I think this is sort of your problem too." He knew that sentence would piss her off but instead of violent yelling and shrill curse words she just hang up on him instead. 'Smooth Ryan, smooth' He muttered to himself as he sat on the cold bus seat and put his head against the window. Outside as the bus zoomed by he could've sworn he saw the same writing wonder Marco DelRossi sitting on the side of the block with his hands in his head, and upon further notice he was right. Getting up he pressed the tape and decided to get off.' I wonder why he's here' He thought as he got off the bus and began walking back towards him, 'I hope I'm now turning into a stalker'.