Author's Note

Thanks for the reviews!

sheescapeswithwords

I love it so far! I hope you continue. Awesome job. ")

Thanks so much! I'm so glad you enjoy it and I most certainly will be continuing with this :) Also thanks for following!

Guest

It's really cool, thanks for giving me a shout out btw, you're doing well with the story and I am intrigued on where tate and calypso will go

All good! I enjoy doing that for the people who read my work! It's a little thank you back to them for putting up with my wacked out upload schedule and sometimes horrible writing XD I am also intrigued to see where Tate and Calypso go *wink wink*

I was pacing.

I had been for a few hours now.

Unable to stop the nervous energy that was making my hands shake and head pound, I'd taken to pacing across the length of my room, biting at the tips of my fingernails as I did. I felt lost without my easel.

A present from my father when I was three, the easel had seemed monstrous to me at the young age, as if there was endless possibilities with this towering piece of wood and metal. As I'd grown older and older, the easel had been a constant companion to my room, even when my father was gone and I was moving around with my mother. It was the one thing, along with my bed, that we'd always had a silent agreement to never leave behind or get rid of.

But now she'd taken both.

Even when she knew how much they meant to me, one of my last connections to the only man who could ever call himself my father, was now torn from my grasp.

I suddenly found myself staring out of my window, the nervous energy dissipating with a sudden whoosh, leaving me feeling empty and cold. A deep yearning pulsed in my hollow chest, the ghost of a pencil poised in my fingers as I unconsciously reached for the place my easel had been.

I felt my face crumple as my hands touched empty air, and I stood, staring at my window blindly, hand outstretched slightly as I tried to get used to the idea that it would no longer be there.

Another face joined my reflection, and I had to blink a few times before realising it wasn't a reflection in my window, but Tate, looking through his across at me. He was waving.

I clenched my fingers in the open air, a sigh of defeat whispering from my mouth as I forced my lips to curve into a smile as I raised my hand in acknowledgement of my neighbour. Tate then ducked his head, disappearing for a second from my view, before he suddenly popped up again, this time holding a notebook.

He'd scrawled two words on the paper and they made the air leave my lungs.

'You okay?' His hand writing was messy and bold, but still legible. I smiled weakly again, about to nod and wave away his concern. But then as I considered for a moment, realising the reason I'd been so surprised by the question, I shrugged and let the smile drop, shaking my head a couple times. It had been a long time since someone had asked me if I'd been okay.

My mother assumed that I was dealing perfectly fine with all the moving, because I had never let my grades slip, and she thought the times I left the house for a few hours, to find some peace to read or draw alone, that I was meeting with friends.

Tate was looking down, his hand flying over the notebook once more. Bringing my hand up, my teeth restarted their gentle pulling of the tips of my fingernails, a bad habit that left me with uneven nails. My hand dropped, surprise once more filling me as my eyes flew across the page he was now holding up, reading the words.

'Wanna talk about it?' he'd written, dark eyes scanning my face with what looked like concern over the top of the page. Unsure, I hesitated, not really knowing what I would say. For so long my feelings had been transformed into pictures or colours on a canvas, not words, and so now that I had someone willing to listen to them, I didn't know what to say.

Looking up and meeting his intense, dark gaze, I shook my head, still unsure if I'd made the right choice. Tate frowned for a second before he tapped the page with a slender finger, as if he was asking the question again, just to be sure. I sighed, wondering if I should change my mind. But as I internally debated it, I realised how silly it would sound to anyone but myself.

I mean who really cared that much about an easel? Right?

I shook my head again, determined this time. Tate's head ducked once more, his blond hair falling into his face as he turned to a new page and began writing again, but before I could see what it was, I moved away from the window, collapsing onto my bed instead.

The next day

For my second day of school, I actually kind of tried with the way I looked, braiding my hair and sweeping on some mascara and lipstick. I kind of had this out there idea of trying to meet some new people today, and as I stared at my reflection in the mirror for a few seconds, I tried to work up the determination within me to carry it through.

Sighing, I tugged on the hem of my sweater a little more, trying to fashion it stylishly around my jeans. Giving up I quickly turned away from the mirror, scooping up my back pack and walking out of my room.

"Have a good day, Calypso!" My mother called as I walked out of the door. She'd been overly optimistic since I'd slammed the door in her face, thinking that if she pretended nothing had happened, I would feel better quicker.

She was wrong.

I'd not said a word to her all throughout dinner at our new kitchen table, or when I'd been forced to spend some 'family time' watching a horrible action movie. And I wasn't planning on talking to her until she brought back my easel either.

I had high hopes that I would win the war.

Kicking my feet along the pathway as I walked towards my new school, I wasn't paying much attention to my surroundings, and so even though it was unexpected, I wasn't all that surprised when I ended up running into someone.

"Sorry." I muttered, blinking as I looked up into the face of none other than…Tate. The sun was behind his head, silhouetting his face and making his blond hair gleam.

"Hey there window girl." He replied with one of his grins. For a seemingly lonely guy, he sure was smiling a lot.

"It's Calypso. Not window girl." I informed him lightly, stepping sideways past him and then continuing on my way. My new next door neighbour hurried to keep up with a spring in his red-converse covered step.

"All right then Caly, what was with the long face yesterday?" Tate asked, making me glare at the ground. Poor cracked concrete. What had it ever done to me? Nothing.

"It's Calypso," I repeated, allowing a slight trace of venom to enter into the words, I hated being called Cal or Caly, but my mother did it anyway. "And I don't see why you would care if I was upset yesterday. You don't even know me." I added, kicking at a stone that was resting in the way of my feet.

"Maybe because I'm a nice guy and I care about people." Tate offered, touching my arm lightly, causing us both to stop walking as I looked up at him. "Maybe also because I don't have a lot of friends, and you seem like a nice person." He muttered, letting his hand drop back to his side.

I stayed silent for a few seconds, mulling over this new information. "My mother got rid of my easel." I said in way of reply, beginning to walk again, but slower this time.

"Your easel?" Tate repeated quietly, confusion colouring the two words.

I nodded, "Yup."

"And this is oh so bad because…?"

"You're in for a long story, curtain boy." I sighed dramatically, smiling a little at the mock offended face he pulled when I tacked on the nickname.

"We've got a long walk ahead of us, so get talking, Calypso." Tate invited. And so I did.

I talked until we reached the gates of the school, where we paused to talk some more before heading our separate ways.

Somehow, by the time I'd reached English, I had figured out that I actually kind of felt…better.