Chapter 5
Previously . . .
Then, the answer slapped her in the face. Ib smiled. The smile of a person who has a plan.
She suddenly jumped out of her bed, rejuvenated.
'Would it work?' Ib asked herself over and over again as she paced around her room. And every time, her brain only supplied one answer: 'It had to.'
2 months later...
Ib walked briskly to the Art classroom, muttering to herself 'it has to work, it has to work' over and over again. She paced around the door for a few minutes, breathing in and out.
Today was the day the portfolios had to be handed in. Ib had spent all her spare time on it, adding to it, making it perfect. Because it was all part of her plan; and the plan had to work. It had to work, because if it didn't, if Garry denied it all... she didn't know what she would do.
Of course, girls had started to taunt her after the slightly public rejection from Garry, but after a while, Ib realised they were only jealous. However, she had to admit, it had nearly broken her. All the talking behind her back and rumours flying away, spreading like forest-fire around the school; Ib shuddered. How did the popular girls manage?
But that wasn't the question at stake right now. Ib took a deep breath and then opened the door with determination, striding to Garry, who was sitting at his desk.
'Ah, good afternoon Ib,' Garry said pleasantly.
'Good afternoon, Garry,' Ib replied with a polite smile.
'I assume that you're handing in your portfolio.'
'Yes, here it is,' Ib handed it to him, but before letting go, added, 'But watch out. It could be a bit of a blast from the past.' She sent him a defiant glare before turning around and leaving with a brisk pace.
Garry stared at her leave in confusion. He knew that she had been acting strange ever since that lesson two months ago but what had he been supposed to answer? Ib was certainly a strange kid, he figured and sighed, packing up his things to go. Ib had been the last student to hand in her portfolio, so now he was free to go spend an all-nighter checking all the portfolios. When outside, he stopped by the closest Tesco he could find: he was going to need caffeine. And a lot of it.
The teacher sighed, rubbing his eyes and taking a long draught of coffee – his fifth cup to be exact – due to the fact that he had run out of Red Bull; which most certainly had not given him wings. The time was currently 5.07 am and Garry could feel the seconds ticking and heard them on his old-fashioned clock. Every tick taunted him of sleep he would never have. He finished writing the comment on this student's portfolio and a feeling of guilt overwhelmed his sleep-deprived mind. With the all the effort that the students had put in, he should be writing comments on every page – but he knew that if he did, he would spend the next week at his desk. So his tired hands reached out for the last portfolio, and Garry felt hope. Maybe he would actually be able to get some sleep. Even an hour or two would be better than nothing. 'Ib' was written on the cover in surprisingly elegant, cursive script. Suddenly, his student's words rang through his head,
'Watch out. It could be a bit of a blast from the past.'
What was that supposed to mean? He sighed and ignored the ominous feeling in his heart as he flicked open the first page to find written in the same script, 'Guertena Gallery: A Re-Telling'. So Ib had been to the gallery too? It certainly made sense; it would explain why she knew the paintings and sculptures. Garry started to flick through the portfolio.
The first was a drawing of a girl standing in front of a massive painting which Garry identified as 'Fabricated World'. He recognised the seemingly random swirls and splashes of colour. The next was a fantastic page full of blue hues, aquamarine swirls curling in and out of the page and royal streaks filling the page, until they reached a small girl – the same girl as the first page. She had long, brown hair with a simple red and white uniform. It suddenly dawned on Garry that this was a younger Ib – it came as a surprise because few of his other students had inserted themselves into their artwork.
A peaceful-looking woman in a frame filled the next page. She was dressed in blue and had matching eyes. Looking closer, Garry realised that the woman did not look peaceful at all. In fact, her eyebrows leaned down in a menacing way and her eyes sparked with anger and threats. Then, he noticed a message scrawled at the top of the page: "Thank you for getting it back." He frowned. What was it supposed to mean? He had always hated codes and ciphers and enigmas: why couldn't everything just be simple?
'Of course you may have the rose, beautiful lady. The blue was made to match your sapphire eyes, I am sure.'
A far off place in Garry's mind was slowly opening up, having been locked away in a cage years ago, forbidden to exit. He stared in confusion at the coffee in his hand – maybe coffee had a new side effect the world should be worrying about. A particularly disorienting effect, he thought as he shook his head, sighed and ploughed on, gently shifting the coffee to one side. He flicked the page, his attention wavering slightly until he saw a splash of red in his peripheral vision. He turned to look at the page and his eyes widened as he leaned back.
Why on earth would Ib draw a mannequin with bleeding eyes in her portfolio?! Garry certainly didn't remember that in the gallery! Or did he? The gallery was rather large, and there was a chance that he couldn't have seen everything...
'Sorry. That was childish of me.'
Childish?! Garry wasn't childish! He just hadn't been expecting a bloodied mannequin head! He sighed; now he was talking to himself. Not caring about any side effects he may have believed in, Garry took a gulp of coffee. The next page held a beautiful, absolutely scrumptious-looking macaroon. This time, there was a title,
'Pastries shaped like hamburgers'
Garry smiled at that. It sounded a lot like something he would say. Macaroons were so wonderful. It had been so long since he had had one... in fact, a few days before visiting the Guertena gallery. It must have been a really good macaroon for him to remember that...
'Stop it!' He scolded himself. It simply wouldn't do if he started... night-dreaming, about macaroons.
A girl. Just a girl. Those were the contents of the page. Very simply clad: a green dress and a blue ribbon. A perfectly sweet girl with an innocent smile on her face. So why did Garry's heart fill with pain, hate and regret? He muttered and shook his head. From now on, he would get a normal amount of sleep every day. Apparently he went completely around the bend when sleep-deprived.
The final double page was beautiful; stunning, in fact. Two roses intertwined, of vibrant red and blue. They looked too beautiful to be real. Too beautiful... to be real...
His heart skipped a beat.
His breath hitched in his throat.
He looked at his hand for a second then slapped his own forehead with it,
'How could I forget?' he muttered, leaning back on his chair and trying to remember more. This was wonderful! He would talk to Ib again! They would have macaroons together!
Then he stood up abruptly. This was horrible. No wonder Ib was distraught. He sat on his bed, in complete despair, his face in his hands. He had completely let her down. In fact, she probably hated him. How could he have not remembered? Not remembered someone whom he made such a powerful bond with in such a short time?
Sleep took a long time to come. Even if the first, baby-pink light of dawn was making its way through the blinds, Garry moved about restlessly, frantically. It perfectly reflected the state of his mind. And the stars, disappearing? That was his hope fading away.
AN: Hope you enjoyed - thanks for following/favourite...ing?/reviewing. It makes me move my ass from procrastination so thank you. By the way, there's going to be about three more chapters c: See you in a day or two and thanks for reading x
