Chapter 2

Kuki giggled at something Wally said. Rachel sighed. She wondered why they got to have it so easy. Why it was effortless for them to be together. Kuki hadn't even known Wally until they started high school. The Asian girl had told Rachel that she and Wally used to be friends, but Kuki hadn't remembered the boy. Rachel remembered Nigel. They had a head start, but were lagging behind.

Rachel stood up from the table, unable to watch anymore of their sickeningly cute romance. She was honestly just not in the mood. "I'm gonna run to the art room. See you at practice, Kuki." And Rachel was off.

Nigel had a class this hour. English, actually. Embarrassingly, she knew his entire schedule. Rachel was on her way to do something awful. Something she told herself she would never do under any circumstances. Rachel was going to look at Nigel's painting. It was often the only way to get into the boy's head, but she always waited for his permission to do so. Until today that is, she reminded herself.

The door to the art room was always unlocked so that kids like Nigel could come and go as they pleased. The painting sat in the far corner of the room, still propped up on an easel as if waiting for the boy to come and finish it. It looked like it was done though, freshly done. As Rachel approached, she could smell the bitter scent of acrylic paint drying. The smell of this paint always reminded her of Nigel. It seemed to lace all his clothes and stick to his hands. Similar to how fishermen always smelled of fish, a painter smelled of his paint.

Rachel was upset to realize that this particular painting of Nigel's didn't appear to be anything special. It was exquisite, of course. As always. So much care and detail put into every stroke of the brush. But it failed to prove what Rachel wanted it to. She had desired something that showed he wanted the same things she did. Truly, though, this was just a painting of her friend, the way he viewed himself.

The background of this painting was a dark blue that was nearly black. Rachel pulled up a stool, planning to stay a while to study Nigel's painting. Against this gloomy back drop, Nigel stood vibrant in red. His bald head seemed to reflect some sort of invisible light. White knuckled fists, which he appeared to have spent the most time on, were clenched next to his thighs. And his eyes, black. So black. Rachel sat in silence trying to find something, even the most insignificant something, that could help her.

Just as she was about to turn her back on Nigel's creation, she realized the uneven layers of the background. It was slight, something a person not versed in art would never notice. But, Rachel knew Nigel, and he would never be anything less than attentive when it came to these things. This was no mistake. At least, it was not a mistake Nigel could control.

As Rachel pulled a floor lamp over to shine on the painting, she found herself thinking that this might be what she needed. Nigel would never knowingly paint an uneven background, but maybe it hadn't been knowingly. Perhaps there was something hidden behind the bold focus of the art. Something Nigel didn't even know was there. And then she could show him why he needed to meet the others; these others who also had more questions then answers. With the light spilling down on the canvas, there appeared to be some sort of pattern to the background. Rachel pointed a finger out, as if she were going to touch the painting, and starting in a corner, traced the digit along the uneven line. She was surprised to find that she had traced a 5. The number five was painted discreetly into the background of this painting. And, she found out as she continued, so was a 4, 3, 2, and, last, a 1.

Rachel dropped her hand to her side, stood up, pulled the lamp back where it belonged, and pushed in her stool. As she left, she was so much more confused than when she had entered. Why were those numbers, 5 through 1, the background to Nigel's self portrait? Did they mean anything? Were they a countdown? Did he know they were there? Or was this all a sort of coincidence that Rachel's overactive imagination had blown completely out of proportion? These questions mingled with the plethora that already filled Rachel's mind, zooming around her brain trying to piece a mystery so much bigger than just she and Nigel together.

Just as she had most days before, Rachel went to sit with Nigel in the art room during lunch. This day differed from the others in that Rachel had an answer. Well, the answer happened to be a question and that question happened to lead to dozens more, but at least it was something. He sat just as he did every day. Stick straight on his stool, his eyes filled with the most light they'd hold all day. Nigel was putting the finishing touches on the painting that Rachel, unbeknownst to the boy, had inspected only a few hours ago.

The blonde teenager truly dreaded telling her friend what she had done. Because she knew to him it was unforgiveable. Rachel hoped that when all was said and done, when they had solved the mystery that had plagued their lives for nearly four years, he could forgive her. Oh, she hoped.

The metallic screech of stool legs against linoleum shocked Nigel out of his concentrated state. He turned to stare at her, startled as always. "There's a five." Rachel pointed. "There, right there."

"Rachel, I'm kind of busy here." Nigel brushed her off. His paintbrush still moved across the canvas and for the second time recently she wanted to pry it from his unwilling fingers.

She was fuming and she couldn't remember ever being angrier at the boy who sat in front of her. Nigel had no right to brush her off like that. Who exactly did he think he was? Rachel doubted he would've made it here without her. "There is a 5 painted into the background of that painting, Nigel. Did you know that?" She moved to stand between him and the easel. His eyes glowed angrily. There, that was the emotion she'd been looking for. Anger was better than nothing. "A 4, 3, 2, and 1, as well."

Calmly, always calmly, he placed the paintbrush on the lip of the easel, reaching around her slender body to do so. Nigel's wrist brushed her hip and she shivered slightly. He however seemed unperturbed by the casual contact that had shaken her so. "What are you trying to tell me, Rachel? I'm not a mind reader." The words flowed from his lips so slowly and deliberately.

"That's my point! I don't know, you don't know, nobody freaking knows, Nigel! But don't you think that maybe it's worth trying to figure out?" Rachel regretted speaking, yelling, really, the words as soon as they left her mouth. She froze, wishing she could reach out and grab the words out of the air before they reached Nigel.

But, the bald boy had already heard and he let a huge, pregnant pause inhibit the room. His arms, covered in his favorite red sweater, crossed over his chest. "I don't see the point. It could so easily be a coincidence."

Nigel Uno was possibly the most infuriatingly stubborn boy she had ever met in her life. And she didn't care what he thought of her any more. Rachel wouldn't watch her mouth, she wouldn't tiptoe around the lines she herself had carefully drawn to protect the boy's feelings. He would hear what he so desperately needed to hear.

Rachel placed a hand, shaky with anger, beneath the boys chin. Her usually warm brown eyes met his usually dead brown eyes. In that moment, both were filled with unimaginable anger. Anger at each other, the world, themselves. "That is bullshit, Nigel," Rachel said quietly. "And you know it."

The door slammed, shaking a nearby painting, when the blonde girl left the bald boy sitting alone with those words echoing through his head, stupefied.

A/N: I think I made my own Nigel OOC in this chapter. He just seems very mean. And this was a long chapter, I realize, at least for this fic. But, in other news, my little brother made me knd stickers. He brought them home and he was so proud of them. We're pretty much KND buddies. Its how we bond.