Touching

WHO WAS THAT?!

Who ever it was, they were very rude and very fast. His bronze hair stood out most on his body. The only thing that was noticeable at the pace he was walking. Or running.

I hadn't been paying attention to where I was going, but thankfully enough, I had found my way to the door of the art room. The room was halfway full. I glanced to the nearest table then realized the dreaded seating chart in the center of it. Assigned seating. This was something that I couldn't stand. Every time this happen, some pushy person would end up next to me, and I would always be in reach of their touching hands. This would probably be no different.

So after a minute of looking at each table I found my name on a table in the back. If I had really been paying attention, I would have noticed that someone was sitting next to me. I dropped my books to the floor and groan as they fell out. But, instead of picking them up and placing them back into my bag, I put my head onto the table letting my hair flow carefully around my head. It was then I heard the sound of a chair moving, the one right next to me. I took in a sniff of my hair, it smelt fine. After a few moments of trying to figure out what was wrong with me, I perched my chin on the desk edge. Careful not to move my whole head, I moved my eyes to look at the student next to me.

My mouth dropped. My torso then shot upright as I glazed at the boy who sat next to me. My sudden movement seemed to frighten him and he glazed in my direction.

"You were in the hallway!" I said louder than he, and I were expecting.

"Yes," his voice was calm, and beautiful. "A lot of people are in the hallways at school."

"But…you," I was finding it hard to put my thoughts into words. It was his bronze hair that gave him away. Seeing him in a still frame was very pleasing to the eyes. He had a beautifully structured face. His skin was very pale, very close to white. His arms were lanky but with beautiful form. He was gorgeous. I was very self-conscious of myself at that moment. How my body had multicolored lumps across it. This caused me to stop looking at him, snapping my head into place so it stared at the corner farthest from the table. I suddenly didn't want to be here anymore. I didn't want to be here before this moment, but the pain in my head was only getting worse. Then something touched my skin.

It was cold, like ice. Realizing where the coldness was placed I began thinking of when my parents had done this. Last night. We just finished unpacking. Sadly enough, I placed the empty boxes in the wrong spot. As I went into further detail of my memory, the pressure on my arm got harder. It was painful.

I jerked away quickly and looked at the bronze hair boy. My breathing was extremely deep and rushed, but he seemed as though he wasn't breathing at all.

"Sorry…" he muttered.

I couldn't stop looking at him. Was he angry, ashamed? It was wrong and I knew it, but I wanted him to touch the spot again. His skin wasn't like others. It was so cold. So smooth. He was now looking the other way, avoiding my stare. I turned around as well trying not to look over at him and failing horridly.

Thankfully the teacher began talking. He told us his name was Mr. Johnson. It was nice to get my mind off of whoever was sitting next to me. The teacher said our first work was going to be a still life. Also that he wanted us all to put everything into our work. This was easy for me; I enjoyed art very much in my other school. Art was always a great way to get out frustration. It was easy to escape to another world with art. Any art that you could work with your hands. This made me think of my next class, piano.

When the teacher finished we were aloud to start. After grabbing some pastels and paper, I began. The pencil glided with my hand. The finished rough-draft showed a vase of roses. I couldn't quite remember when I had seen this picture but it was something I thought of often. The flowers were something I never saw in my own household, only in others. They always seemed to be placed by a window, either to flaunt them or have them absorb the little sunlight. I always went to the first reason. Sighing, I went to get a pastel, to begin shading. When my hand touched it, my vision went over to my neighbors picture. It was beautiful. He was in the process of shading a piano. Down to every last detail, it was perfect. Then I spotted his signature already in place at the left hand corner. That alone could sell millions. His script was indescribable. After looking at it for a few moments, I finally read was it said.

Edward Cullen.

Gosh! Why was that his name. Edward?! Really! Edward? That was impossible. He didn't look like an Edward. Some reason, that name seemed so common. He needed a name that was no where to be found. A name, I myself hadn't even yet found. Some time went by before I noticed my eyes weren't on his paper anymore; they were on his face. His eyes, though his face wasn't moved away from his paper, were glaring at me. I eyed him, then snatched the pastel I had originally been reaching for.

Soon after, my picture was finished. A smile stretched across my face. I was being cocky.

"It looks nice."

I was caught of guard by the voice beside me; nearly falling out of my chair, but his cold hands caught me before I even left the seat.

"Thanks." I muttered looking over at his picture. "Yours is beautiful." I was gawking at it.

He shrugged, placing the picture in front of me. "Would you like it?" his voice was so chiming and alluring.

"No." I said in a rush. That was the last thing I needed. I picture that he had made. That wouldn't go well with my parents. The questions that would be brought up. The actions that would follow the answers. I shook my head then looked at him. His expression had turned grave.

"Are you okay?" I questioned.

"Fine." he replied placing the picture back onto the table. He was unsteady. There was something in his eyes. His eyes. Great, another flawless part of his body. They were a honey color. Honey-bee honey. I shook my head coming back to reality.

The teacher came around to each table and looked at all of the art work. After going around to each table once, he came to our table. He walked behind Edward and I, bending in low to whisper in our ears.

"I'd like to put your pictures on display. If you don't mind."

"No, I don't mind." I replied joyfully. I took my pencil and signed on the right hand corner. Edward had already given his and mine was added to the one paper pile.

"Thank-you." Mr. Johnson said leaving the table.

"You have beautiful hand writing." Edwards casual voice chimed out.

"Thanks." I muttered lowly.

I looked blankly at the wall across from me. Millions of thoughts flooding my mind. I tried not to think of any of them. Instead I thought of piano. Unconsciously, I glided my taping fingers along the edge of the table, humming a tune along with it. The bell suddenly rang and I got up to collect my things.

He was gone. No where to be found and the bell had just rang. Maybe he was on track and getting some practice in. Laughing at myself for what I had just thought, I went out of the classroom.

Piano was down by the front. Walking down the stairs I felt some eyes turning to me. Just ignore it, I told myself. Soon I was on the right level and walking to the front of the building. Passer-bys looked, mumbled, but nothing more. They were noticing new prey to attack. Everyone here had probably lived here since time began. That eased my mind some. I passed a window and noticed it was raining. Joys came upon me from the splattering on the building. It was calming. Happy, I finished my trip to piano. At the door the teacher greeted me. After replying I looked at the piano's. They were beautiful to say the least. But my glaze locked onto a student in to farthest corner. Edward Cullen was eyeing me with those bee honey eyes before I even came through the door.