Chapter 31: " Quality Time "

So I've decided to keep it in one part. I've postponed much longer than I thought I was going to, to the point I completely forgot about my Author's Note. (kudos on productivity) So here you go, hopefully it was somewhat worth the wait.

When Dib was putting on his winter boots, he saw a scarf hung loosely around the closet pole. He watched it for a bit before he looked back down to tie his shoes. It was a detail he dismissed quite often, much to the point he didn't recognize it was present. He blinked and, currently unoccupied, examined the item. It was slightly dusty and the colors partly blanched but despite it, still appeared to be usable. He stood up, shifting his feet in the soles of his footwear. He didn't recognize the scarf firsthand and as he searched involuntarily in his memory, nobody he knew now wore it. But it was something he'd see every now and then, at a glimpse or in the peripherals as he passed by. Dib would be looking for something else, but the scarf would always somehow retain part of his unconscious attention. He blinked and lifted it from the pole. He ran his fingers against the fabric, and the scent of musty perfume rose from the item. It wasn't very potent, but it left a trace mark around in his nasal cavity. His mind automatically ran to antiquated memories and bleary images. Ones that were lost to his awareness just until now. It's familiarity hung around in his mind like a fog, nonpermissible and obscure but present.

Dib looked down and eyed the pattern a little more, his mind tracing it's character and the odd nostalgia he seemed to have in reaction. The colors spinning in against each other, the zigzag lines interrupting established sequences. It was something his mind knew it saw before, in his childhood. But in trying to recollect all of the missing shards, some were dropped and forgone, others picked by mere chance. He could only remember viewing it, as he did now, so long ago but in a strange, unfamiliar setting and position. Dib blinked and a forlorn, dismaying thought arose inside.

He thought maybe it belonged to his mom.

It would make sense. It's foreign standings upon his readily available memory, but making unsettled and restless innermost childhood ones with it's propinquity. And the scent; nobody wore perfume inside the house, not even Gaz. Or, at least not ones reminiscent of middle aged women. And the fact that it remained inside the closet, slowly withering away from usage was another header.

Dib sat down against the couch, his sister finally exiting the bathroom. She was ready, as it seemed, approaching the living room while replacing her gloves.

"Okay, let's go." She said. He glanced up at her and within the same time frame she stopped and her eyes were drawn to the scarf. Her mind raced for a quick few moments.

"You're going to wear it?" She asked. He supposed she felt the urge to because of his infrequency of wearing accessories. Dib shrugged in response and his thumb instinctively stroked the fabric once more.

"No...I was just looking at it." He remarked. He glanced back down at the object. "...I found it in the closet...I hadn't recognized it until now."

Gaz's eyes watched him for a bit when he said this, searching his face for his emotion until she looked down at the object in his hand. Inwardly, they felt together the feeling of a path to a neglected, solemn anamnesis.

They didn't talk for a bit. It was as if venturing on the subject of closed off memories tended to release the mind of words to say. Gaz shifted on her feet, but Dib kept gazing at it. For obvious reasons, his mind was circulating around this ordeal, but he still pondered to himself as to why. He wasn't thinking this as to be self-punitive of being sentimental, but just as he didn't understand why the sentiments brought themselves out as accented as they did. He sighed, grieving at the thought of putting this back in the closet where it would undoubtedly remain in disregard. But in that moment, as he thought for reasons to keep it out, he looked up at Gaz.

The idea made his heart tender.

"You should wear it." He said. Gaz's mind surfaced from her thoughts and she looked at him, a little puzzled.

"Me?" She voiced her bemusement.

"Yeah." Dib nodded.

She looked down at the item once more, her brow now slightly furrowed as she contemplated the idea with dubiousness. Dib mentioned this because he wanted the scarf from his mother, one of the only things they have still have intact from her, to be continued in use. And the idea of Gaz being the one to wear it, almost like a notion of a pass down, made all the more sense. But her mind probably considered the idea as too grand a gesture, one she was unworthy of. Her lips flattened and she looked back up at her brother.

"...No..." she shook her head.

"Why?"

"I just...I don't think I should."

"Come on. It's still nice. Not even worn out." Dib coaxed. He held out the scarf in front of her and imagined it around her neck. "You'd look nice in it. It even matches your clothes."

Gaz scoffed.

"I'm wearing all black."

He grinned and shrugged.

"Anything goes well with black."

She looked at it once more and continued ruminating. Dib pressed it forward slightly, gently trying to change her mind. She looked at it, sighed quietly through her nostrils and took it from him. Gaz wrapped the arms around her neck and repositioned it as it sat upon her shoulders. Dib smiled more, gleeful for what he thought was slightly trivial. Her lips flattened a little more, somewhat embarrassed.

"Let's go." She said, urging. Dib grabbed his backpack. He walked behind her as they left the house together, the door closing behind them as they entered into the cold world before them. Their breath was visible and the sting of the raw, icy air already hit their faces. They walked down the driveway and trudged through knee deep snow.

For some reason, despite already knowing the answer, Dib wondered if he was going to see Zim at school.

• • •

It'd been about a week since the last time school was open. The amount of snow issuing itself forward through the days ensured that, which in any case would be a lot of students' wishes coming true. Even Dib couldn't help but admit that he took relief in winter's advances. It gave him more time to spend on projects assigned by school and more time to relax. Despite it, however, he wasn't able to take advantage of it as much as others could, as most of the time he relied on school for occupying himself. His hobbies were time consuming, and his volition to complete them recently had been abating. So for a while now, he'd been resorting to watching videos online, downloading games from torrents and reading books. However his mind completed these things with sluggishness, as they owned no pertinence in his interests.

Like now.

Dib was finishing a math worksheet when there was a soft knock against the door. He looked up as he heard it and massaged the pain in his hand. His eyes glanced to the substitute teacher at the desk, whose eyes were fixated at the screen of his netbook. His built physique gave off the idea of him being a gym teacher or an avid exerciser. Dib raised his hand weakly, just enough to get his attention. When the teacher looked up, he pointed towards the door and the man took out an earbud while his face curiously turned to his left. Someone knocked again. The substitute got up and approached.

Dib watched out of his inactivity, the girl that was at the door who was startled to some extent when the door opened, who was set off by the gruff look and low voice of the teacher and the somewhat hinted timidness in her voice in lieu. The slow, meager gesture of passing the note to him from the main office and the assigned courtesy when he thanked her with a smile. She smiled too, before she left and the door was closed. Dib's mind traced the square, yellow paper in his mind and imagined who it might be for, and for what purpose. He looked down at his worksheet, as the teacher did to the office pass and continued working...He didn't work for long.

"Dib...uh—Membrane?" The substitute called, his confusion changing the tone of his voice. He looked up. The teacher analyzed the faces that were before him, eyes searching for any expression or sign of recognition, squinted to a small degree. Dib rose his hand and the man found him. His lips thinned, maybe from the raw awkwardness of the situation, as he held up the paper for him. Dib remembered past times of being called to the office, solely for one purpose. One event. His sigh left through his nostrils and a small degree of dread stirred in his mind. He got up from the desk and grabbed his backpack, with the worksheet in his other hand. They exchanged papers when he passed by and Dib left the room with two thoughts on his mind;

Zim wasn't here. What were they calling him down for now? And what happened to the overhead speaker? Granted, the last one wasn't a serious thought, more or less an afterthought of given events that seemed to occur differently than what he'd usually known it to; mild-curiosity. But he repositioned the arms of the backpack on his shoulder and continued with sub-conscious resolve, heading down out of the hallway from the math classes. When he was in the locker room, which surrounded the middle of the school, his boots met tile and there was a reverb released, sounding off his presence louder than what he could appreciate.

He passed by two teachers whom he didn't recognize firsthand, but both of which felt the need for those tenaciously uncomfortable greetings with a quickly executed hello and smile. Dib nodded at both of them with a grin, but shortly berated himself for his social awkwardness afterwards. He pressed forward, a little faster now with hopes without encountering another adult.

When Dib arrived at the office, he waited at the clerk's desk and sat himself at a chair against the wall. Ms. Durham greeted him cordially and he reciprocated, after she paged Mrs. Everett of his arrival. After a bit, they conversed, much to the dismay of Dib's social abilities. He'd befriended her already before, one of the only people that was his senior he was actually able to talk to without too much timidity. Still, after such a long time without speaking to one another, it caused a bit of a gap in how comfortable they were with each other. He didn't think it too detrimental, but he still hated how awkward it became to converse with her.

The door leading to the conference room opened and Mrs. Everett walked out, her eyes down upon a few papers and her glasses fixated lower against her nose bridge. She looked up and around for a bit before spotting Dib near the entrance and smiled.

"Hello Dib." She said. He managed a small hi in return. Her smile slightly enlarged, the small amount of amusement manifesting from the inelegant gesture. But she moved out of the way from the door and inclined him to enter. "Come on in."

Dib stood up from the chair and stretched out the hem of his shirt that had gathered around his waist. He looked up at Ms. Durham and waved, which she smiled back and uttered the due expression before he left. Dib turned and entered into the office, naturally walking towards the part of the table where he always located himself when he was present in this room, and sat down. Mrs. Everett closed the door behind her and approached the head of the table, where she sat down as well. The papers she had in her hands were put down and the glasses she had were taken off. Her eyes met his with a sense of tension. Past words and accounts clinging to the atmosphere of their meeting, which prompted her to smile once more as if to alleviate the discomfort they felt for one another. Dib shifted in his seat.

"Before I tell you why you're here...I want to apologize." She said, and shrugged halfheartedly. "...Again." Her eyes looked down at her hands, with small dejection. Dib wanted to ask for what because as far as he could remember their last interactions didn't hold any enmity. But he kept himself from speaking up. Mrs. Everett joined her hands together and sighed silently.

"I haven't been the nicest or the...most polite person to you. I've been...rather dismissive to you and Zim. It's not professional of me, and it's severely unbecoming. And so, I'm sorry Dib. I'm sorry that I dismissed your existence even though I work in a facility where I'm supposed to help you embrace it. I'm sorry I treated you as an object and that I never considered your personal experiences in life." Everett finally looked up from her hands, her eyes sullen to some extent as she expressed these words. Maybe she was feeling their heaviness, as he laid them to definition and gave them finality. Her eyebrows bent slightly, seeing as Dib live through her apology with more than just the small amount of discomfort they shared in the beginning. She allowed, then, a small smile to rise, one that wasn't entirely amused.

"I came here mostly to talk...But it's fine if you're not ready. I'd rather wait until you are then enforce it upon you." Everett added. Dib' smile was thin when she finished and he nodded slightly, showing an understanding Everett couldn't help but be a bit dubious about. He looked down at his hands; his twiddling thumbs.

For a while, nothing was said. It was a silence that started to appear more frequently, rearing it's ugly head in whenever possible. As a known reason already, it occurred because she left the initiative of speaking to Dib so that she could allow him a courtesy he should've received a long time ago. However, it was obvious it was something he wasn't used to, or something he never learned to take advantage of as he remained to himself. Everett recalled the times when she was walking in the halls and saw how Dib would be ridiculed whenever he tried to convince the others about Zim's real identity. Whenever he tried to speak he was actively scorned, regardless if it was about Zim or not. And Everett never once took the time to stop it. But that was why he was brought in today; she wanted him to have someone he could finally talk to.

Despite it, it wasn't very hard to decipher that Dib was using this as a way to escape from fulfilling those social qualities, the way he tapped his fingers against the table out of boredom, sometimes even slumping over with heavy eyelids. Everett had to admit that she had been rather vague when she mentioned the event of them talking, much so that he could ask about it to clarify. Everett resumed business with her papers, but now with a feeling of irresolution. She felt that maybe her approach was a little too forward, causing his unintentional uncouthness. Maybe it should've been something mentioned in passing, that way he could have some time to think about it. After a while of chewing the idea, she became more steadfast in believing it was true, the awkwardness of the situation at hand was one of the convincing factors.

It wouldn't have happened, at least to the same extent, if instead he came willingly with the intention of sharing what was on his mind. Everett silently sighed to herself and pitifully excused the young man back to his class, not without apologizing once more for wasting his time. He merely shook his head with a grin and remarked about how he appreciated silence with people better than speech. It was said without much grace, a slight stutter that caused him to sweat a little occurred while he spoke. However she smiled and waved him goodbye, her mind tracing around the idea he gave her. She wondered if he actually believed in it was much as he displayed as he did. It wouldn't be something she would dismiss as entirely untrue, considering his upbringing and experience with other people. So she pondered the concept while she entered back into the conference room and, at the same time, wondered if what happened today could be considered progress. Everett looked back down at the papers she had and sighed.

She only brought these whenever she talked to Zim and Dib to make it seem like she was doing something. Truly, they were copies of application files she found in her house a while back. Everett didn't even know what for. After a while of thinking to herself, soon forgetting herself while she did so, her mind retraced back the fact she was still at school and she looked down at the papers once more in her hands, blinking a few times as she slowly tredged out of the depth of her mind. She shifted them a bit and read the small details, trying to get a clue of what they were for. It was a job application for a business at Bloaty's Pizza Hog. Her lips thinned; they were copies of her daughter's application some time ago.

Without much thought, she tossed them and left the room.

• • •

Class ended and all of the students stood from their seats. Ms. Zoe had to remind them that the bell wasn't the one that excused them from class. There was a collective groan and everybody sat back down. After a few moments, she let them go and they shuffled out of class, merging with the waves of other people in the hallway with shoes squelching against the water of melted snow. Ms. Zoe sighed to herself and was about to sit back down at her seat before she noticed Gaz was still seated in the back of the room. She was drawing, buried within her sketches and the music shouting from her headphones. Zoe noticed momentarily a colorful scarf wrapped around her neck once more, beforehand she recalled being attracted to it at the beginning of class when she walked in.

Ms. Zoe walked towards her at a slower pace, maneuvering past tables and chairs as she kept her eyes on the girl. When she got close, Gaz looked up and removed the headphones.

"Don't you have class?" Zoe asked. Gaz shook her head.

"No."

She smiled at her.

"Are you going to stay here then and continue drawing?" Gaz turned off the music. It was louder than the volume at which she was used to speaking and removed the headpiece from around her neck.

"Do you mind?" She asked, quietly. Zoe shook her head.

"No. I'm just making sure."

With that she glanced quickly at the charcoal sketches in the sketchbook and turned around. She returned to her seat.

For the next half-hour, Ms. Zoe repositioned tables and desks and pushed chairs in to get it back to how she had it before class started. She picked off lost pencils and pens, the occasional piece of charcoal and pastel off the floor and placed them back into the containers she kept in front with the Promethean board, despite if some were covered in water. She mopped for a bit and wiped down tables with Clorox wipes, rubbing out charcoal stains or crude pencil drawings that re-appeared each passing class. Sometimes they were etched and smudged in with ink and so she would have to scrub at them. If that failed, she brought the spray and paper towel to grind at it. When there was no more cleaning to be done, Zoe sat back down at her desk and replied to a few other teachers' emails. Then she began editing the next class's course for the day and started drawing out the examples. She was about to ready the presentation to the board when Gaz sneezed, reminding the teacher of her presence. Zoe looked over at her, her face now buried at the paper with her headphones emitting her music at high volume. She sniffled loudly.

Gaz had been staying in after school, well, before the storm at least, whenever she could to continue drawing. Always, she stayed at the seat she had in class, disregarding the liberty she had to sit anywhere and burned down pencils and pieces of charcoal against her sketchbook. A few times, Ms. Zoe tried to peak at what she was drawing. Not anything too invasive, only when she walking near her completing other tasks, and quickly look in her direction. Times like these she would move an arm in the way. Ms. Zoe knew it wasn't necessarily because of her looking; it was because she was near.

Gaz didn't like the idea of sharing work or giving ideas with the other students, notwithstanding the fact she was in a classroom. Zoe came to notice this when others would walk around her. Because of the situation, she wouldn't do much different to hinder them from seeing it because of the amount of people around her, but to fix that she would huddle close and keep her arms within the space, or at least close to it, of the width of her sketchbook.

It was only when she was finished with the piece did Ms. Zoe ever see it. There were a few past lectures that she tried to have to her about being a little more open about showing her drawings, that way she could see her progress and comment on any things she saw she could improve upon. She tried explaining that it was easier that way to learn from your mistakes and that it wasn't a bad thing to mess up or have questions. Gaz, however, only nodded to this with an indiscernible expression and continued to do otherwise. Ms. Zoe came to understand that it was the vulnerability of the situation Gaz didn't like. The potential of some many different incidents that could occur was what made her cagey. It wasn't entirely possible to work around that with a direct attitude without personally scaring her away, so Zoe came to the conclusion to leave her be until she felt ready.

Ms. Zoe aligned a few things in the presentation that weren't in the space she put them yesterday. She edited a few lines of text to get rid of some vague sounding information and changed a few of the image examples. As she did this, she mentally tested her memory of each page and line of text from the presentation from start to finish. With her attention at the computer and her quick fingers at the keyboard, she hiccuped here and there in reiterating the content. After a while of working, she felt the urge to listen to music but recalled she hadn't brought her earphones. Zoe patted her pockets anyways and looked around just in case they might be. Ms. Zoe noticed Gaz stand up from the corner of her eye and glanced over. Now with the teacher's attention, Gaz bit her lower lip and her nervousness was realized. Ms. Zoe tried to smile, however because she didn't know exactly what she was doing, it was an awkward mixture of a smile and a suck in the corner of the lips.

Gaz chewed her thoughts for a bit, removed the resonating headphones from her ears and paused the music with her mp3. She placed down the charcoal on the table with black stained fingers, rubbing them as she noticed their new tint with a bout of self-consciousness and picked up her sketchbook, looking down at the drawing, almost as a last effort to try and garner her mind about the situation. She looked back up at Ms. Zoe in the front of the room, scooted out of the space between her and the chair, and made her way leisurely towards her. Gaz's movement and pace was executed a little forcefully, almost as if it was with the exertion of her will that she made the next step forward. Ms. Zoe's undefined expression shifted towards what was originally intended, as her her smile grew when the introverted student made her way towards her, her heart warming inside. She was hoping that this would be a start of something productive.

The girl stopped when she was close enough to Ms. Zoe and tapped her fingers against the back page of her sketchbook, her breath a little more audible. It was a little bit before she sighed and looked up at her face, where Zoe straightened her posture as it happened. The girl blinked and began nibbling against her lip.

"...I'd like you to...look at my drawing." She spoke, her volume reaching barely above a loud mumble. "...It's not done, but...I think you can help me improve."

She had tried to use past language that was used when Ms. Zoe gave her the idea of sharing her works in progress which resulted in a sentence that wasn't entirely refined in a technical structure, but the teacher hardly noticed.

Ms. Zoe's smile grew bigger.

"I'd love to."

With that Gaz handed over her sketchbook. When Zoe received it from her, the girl's hands retreated to her sides. Ms. Zoe viewed her drawing. It was rough, which was why Gaz took the opportunity now to show it to her but it was definite on what it was trying to portray. It was a simple picture, a man in isometric perspective which was sitting in a room with dramatic lighting. The shading was rough and smudged and the subject a little disproportionate but the emotion trying to be conveyed was clear. Ms. Zoe smiled in spite of herself and analyzed it a little further. She looked back up at Gaz.

"What do you want me to help you on?" She asked. This defeated the teacher's purpose, as it was visible the girl's expression sort of froze. Ms. Zoe realized she took it that she was implying there were a lot of problems with the piece and chuckled. "It's lovely, you don't have to worry. You're getting so much better each and every other day. But I'm wondering if you had something in mind you wanted me to help you with?"

It was a bit before Gaz answered. Her eyes had fallen to the floor all the while as her fingers silently rubbed against each other. She looked back up and shook her head.

"I...just anything that you see that...I might need help with." She shrugged. With that, Ms. Zoe placed the sketchbook down against the desk and leaned forward a bit.

"You're a great student, Gaz. You really are. You work so hard in class and you're so well behaved. The fact that you care so much about drawing and...doing well in school, it's incredible. Everyone else thinks this is just time to screw around, but I'm really glad that you take this opportunity to learn something new." Ms. Zoe beamed.

Gaz took the compliment without much thought on how to visibly show her reaction or appreciation to it, her expression shifting a few times as her mind reached for convoluted answers. Ultimately she managed a small smile that lasted only a few seconds with a quiet thank you. Zoe picked up the sketchbook one more and began explaining the small details she liked about the drawing, the parts she felt needed work on and the idea of holding off on very intense shading until she became more versed with the concept of lighting and proportions; She went on to point out that it made things easier once she had references to study off.

With that idea, Zoe pulled up a few images and reference sheets from Google to show her which mediums she could rely on most, informed her about a plethora of artists and a few of their respective books on art that help the beginner student, and gave her a few of the hard-copies she had in her office. Gaz nodded most of the time, a line appearing between her eyebrows as she concentrated on what was being said and how she processed the information. Through this, Ms. Zoe realized Gaz became less conscious of herself when listening to others as her body movements resumed more loosely and naturally. On occasion, however she would replace her arms close to her side and hunch over very slightly whenever she was aware of it. Gaz thanked her afterwards with another small smile gracing her face, this time occurring more instinctively. She clutched the sketchbook, along with the few other art books Ms. Zoe lent to her, against her chest when she said this while shifting on her feet. Ms. Zoe, in turn, smiled warmly and replied.

The bell rang shortly afterwards and Gaz retrieved her headphones before leaving the classroom. She gave one last wave before she left her eyesight and Zoe sat back against her chair. She thought to herself how it wasn't often how she felt accomplished in her field of work, especially given the students that she had. When she first started her job, she thought she was going to be a better person by putting aside her time to help others learn; She was soon to change her philosophy. But, after she met Gaz and especially after today, if enduring through every self-entitled dud churned out one student who actually used what Zoe taught and was grateful for it, teaching in this generation was worth it. A quirky smile remained on her face as she watched her computer screen out of her excited thoughts. Squelching boots and shoes entered the class and students made their way to their desks alongside with high voices and laughter rancorous with profanity. Ms. Zoe woke from her thoughts and reprimanded the use of their language. It was met with dismissive chuckles and irritant sighs as the students lowered their volume and resumed talking. She sighed to herself and readied the presentation. Zoe wondered if she was ever going to be able to help Zim in the same way. Or in any way, for that matter...