Paper Planes: Chapter Three
"I don't understand," Tobias says slowly, finding certain words with his tongue. It feels thick and useless in his mouth. "what you're trying to say."
His guidance counselor sighs and leans back in his chair, twirling a purple pen between his fingers. He's going bald. "I'm saying, you can't graduate."
Tobias has been told the same, repeated sentence for the past five minutes, but he still can't seem to comprehend the words coming out of the man's mouth. He's almost 18, Student Body President, an honors student... of course he can graduate! "I still don't-"
"Mr. Eaton." Mr. Beed throws the pen onto his desk. Tobias flinches and stares at the counselor's polka-dot tie. "You have not gotten the art credits you need to graduate."
Tobias almost laughs aloud, relief spreading throughout his entire, stressed body. Art? That's what this is about? "So..."
Mr. Beed rubs one eye with the heel of his hand and looks at the boy with the other eye. It's half-closed in exhausted. The first week must take a lot on a high school guidance counselor. "You can't graduate without them!"
"I took my two required art classes in middle school."
"That doesn't count."
"Oh." Tobias pauses. "Why not?"
"Because that was middle school."
"So, why can't it just transfer over?"
"Because it doesn't work like that!"
"Oh. Why not?'
"Mr. Eaton." The counselor groans and rubs at his wrinkled face. Poor man, and it's only eight in the morning. "The point is, you need to fulfill your art credits this year or you will not graduate."
Tobias just stares at him.
"Here's what I'll do, Mr. Eaton." Mr. Beed decides, reaching towards his desk to rip off a sticky note. He grabs his pen and starts scribbling. "Since it's only the first week, we'll make an exception. You'll take Art One this semester and Art Two the next. Those classes will cover the needed credits unless you fail the class." He hands Tobias the slip. The sticky note is a bright pink and the handwriting is barley legible. "So, my advice is: don't fail the class."
His mother loved art.
She didn't do it, at least not well, but she had a large appreciation for the beauty. Their house was filled with fake Monet's and local artists' work before his dad drew a knife through each one, claiming that every time he looked at the canvas, he could hear her laughter. Tobias figures it must be hard, living in the house of your dead love, and seeing them in everything there. But, he doesn't see the fine China and crystal, heirloom glasses as a nightmare of the past that once including his mother. He sees them as a memory of her and he likes to hold onto that for as long as he can.
His mother loved art, so he's trying to find the beauty in it, too.
But, the art room is foreign territory, and he has better, more important stuff to do than paint flowers or sculpt a teapot.
Oh, man. He can almost feel her glaring down upon him from the afterlife for thinking that.
"Welcome to our class, Tobias." The art teacher smiles up at him from her seat behind her desk. It's not a regular, metal desk like all the other teacher's have. The top is a slab of gleaming cherry wood, held up by angels and roses, carved from the same material. He looks at that instead of her. "You may call me Miss. Johanna, if you please, and I can show you to your seat. We have a full house this semester!"
She claps her hands together and stands from her stool, leading him to the back table. All the other tables are full of teenagers of varying ages. They're all hard at work on something, already. Bottles of paint are scattered between desks and there's a low murmur of chatter. The room is calming with the quiet talking and all the colors.
Miss. Johanna's skirt swishes back and forth in a puffy cloud of deep purple and the multiple bracelets hanging around her wrists click together as she swings her arms. She gestures to an empty table. "I'm sorry to put you by yourself, but all the other seats are full-"
"This is fine, thank you." He assures her politely and her face splits into her usual, breezy smile. He tries not to focus his eyes on the scar running down one side of her face because that would be rude.
"So, our first project is a landscape painting." She says. Her voice is naturally calm and it washes over him like ocean waves. Maybe art won't be so bad. "You may pick any photo as a reference and you can catch up soon enough! Paint brushes are in the back, as well as paint." She points to everything she says, making his head spin. "If you have any questions, I'm happy to help you."
After that, she glides away with her swish-y skirt and clanging bracelets, leaving him to himself.
He sits on the stool, placing his books in front of him, and splaying his hands out on large piece of paper on the table. Sun filters through the windows and he has a perfect view of the football field from his seat. The quiet rumble of talk makes him feel, for once in his life, utterly alone.
It's a strange feeling. He's been alone before, his dad leaves him almost every week for business trips to fancy locations, and some of his classes are filled completely with kids he doesn't take to regularly. But, the people in his classes know him, maybe even admire him, but the students in here... they act like they could care less about his existence, they don't even bat an eyelash at him.
This is different, so different it's almost painful. This isn't a place he's familiar and comfortable in. He's not an artist and he doesn't like to mingle with the geeks who are. His home is out the window, the football field, but he's stuck in here, forced to survive in a strange environment, feeling like the kind of kid he usually ignores...
"Hey, Miss. Johanna." A familiar voice chirps suddenly, startling him. He looks towards the front and watches as the girl with the sharp face closes the door behind her and starts towards the art teacher's desk, a stack of books in one hand and a large folder in the other.
"Back again, Tris?" Miss. Johanna laughs a delicate laugh. He thinks that if a flower could laugh, it would have her laugh.
The girl with multiple names smiles and hands her a slip, shuffling her books. She sets the large folder on the ground, leaning it against her shin. Tobias has never seen her smile like that. It's soft, like a blurry picture, unlike her other harsh expressions. He likes this smile better than her other ones. It feels real and not like she's trying to impress someone. "I'm just trying to catch up on some stuff, since I can't come after school."
"Detention, again?" Miss. Johanna inquires.
She waves the question away with her free hand. "Caught cutting English-"
"Beatrice Prior..."
"Oh, it's nothing, Miss. Johanna. It's just English! I already know the language!"
"You need to go to class, Tris."
"Well, I can't now! I'm in study hall." She replies smartly and the teacher smiles again. Her next words are quieter, he can hardly hear them, and her smile is bright. He imagines that if he were closer, her eyes would be sparkling with stars. "I've been offered an interview."
Miss. Johanna claps her hands together and places her fingers over her grinning lips. "Oh, Tris, that's wonderful. Where?"
"Yale."
"Oh, Tris." Miss. Johanna repeats. She stands from her stool and embraces the girl from across the desk, her books a barrier in the middle, but they're both grinning like fools, probably not even noticing.
"It's a six-point-eight acceptance rate, but I'm just happy to have gotten an interview!" The blonde says, parting from the teacher. Both their eyes shine. "God, Yale University." She speaks wistfully, like the school is a dream and she knows she has absolutely no chance of getting in. To Tobias, she seems like the type of person that'll fight for anything she wants, not just give into wishful thinking.
"You'll have to share your table today." Miss. Johanna tells her and Tobias hastily looks away from the pair. He feels a burning gaze on him, but he doesn't look back up. "I have a new pupil today."
"Why's he here?" She asks. The words could've been said harshly, but her voice is bland, indifferent. He hears no malice, curiosity, or kindness.
"Art credits." Miss. Johanna's voice turns blank, too, at those words. She must not like people just taking her class to graduate.
"Figures."
Tobias wonders what she means by that, but it obviously isn't good.
"I'll let you get to work, Tris." The teacher tells her gently, a smile evident in her tone. "Congratulations."
Tobias sneaks a glance and watches the girl nod her thanks with a small curve of the mouth and then she heads towards him, towards her usual table.
She drops her books on the window sill and places the large folder on the table. It's gray and made of some thick, papery material. He looks back down at his blank piece of paper.
"Funny seeing you here." She speaks to him, a funny tone to her voice that he can't place. She opens the folder and takes out a thick, white board. It's covered in paint, a landscape of a Victorian house. He wonders if it's her house.
"Very funny indeed." He mutters in reply. He doesn't see her lips twitch in a smirk as he takes out his phone to look up random scenery for the painting he's supposed to be catching up on. He doesn't have time to make new friends with some art chick/band geek.
They work in silence. She moves around the room, gathering paint and brushes, sometimes conversing with random students. She sits next to him, so close her elbow sometimes touches his when she strokes the brush a certain way. He can't help but watch her. It's amazing, seeing something come to life, being put together, like a puzzle.
"I'm sorry," The girl mumbles, her hand still moving. Her wrist is thin and bones stick harshly from her skin when she bends her wrist in an weird position. Her eyebrows furrow when she concentrates. He looks up from his phone. "about Monday."
"It's fine." He doesn't really think of it as a big deal, but it's nice to get an apology. Wild kids hardly ever admit to committing a wrong.
She sighs and then takes her brush away from the painting. She looks right at him and he remembers the fire, from yesterday, that always seems to reside in her eyes. "It's just," She looks away hastily and dips the paint brush in a blob of gray paint, stirring it around. "my friends and I have a tradition of getting detention on the first day. Every year since sixth grade."
He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know why this strange, fiery girl is talking to him, or why he's even allowing it.
"I'm Tris." She finally introduces herself. She doesn't offer her hand or anything like that, she just continues to stir the paint.
"Tobias."
"I know." She grins.
"Oh. Right." Her grin gets larger. He fidgets in his seat.
The bell rings and he shoots from his stool, startled, knocking it to the ground. She smiles down at her painting, lifting the brush and starting again on the picture, as he picks up the stool. He collects his books and turns to leave, but hesitates, spinning to look back at the blonde girl, still sitting at the table, calmly painting while sunshine shines onto the table and a nice, summery breeze passes through the few open windows. He remembers how he compared her to a rebel angel.
"I'll, uh, see you around." He offers as a polite departing.
Her mouth curves. Her lips are naturally dark, reminding him of fresh raspberries. Her hair is messy, tugged into a ponytail, like on Monday. Piercings glint in her ears again. A rebel angel. "You bet."
A/N: Our first official encounter! How exciting!
So, now you kinda get a glimpse into Tris's life. This story will mainly be following Tobias, btw.
The reviews, follows, favorites... omg guys! There so good, I love you all so much I'm updating on a Sunday night!
So, for all of you wondering about One of the Boys, I'm not completely quitting it. I've invested so much effort into that fucking story, but right now I need a break from it and I really like this story, so I'll be devoted to this right now! Check back later, sorry.
Okay, guys, that's it for me. Any questions? Ask! I'm always here!
Sorry for any mistakes!
Love ya:)
-Scorpiius