Plastic Hearts Page 5

Page 5

  Author: Lisa De Jong

  Today was the first day of the second semester. I was more nervous than usual because I had signed up for an Art class. I slipped it past my parents by telling them it was an optional elective for my Pre-Med degree. That much was true. It would fulfill my requirements, but more than that it would give me an opportunity to do something I wanted to do for once.

  Art was my passion, the one thing that allowed me to escape all the stresses in my life. I could take all my feelings, thoughts, and concerns and stick them on canvas. I’d never been able to find my voice where my parents were concerned, but my hand found a paintbrush when I was five. I guess you could blame my elementary art teacher, Mrs. Rome, but the first time I held a paintbrush, I knew I was onto something. That day my mom had taken away my favorite doll; she said I was too old to play with toys and it was time to take piano lessons and work with a math tutor. I didn’t want to play the piano and I was already way ahead of my classmates in math. I didn’t say anything, though. I never did. However, that day I took a brush and stroked it over a large white piece of paper until the bell rang and I realized how much better I felt when class was over. It soon became my form of expression and an outlet for all the things I wanted to say, but couldn’t. Art meant everything to me.

  I looked at the clock on the wall; I only had ten minutes before I had to start my walk across campus. I glanced over at Jade who was still sleeping and remembered she had a class the same time I did. She could care less if she went to class or not, but for some reason it mattered to me. She was always there for me when I had boy or parental difficulties and this was the one thing I could offer her. I was good at doing what I was supposed to do.

  "Jade, you need to get up. I have strict instructions not to let you miss the first day of class!" I yelled as I threw my textbooks into my backpack. Jade missed so many classes last semester that she almost got kicked out of school. She had vowed to do better this term and I had promised to help her. I couldn’t guarantee she would make it to all her classes, but the first day was pretty important.

  "Who gave you those instructions?" she mumbled, rolling over and folding her pillow over her head.

  "You did," I said, grabbing a notebook and pen off my desk.

  "Okay, just give me five more minutes. " She moved so that her head rested back on her pillow, using her arm to cover her eyes.

  "That leaves you with five minutes to get yourself ready," I said, dangling her need to always look good. She rolled out of bed and grabbed her robe so fast you would have thought the fire alarm sounded. She was a little on the side of ridiculous, but I loved her anyway.

  "Is that what you’re wearing?" Jade asked as she crinkled her nose. I had chosen a pair of old jeans that were worn in the knees and frayed at the bottom and paired it with a fitted royal blue turtleneck sweater. Not my best outfit, but it was appropriate for where I was going. I attended class to learn, not to pick up guys. Her face seemed to lighten as she looked up and saw that I had let my long blond hair fall into soft waves instead of doing my usual ponytail or loose knot at the top of my head. I threw on my puffy black coat and turned back to look at her.

  "I start my Art class today and I don't need paint stains on my good jeans," I said, giving myself a once over. By this time she was dressed in black leggings and a long grey tunic and had started to pull on her knee high boots. Why anyone would go through all that trouble to sit through a lecture or two was beyond me. I pulled my backpack on and headed toward the door.

  "I’m taking off. Don't forget your textbooks. " I began the ten-minute walk to the NYU Art Center and instantly regretted that I hadn’t grabbed my hat and gloves; the weather in New York was anything but tropic in the middle of January. Personally, I didn’t mind winter. There was nothing better than jeans and sweater weather. A storm a few days before had left a light dusting of snow on the ground and my feet made a crunching sound with every step I took. It was a melodic, relaxing sound that cleared my mind as I inched closer to class.

  My pulse picked up as I entered the art studio that would hold my class for the next four months. It wasn't the class itself that scared me; I was walking into a room full of strangers whom I would join three times a week for two hours as we shared our intimate thoughts through art. The people in this class would probably end up knowing more about my inner thoughts than any friend or family member. Art was a way to express everything that I was feeling during a given day; some days it all came out rainbows and sunshine, but on others it was clouded by darkness. While most of my friends had journals or laid out their inner feelings through multiple Facebook posts, I had chosen to draw and paint in my family’s pool house. My parents weren’t particularly fond of my love for art, but had agreed that the ‘little hobby that I would simply have to grow out of’ could be done out of sight.

  When I walked past a circle of easels in the center of the room, I noticed art desks in sets of two; there was only one set open and it just happened to be in the front row. If I wouldn’t have had to deal with Jade this morning I would have made it to class in time to get a better seat, but of course things didn’t work out that way. That girl really needed to invest in an alarm clock and a decent amount of self-discipline.

  I put my bag down and grabbed a new notebook and pencil as the professor cleared his throat, signaling the start of class. "Good Morning, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Greg Thomas and I’ll be your instructor for the next 16 weeks. ”

  Greg Thomas couldn’t have been more than five foot seven and wore a ridiculous pair of dark jeans pulled up a little too high on the waist and a patterned button down western shirt. His glasses looked like they hadn’t been updated in years and he had longer hair in the back, some of which was combed forward to his forehead in order to hide an obvious bald spot. I couldn't help but ponder the idea of submitting him to the TV show, What Not to Wear, or the movie Clueless. I needed to find his Miss Geist and set him up.

  "This semester we will be going over many different art types, from Abstract to Portrait to Still Life. I know some of you may already have a niche you would like to concentrate on, but this is Art 101 and it’s required for all Art majors. Consider it a stepping stone to your future. " He began to write week one goals on the board when the door directly to his right opened, causing everyone to focus their attention in that direction.

  At first I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me because it was Sexy Stranger from the club. He was dressed the same as the other night, wearing faded blue jeans that sat low on his waist and a brown leather jacket over a fitted white t-shirt. One thing I hadn’t noticed before was the amazing color of his eyes. They were the shade of green sea glass and, with the reflection of the light, they showed a vibrancy I didn’t know eyes could possess. He looked around for a second, realizing the seat next to me was the only one open. I realized I was staring and quickly looked down at my notebook, hoping he wouldn’t recognize me. I talked to him for all of five minutes the other night, but something about him unnerved me. I couldn’t place it, but I was definitely feeling a level of uncomfortable that I wasn’t used to. As he took the seat next to me my eyes betrayed me, trying to get another glimpse of the new guy. When our eyes met, I felt extremely uneasy, wishing there was a hole to climb into. Eye contact had always been an issue for me; I was afraid someone would see through me and would realize that I wasn’t who I pretended to be.

  "Excuse me. What’s your name?" the instructor asked, bringing my focus back to the front of the room. He was staring directly at my new neighbor with a look of annoyance that I usually only saw from my father.

  "Dane Wright,” he said, drawing my attention back to him. The hot guy from the club had a name…and a deep masculine voice that had me silently begging to hear more. He looked in my direction and winked before turning back around to face the instructor. My heart rate picked up again; I’d be lucky if I got through this day without having a freaking heart attack. I
didn’t know a thing about this guy - besides that he went to dance clubs and attended an Art class - but my body couldn’t stop reacting to him. I never had this type of reaction to guys, ever.

  "Okay, Dane Wright, why don't you tell me what time this class starts?" Mr. Thomas asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Even in his awkward state of fashion, he looked intimidating.

  Dane took a piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it. "It begins at 9am according to my schedule. If you would like to look at it, I can make you a copy. " Dane smiled and looked back at our classmates to see how many were getting a good laugh from the scene he was causing. For whatever reason, this lit his fire. I felt like someone had put me in a time machine and sent me back to high school.

  Mr. Thomas placed his hands on his hips. "Okay, Dane Wright. Look at the clock and tell me what time it is now. "

  "Well, Mr. Thomas, it’s 9:11am, but I’ve been in this chair for at least three minutes, maybe four,” he replied. This guy was arrogant and immature; I expected guys to be a little more mature by the time we hit college. I guess not everyone could live up to my expectations.

  "Okay class, in honor of Dane Wright, the seat you’re in now is your assigned seat for the whole semester. I want our shining star right in the front row where I can see him. He will be in charge of fetching my paints when I need them during lessons and cleaning up any messes. " There was another roll of laughter from the back of the classroom as Mr. Thomas returned to the board. I didn’t find it funny and I was ready to get class started. The sooner we got through this first day nonsense, the sooner I could put a paintbrush in my hand again.

  Dane ran both hands over his short brown hair as he sighed and leaned over to grab something out of his bag. His arm lightly brushed mine as he sat back up in his chair, causing a shiver to run through my body.

  "Your first assignment involves getting to know the person sitting next to you. The remainder of class today will be spent interviewing each other. You will have the opportunity to create a piece of art that represents your partner during class on Wednesday and we will present on Friday. You can use any method of art you would like. This will give us the opportunity to get to know each other and for me to see where you are with your art. Go ahead and get started. "