3. Not mean, but a womanizer with a painted heart

The bell rang, indicating that the history class was now over. I gathered my things, stuffed them in my backpack, and zipped it this time. When I got up from my desk, I saw the hot, new boy in school standing in front of me, as he patiently waited and also prevented me from moving.

"Um, you are making my personal space smaller," I stated, without looking up at his face, because I knew it was too close for my liking.

"Yes, but we had an understanding… sort of," he spoke softly, not moving one bit, as he put out his right hand, "Hi, I am Thomas Black."

Oh, yeah? I didn't know that.

I mentally rolled my eyes and thought about it for a moment. I guess he was really up to do this from the beginning. 

Let's get just this over with, so we can get on with our lives.

"Alice Stevens. Nice to meet you, Mr. I have two identities." I greeted him back sarcastically, and took a half step back, to make eye contact. That was the only space I had.

"Hey, we are starting over. Don't be the mean one now. Aren't you going to shake my hand?" His smile had dropped a bit, and anyone could have heard the sad undertone in his voice.

"Who told you that I am nice? Maybe this is my normal behavior." I grinned, as I pursed my lips in amusement and placed my hand in his. His hand engulfed mine and the warmth from his skin seeped into mine, as he gently squeezed it. I don’t know what had happened, but that particular action had me very flustered. I could not stay there any longer. I cleared my throat and pulled my hand back quickly. Moving past him, I pushed him away gently with my shoulder. 

"Bye, Thomas." I bid him goodbye, as I made my way out, so he couldn’t see the redness on my cheeks that his touch had left in its wake.

"Bye... and by the way, Alice?" He yelled after me.

I stopped in my tracks, still not facing him, as I waited for him to speak. 

"I love your T-shirt." He stated, and my eyes momentarily widened. I was thankful that he couldn’t see me, as I rushed out and went straight to the bathrooms.

***

I had a Biology and English class with him, but we did not speak again. It was good. There was nothing more to say. He had his thing fixed or whatever you called meeting a person for the first time... again.

During our lunch break, I told Linda all about that famous boy, and she did not appear to be impressed by him one bit. That was why I loved her! She was not like others, and neither was I, therefore we were good together at being not like others.

"I wonder if you were the first person The famous boy met at this place?" She gave voice to her thoughts, but it didn't matter at all if it were me or not. 

Later that day, when I got to the gym, the Dean was already there with two boys whom I recognized from the art class. 

No other girls?

I looked around and spotted one older girl talking to Ms. Arthur, our art teacher. Sadly, I also saw Thomas leaning by the swimming pool entrance. 

Detention time.

"There you are, Ms. Alice." Dean Webster gestured for me to get closer to the group, "I am sure you know Adam and Peter. Over there is Daphne. She will lead the project… or let's say help with the big questions. Turn to her for information, but know that Ms. Arthur and I are always here for you."

"Hello everyone," I greeted the group casually which had six people.

Some greeted me back while some nodded. But, Thomas was the only one who sent me a wide grin, his pearly whites in view, as his nose scrunched up slightly. I tore my gaze away from his bright smile and reeled my attention back to the instructions for what we must do, and pointedly ignored the celebrity staring at me intensely.

Once we knew what we had to do and got places assigned for painting, I was happy to start on a wall at the far end of the hall. I had decided to listen to my Dad and do the crows. Two more students joined us later for detention and it was an unwritten rule, ‘Those in detention must help with bringing the materials required’. Simple things that couldn’t mess with real art. 

One of the best things I had heard today. 

Of course, I was in detention too, but the rule came out after I was appointed as one of the artists. So I got to do my painting, instead of bringing the paint for others.

I was more in my own skin when I drew than when I did anything else. It was like magic. It made all the unwanted thoughts disappear, leaving only harmony in their absence. I usually got in low spirits over the fact that my mother was not with me. She lived in another town or another country. I didn’t really know because she never called.

So much for the role model of a mother. 

I had no idea what it was like to have such a parent. It was an interesting feeling to live in a giant house with three siblings, but still feel lonely, abandoned even. The truth was that the twins and I were forced to live together because we had the same father. It didn't make us close at all. Sure, we greeted each other, ate together sometimes, but we barely talked or knew what the other was doing.

I didn't hate them or my Mum. I guess I just learned to keep my distance from everyone. I hardly ever trusted people. When I got upset over my luxury, but miserable existence, I just painted and listened to my music. The idea of me in an art school had been forming in my head for quite a while now.

I was in deep concentration, when a voice made me jump, which ended up with me making the crow look like a black swan. I stared at the blunder with widened eyes and mouth open.

"So you are into painting?" The voice spoke from behind me.

"What the… damnit! God!" I yelled, coming back to my senses, and what had just happened dawned to me.

"I am sorry." Thomas apologized, as he took a seat on the floor beside my paint boxes, and crossed his legs under him.

"You say that a lot to me. Maybe just don't do things to be sorry for?" I spoke through gritted teeth, my voice just a note higher than a whisper, all the while looking down at him.

"Sorry." He apologized… again and shrugged, realizing that he was apologizing once more, and he sucked in a breath, looking at me cautiously.

I stared at him for a few seconds then heaved a sigh and shook my head, "Oh, forget it. I will fix it." 

He let out a hum and made himself more comfortable before speaking again, "So… you are a painter who loves Disturbed. What else is there to know?" His eyes were focused on the can of blue paint and a brush, as he played with them.  

"Why do you care?" I asked, my response coming out a moment later than usual. It's how I was when I went too deep into my painting.

"Maybe because I am testing a theory."

My eyebrows furrowed, and my hand stopped mid-stroke. I tore my gaze away from the painting to glance at him, before resuming again. "What theory?"

"Will you smile if I make you talk about the things you like or not?" he cheerfully voiced out, and I turned to look at him, only to find him with a cheeky grin on his face and blue eyes shining with mirth. 

"Don't you have anything better to do? I don't know… maybe like write a song or something?" I spoke, as I huffed out a breath, but my lips lifted at the edges, and I faced away from him to look back at the wall.

"Oh, come on!" he groaned and I heard him standing up.

"What?!" I asked exasperatedly. When I didn’t get any response, I turned around, but he had already invaded my space again, as he leaned against the wall, just a breath away.

"Paint me a heart." He ordered with a charming yet cocky smile, pushing one of his hands in the pocket of his black skinny jeans.

"What?" I asked again in a dazed state, caught off guard by his sudden closeness.

"Paint me a heart." His lips moved in the most perfect way, as his blue eyes pierced mine.

I blinked at his request and questioned, "Why would I paint you a heart?”

"Because you love me." He stated, as a mischievous smile took over his features.

I scoffed and shook my head at him, "I don't love you!"

What was he talking about?

“But you have a crush on me.” He grinned again, showing his pearly whites this time.

"No, I don't!" I almost yelled, and quickly looked around to see if someone heard us, but no one cared.

"But you will!" Thomas countered.

His gaze never left my face and I swear the air left the room. I knew he was a minor celebrity and all, but it seemed like he had mistaken me with some shallow fan.

I had never been in such situations and no matter how confident I acted, I had to admit that I didn't know how to react to this. Thankfully, for the first time ever, I saw Steven as a savior. He had just appeared in the hall five feet away from me, followed by his gang of brainless bodies.

"Steven!" I yelled to get his attention.

He turned to me, with surprise and a bit of shock clear on his face. Even if we sat next to each other, we didn't talk. I had never felt the need to find him. It was strange, but he said goodbye to his friends and came up to me.

"Yeah?" He asked, stopping by my cans with paint.

"Um, I thought that... you might want to meet someone," I lied, but it seemed to work, "This is Thomas Black. You know him, right?"

"Oh, yeah! How are things, man?" Steven asked and held out his hand to shake Thomas's hand. "I'm Steven."

"Nice to meet you." The famous boy answered, with a frown and a sudden change in tone, laced with a hint of contempt.

"I will be around if you need anything." My brother said, but I knew he didn't really mean it. He was selfish and just said what people usually said.

"Thanks, man." Thomas gave a small smile, as kept up with his position on the wall.

"I asked Linda for a ride. I wanted to let you know." I informed him, but the truth was that my brother didn't even care if I went with him right now to carpool with dad and Tina or not.

"O-okay.” It was clear from his tone that he was confused. I knew he was wondering why I was telling him that. "Bye now."

With that he turned his back to us and ran a hand through his hair, still wet from the pool.

"So you have a stupid jock boyfriend, huh?" Thomas asked, with the same look he had on his face yesterday outside the Dean's office.

"Why do you care?" I asked, trying not to imagine if Steven would ever be considered a boyfriend for me.

"Because you have a crush on me, remember?" Thomas spoke in an obvious tone, raising his eyebrows for emphasis, as he leaned in even more, so I couldn’t escape his eyes.

His warm breath fell on my face, leaving behind a fresh minty scent. I pressed my paint covered hand on his chest to prevent him from coming closer and his dark blue T-shirt got messed up. As soon as my hand came in contact with him, I jumped back, mixed feelings coursing through my body. I was sorry for destroying his shirt, but amazed too, at how brave he was to come at me like that. I was trying very hard to clip the wings of those crazy butterflies in my belly which left behind a weird feeling.

"I am so sorry. I just... you came... I tried. Damn, sorry!" I stuttered, waving my gloved hands around to help me organize my thoughts.

He looked at his shirt and pulled it away from his skin with his thumb and forefinger, gripping the cloth to inspect it. Right in the middle of his chest was the black and white print from my hand. I think the feeling that prevailed in me was... terror.

"Sorry? For giving me what I wanted?" He asked and looked at me again with his annoyingly charming grin.

"What?!" I was asking that a lot today.

"You painted me a heart," he simply answered, without a hint of anger in his voice. "You painted mine."