Authors: Sarah Carter
The Art of Life
Sarah Kay Carter
The Art of Life
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters,
places and incidents are products of the
writers
imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real.
Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or
organizations is entirely coincidental
The
Art of Life
© 2012 by Sarah Kay Carter.
All
rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By
payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive,
nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No
part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled,
reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and
retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or
mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written
permission of Sarah Kay Carter.
FIRST
EDITION
Cover
Design by:
Anmar
Nevarez
This
book is dedicated to three people.
To
my love and best friend, Steven,
I
wouldn’t have started writing again without him.
To
my ultimate number one fan, Heather,
Your
enthusiasm has always pushed me to write.
To
Kidd, you are my brain
stormer
and
crazy writing sidekick.
I
throw open my locker and shove my books onto the top shelf.
My gaze falls upon the mirror that my mom
purchased for me.
Yeah, nice present
mom, I hate looking at myself.
My hair
is unruly, curly, and mousy brown and my eyes a dull blue.
I am not attractive in the slightest.
My mom says, ‘You’re beautiful’, I say, she’s
full of it.
She might be right but I
have no self esteem, zero,
zip
.
I slam my locker door, and growl with
frustration.
It’s
then that I see the face behind my locker.
Eric’s eyes look at me blankly.
As his eyebrow raises, my face turns beat red.
Great, absolutely great, so this is how my
day is going to go.
“Hey,” I mumble.
Eric
just shakes his head and opens his locker.
Wow, he is ignoring me.
There is
a surprise!
I just sigh and walk
away.
My next class is Art.
Probably the one thing I am good at.
I take my usual seat in the corner, away from
everyone.
I wish this day would end,
just like every other day of high school.
I stare out the window, as I wait for the bell to ring.
When a chorus of bubbly voices
enters the room, my stomach turns.
Awesome, they are here.
My eyes
turn to the girls who make my life a living hell.
Jessica, the blonde cheerleader is the
atypical pretty girl;
Daniella
, is the shorter one
with the black bob; but the ring leader is Sonya.
She is the pristine, perfect brunette.
I think she has had work done.
Her daddy sure gives her everything she
wants, so it wouldn’t surprise me.
Of
course, they take the seats on the opposite aisle of me.
Shoot me now, please.
As, Sonya sits down, her
predatory eyes stare directly at me.
I choose to ignore her.
“My, my,
my, Isabelle,” she laughs, “Aren’t we…..pretty….unique today.
What a nice outfit.”
My
mind instantly drifts to what I am wearing.
Okay, yes, I have absolutely no fashion sense, and Sonya makes sure I
know it nearly every day.
I have on blue
capris and a purple striped shirt.
Now,
thinking about it, I don’t match at all.
It’s another epic fail on my part, but alas, it is one of many.
I take out my sketch pad and continue to
ignore Sonya.
“Look
Sonya, she is doodling again,”
Daniella
laughs.
“Drawing up her dream guy.”
“Do
you mean Eric?” Sonya asks snidely.
The pencil that I just picked up snaps in my hand.
“
Ooo
, I seem to
have struck a nerve.”
She leans
over.
“It’s okay, we all know about your
crush.
I promise I won’t tell.”
After
all this time, you would think it wouldn’t bother me anymore, but it still
does.
My chest tightens and I have to
look away.
The girls just laugh.
Suddenly, the bell rings and I take a deep
breath.
The teacher starts talking up
front and which means the attention is taken away from me, for now.
I
find a reprieve when I can draw.
Yeah, I
won’t lie; I have sketched Eric a million times, but NEVER in school.
I am not that stupid.
Today, we are supposed to draw one of those
wooden figures they set up on your desk.
This is easy and takes me no time, so when I am
done,
I take out my own sketch book.
I love
charcoal pencils.
They are the best
things to draw with.
Much of the time I
let my imagination take me away, but today, well, today, I am a little
vindictive.
I sketch a guillotine, with
Sonya’s head in it.
I never said I was
super mature.
At
least it’s my senior year and soon I won’t have to deal with this place
anymore.
When the bell rings to end the
day, I snatch up my stuff and nearly run out of the room.
Good thing I don’t need to stop at my locker
today.
I don’t think I could take seeing
Eric, again.
Who knows what Sonya has
said to him?
Maybe, I will forget about
all this tomorrow, probably not, but here’s to hoping.
Our
high school is pretty big, so I get lost in the crowd leaving school.
Unlike everyone else at my age, I don’t have
a driver’s license, could be, because my mom doesn’t give a rip about me.
She is a functioning alcoholic.
Mom has a great job, but drinks like a
fish.
Most of the time, I am happier
when she isn’t home.
I turn down a
street that nobody else ever takes.
This
way, I don’t run into anybody.
I
really wish I were different, but I have had no help at home.
I don’t think my mom ever wanted kids.
To say I was an accident is an
understatement.
My mom has never told me
who my dad is.
There is no name on my
birth certificate, so I have no idea.
Maybe, she doesn’t know.
That
wouldn’t surprise me.
I
look at my watch.
Hmm, mom will be home
soon, and I don’t particularly want to deal with her today.
To the coffee shop I go.
When I get there, the girl behind the counter
smiles, “Hey, Isabelle, the usual today?”
“Yeah,
thanks
Merrisa
,” I reply.
She turns and makes me my drink.
I take cash out of my pocket.
That’s one thing my mom always gives me,
money.
Hey, it lets me get coffee and
escape for a few hours.
I scuff my
sneaker against the floor, as I wait.
Finally, she sets my latte down.
“Thanks,” I say, as I pay her and leave a great tip.
I like
Merrisa
.
She talks to me like a human being.
It’s
nice out today, and I think I will sit outside.
The sun feels good against my skin.
I like warm weather.
I would not
do well in Alaska.
I take my headphones
out and put them in my ears, turning my music up rather loud.
My sketch pad makes it on the table, and I go
to work.
I am trying to work on
landscapes more.
Faces and people are my
strengths, so I am trying to broaden my horizons.
As
I set down my empty coffee, I sigh.
I
want another one.
Taking my ear buds
out, I press stop.
It’s then that I
notice the shadow pass over the table.
I
look up and my heart drops.
What in the
hell, can I not catch a break?
“What do
you want?” I groan.
Sonya
shifts her weight onto her other leg.
“We want this table.”
My
attention turns to the area around me.
“There are five other open tables.”
“Yeah,
but we want this one,” she replies.
“What
is your problem?” I snap.
“Can’t you
just leave me alone?”
Laughing
like a witch, Sonya says, “Why would we?
You are such an easy, fun target.
Look at you.
You’re ridiculous.”
Can
I just die?
One of these days,
please?
“
Thanks,
go sit somewhere else.”
She
leans forward onto the table.
“Move your
pathetic ass.”
“We
were actually just leaving,” a voice says.
Everyone’s
gaze moves to the figure that slides into the seat next to me.
Umm, hello.
Who in the world are you?
The
girl’s eyes widen, as do mine.
There is an
amazingly hot guy sitting next to me.
He
gives this glowing smile to Sonya.
“I
keep asking her to let me take her for the ride of her life, and she has
finally given in and said, yes.”
Huh?
I think my mouth is actually
open.
His chocolate brown eyes turn to
me.
“Right honey?”
“What?”
I whisper.
“You
have to be joking,” Sonya sneers.
Getting
an even bigger grin, he says, “Oh, I never joke about my motorcycle.”
Motorcycle?
My eyes, along with the girls’, turn to the
street.
There is a black bike leaning on
its kick stand.
It’s gorgeous.
I shake my head in a dumb stupor.
I turn back to the guy next to me.
The look on my face has to be priceless.
He picks up his helmet and thrusts it out for
me.
“I demand that you wear this
though.”
Unable
to control my own impulse, I watch as my hand reaches out and takes it.
“Okay,” is the only response I can muster
up.
“This….this
is your girlfriend?” Sonya stutters.
“How
rude of me,” the guy stands up and extends his hand.
“My name is Jeremy.”
Sonya
takes it hesitantly and shakes it.
“Hi.”
Then
Jeremy turns back to me.
“Pack up your
things so we can go.”
I just sit and
stare at him.
He gives me an urging
look.
I don’t know why, but I start to
put my stuff in my backpack.
Suddenly,
someone else walks up.
Crap, it’s Eric.
He saunters up and looks at Jeremy, and then
me.
“Hey,” he says slowly.
Turning to Sonya, he goes, “What’s going on?”
“This
is Jeremy.
Supposedly, he is this
freak’s boyfriend,” she replies, pointing to me.
“Hey,”
I snap.
“I have a name,
it’s
Isabelle, and you damn well know it!”
Putting
up his hands, Jeremy exclaims, “Hold on!
I am technically not her boyfriend.”
This
is just great.
I have no idea who this
guy is, but he just made my life worse.
“No, you’re not,” I emphasize.
Please, make this end.
“I
keep asking her out, over and over again and she keeps denying me, but I
believe my persistence will work out soon; exactly why I am going to give her
the…ride…of her life.”
He grabs my hand
and says, “Let’s go.
I have plans for
us.”
Not
sure what to do, I whisper, “Okay.”
When
I look up, my heart swells.
Everyone has
shocked looks on their face.
This guy is
beyond gorgeous and he is putting on a show to help me.
I can’t help but smile.
Sweet, sweet, vindication.
I will live this up, until it is over.
If it doesn’t blow up in my face in a second,
it turns out to be some horrible practical joke.