The Dorm Guard 14 Chapter Fourteen: Artistic God

*

The garden shed at school was very stuffy. When I ventured inside, I was too hot in my jacket. Aside from the thin line outlining the shed door, the only light was an orange-yellow globe dangling at head height from the ceiling. All the art clutter was coated in the warm colour, making the room appear on fire.

The sweet sound of violins and cellos bounced around the room, the volume low but the ba.s.s so loud I watched the water in gla.s.s jars vibrate as I pa.s.sed them. Approaching the desk, I saw a large black stereo sitting on the very edge of the wood with bright green letters displaying 'Pompeii-Bastille' with a volume of 30. The moment I saw it I panicked that the base levels would cause it to topple off the desk, but Alexis, whose elbow was dangerously close to doing that anyway, didn't seem concerned as she ran her fingertips over some books.

"Afternoon, Alexis," I greeted placing my back on the worktable behind her. I watched her hand run along her desk until it met the stereo and turned a dial, taking the volume from 30 to 12.

"h.e.l.lo, Landon." She turned in her chair, her gaze fixed at chest level as she faced me. "Much happen today?"

I shook my head, "Nope. Normal day." The second week of school meant a solid routine, a.s.sessment calendars, outlines, expectations and homework had now officially been understood and formalised for students and faculty.

"Describe it to me anyway," Alexis replied, "Your normal may be different from mine." She leant on her legs and dropped her unfocused eyes to the floor, tilting her head so an ear faced me. When I started explaining my first cla.s.s, English, she interrupted me, "Bbbba!" She held a finger up at me to hush, "Try again. This time describe it to me."

I scoffed, "Seriously? You're going all The Book Thief on me?"

She exaggerated an offended gesture, "And what's wrong with The Book Thief?"

I started unzipping my bag to take out my English book and my toll for entering the garden shed. "Some things only work in literature. In real life, it's just weird."

She offered a half-smile. "Imagine that? Words and descriptions weird." She absently brushed aside her red hair, "You're talking to a blind girl, Landon. Words and descriptions and life are all I can see." She leaned back on her stool, resting her elbows on the desk. "So, humour me. I promise I won't laugh if your descriptions get weird."

I bit the inside of my cheek, every fibre of my being trying not to chuckle, but Alexis patiently waited. "Okay. Umm…" I clicked my tongue as I searched the room for inspiration. I found many trinkets but nothing relevant. "When I woke up it was cold, so cold it was hard to get out of bed and even harder to get changed into my uniform. Despite this, throughout the day it got warm, so wearing a jacket may have been a mistake," I attempted, "I had lost my tie over the weekend, so there was a bit of panic looking for that. I had checked under my bed, in my closet, my bag, but I couldn't find it. I then realised Mia, for some reason, had taken it when I went down for breakfast."

Alexis cracked a smile as I continued. "We had orange juice and waffles that Robyn made."

"What did they taste like?" she asked.

"Like orange juice and waffles…?"

She scoffed, "Anything Robyn makes doesn't just taste like orange juice and waffles."

Alexis was correct. Robyn had been experimenting with freshly squeezed orange juice, overall, I had no clue what she ended up putting in it. It tasted tangy and bitter but had a sweet aftertaste in the back of my throat. She burnt the first batch of waffles forcing everyone to push open windows, hallway doors and backdoors to get rid of the smell. It was like someone had burnt ice-cream cones. Despite this, everyone ate in silence, no one commenting on the culinary skills of Robyn.

I started describing my English cla.s.s again. I sat between Sheldon Manly and Wendy Brown, meaning outside of the whiteboard marker stink I got Sheldon's BO stench and Wendy's contrasting strawberry scent from whatever shampoo she had used that morning. When Mr Ratcliffe spoke, he sounded very sure and focused, then out of nowhere would go on a tangent about how chatty his neighbour was that morning. "Apparently when he drove away for work, she was still talking to him."

Alexis smiled. "Were you in the room with that faulty ceiling fan?" she asked, "The one that makes a weird rhythmic click that drives everyone crazy?"

I nodded, "Yes! Everyone else ignores it, but I have no idea how!"

She burst out into laughter, leaning over and holding her stomach. Just as sudden as her laughter was, it disappeared when she sat upright and sniffed the air. "Monster Munchies?"

I widened my eyes as I searched my bag for the bag of chips. It was in a concealed, airtight packet, how could Alexis smell it? When I found it, I realised the bag itself had popped, and even I could smell it. "Yep. Extra points if you can guess the flavour?"

Alexis hummed as she clasped her hands together and rested her thumbs against her front teeth. "I'm gonna say… BBQ."

"Close. Combination flavour; honey and BBQ." The Monster Munchie packet had a giant purple monster with four pointed teeth and wild red eyes.

Alexis grimaced, "Does that even go together?"

"It must," I stated crinkling the packet as I pa.s.sed it to her to try. She took out one of the chips and made a loud audible crunch.

"Interesting flavour choice," she confessed as she took another one. I quickly realised she made the loud crunching noise deliberately. "You said you put on a jacket," she said between mouthfuls, "But I reckon it's quite warm."

"It was colder this morning. It's only warm in here," I commented. The air was thick with paint, metal and pencils, and now Monster Munchies. "The air is cold at the moment, but the sun is nice." Alexis hummed at this as she turned back in her chair, going back to running her fingertips over her book. "What're you doing?"

"Reading."

"Is that easy to do? Reading braille, I mean," I asked. I had always been curious about braille verses regular reading, whether one was quicker than the other.

"I don't know any better," Alexis replied, her tone sounded like she had heard this question before. "I find the idea of reading with my eyes an enormous headache." When she spoke, her hands stopped running over the pages, when she finished they continued running lightly over lines. "I do reminisce in my visual reading though," she added, "Granted that was fourteen years ago, but I remember Dr Seuss books having colourful pictures and funny fonts."

"Those books were gold," I announced.

"They still are," Alexis replied.

Minutes later, the shed had the overpowering smell of Monster Munchies. "Okay, come on, we're going outside." I stood up and started packing up my books.

Alexis made a growling sound. "No."

"Yes. Come on." I stood up and took her hand. She allowed me to pull her arm up, but her b.u.t.t and body stayed on the stool and against her desk. "It's nicer outside," I informed.

"I'm an Irish descendant and a potential vampire, Landon. Designed for snowy climates and darkness, not sunlight and fresh air." She threw her head back, dramatically throwing her hair against her desk.

"You're not doing anything," I said, "You're sitting in the dark reading…" I looked at the front cover of her blue hardback, "The Memoir of a Maestro. You can do that outside."

She groaned, "No I can't."

I picked up the book before she could s.n.a.t.c.h it away, soon I was out of her reach, and she had to stand. "Are you seriously holding my book hostage?" she asked.

"Yes."

She furrowed her eyebrows as she reached aimlessly for something nearby. There was a string hanging from the ceiling by her desk. When she touched it, it pushed away, but she managed to get a hold of it and pulled it down, sending the room into darkness. It was incredible how dark the shed became, nothing gave off a shadow or an outline aside from the doorframe, so I made my way towards it. But a sharp pain struck my hip as I walked into the corner of the worktable. Moments after my yelp, Alexis grabbed my shoulders from behind and ran her hands down my arm to my hands, the touch stunning me as she took the book from my hands. "No one can compete with me on the same field."

In the dark, I spoke to her, "It's not healthy to stay in complete darkness."

I felt Alexis' hand rest against my chest, against her hand I could feel my heartbeat rebounding. "People think my whole life is in darkness," she replied, "But I'd argue it's much more colourful than yours."

I snorted a laugh, "I don't doubt that. But it's starting to reek a honey BBQ catastrophe in here." I grabbed her hand on my chest and tugged her half-heartedly. "I'm heading outside. You're welcome to come with me."

*

The sun was a nice contrast to the refres.h.i.+ngly cool breeze as we sat on one of the higher hills in the school. Slightly off centre to the hill was a tall tree with a long maze of branches that cast shade over two-thirds of the hilltop. I had to be careful where I placed my books because of the dewy gra.s.s caused by the shadow of the tree. I sat down on the edge of the shade, so my back was to the sun while Alexis crouched down to the ground, running her hands through the short gra.s.s, noticing herself the wet patch and dry patch. She sat down in the sun and placed her papers and books in her lap.

She stared, unblinkingly, down the hill, could she see she would've witnessed the drills of the soccer players as they ran back and forth across their fields. Alexis lifted her chin to the sky and closed her eyes, soaking in the sun like a sunflower. Such a peaceful image I almost wanted to photograph.

She made an irritated sigh and produced some thick-lensed sungla.s.ses. "Outside smells funny this afternoon," she said.

"Why? What smells?" I asked. I found it strange that Alexis could smell things I couldn't detect when we were outside, first the crisps in my bag, but what else?

"The tree smells damp," she stated as she ran her hands over some of the pages in her book, looking for a previously marked page. "On the way over here, I could smell leaves and mud, and from all the way down there I can smell the soccer boys." She found the page she was after. "It's also headache inducingly loud out here."

I tilted my head at this, noting the barely audible yells of the boys on the field and the occasional bird or rustle of leaves. "Seems peaceful," I commented.

"Your sight drowns it out," Alexis informed, "But everything to me gives off colours and vibrations if I stare at it too long."

"Is it too uncomfortable?" I asked.

"I'll live," she replied, her eyes resting at a point in the gra.s.s. "After all, my time also seems to be your time. You should be able to pick where we dwell." The more she spoke, the more light-hearted she became. "I imagine a Landon needs at least half an hour of sunlight daily."

"You didn't have to follow me out," I countered. Meters from the shed, Alexis trailed behind me and grabbed the sleeve of my s.h.i.+rt to follow me. Alexis grinned as she continued reading her book, s.h.i.+fting in discomfort from the gra.s.s against her legs every couple of moments. "Are you okay with me hanging out with you in the afternoons?"

"Tis fine. Some company is always nice." She stopped her fingertip trails, "I'm more curious why you feel the need to, Dorm Guard. Scholars.h.i.+p duties?"

I rolled my eyes at the t.i.tle but considered it. My scholars.h.i.+p was sports based, which I intended to attempt to fulfil later, and duty based. I had yet to see Alexis leave the shed and had a weird sense of urgency with her, not as if she was helpless, but I wanted to see with my own eyes she was okay. Was this part of my duties? "Why do you hang out with me, Landon?" Alexis asked bluntly, "We've had no prior relations.h.i.+ps before you came to this school and you found me in a shed and gave me a sandwich."

I shrugged. "Maybe I just enjoy your company," I a.s.sured. Alexis seemed to consider this, before returning to her book. "So… you're a scholars.h.i.+p kid too," I said.

"Nothing gets past you."

"Do you have a duty to fulfil then?"

"All scholars.h.i.+p students have duties to fulfil," Alexis informed, "They don't give general scholars.h.i.+ps anymore. Only specific ones."

"What're your duties then?" I asked.

She ran her hands over her books and papers, eventually leafing through a small pile. Some had lines and lines of brail, while others plastered with bright advertis.e.m.e.nts for parties or products. With little indication as to why, she pulled one paper out and confidently handed it to me. It was a small pamphlet advertising 'True You – The Art of Ident.i.ty' Art Show. It featured a photo-realistic painting of a Muslim girl, with a dour expression, surrounded by bright colours in the form of flowers, flags and birds.

"To oversimplify, I'm expected to win or get top ten per cent in stuff like that," she informed. "My Art Scholars.h.i.+p automatically enrols me in most compet.i.tions that involve most art mediums."

"Like sculpture and paints and stuff?" I asked.

She nodded, "Yep. I once made a tapestry for one of the compet.i.tions. I think I came… fourth overall."

"Out of?"

She shrugged, "It was a state-wide compet.i.tion." She lifted the book she was reading to show me a black covered painting sketchbook. "You can have a look if you want." She held her small book out to me.

The book weighed more than I antic.i.p.ated and was overflowing with different types of paper and fabrics. Alexis waited in silence, listening to me turn the pages. She liked bright colours and surreal images of realistic things. Any mini-portraits of people were coloured in oranges, reds, pinks, and blues and were distinct enough for me to see the ridge of a nose, a sparkle for the eyes and the streaks for limbs, but they all lacked a specific sense of realism. Some figures dressed in different textures, women covered in stiff feathers or crunchy Autumn leaves, and men in materials to shape suits or the occasional hat.

Aside from people, Alexis liked nature. There were countless sketches of large willow trees and oaks, pencil drawings of lily pads and cool water details. My favourite was a page of black, with grey and white specs swirled or left alone to make a galaxy appearance. When I ran my fingertips over the centre of the black hole I felt the rough texture of sparkles, giving the image another layer of unexpected beauty.

"These are good," I said, "I wish I could do stuff like this."

"Nothing's stopping you. It's practise and pa.s.sion." She took back her book and ran her hands over the sparkly galaxy. "A lot of people think I cheat with how often I win things or come close to winning things. But I don't make anything unless I have something to say," she informed, "There's nothing worse than a forced piece of art."

Alexis started turning the pages herself, in a pa.s.sing glance I saw some figures that were strangely familiar. "Was that Bonnie?" I asked.

She stopped flicking and went back to the page I was talking about; it was a faceless girl with black hair sitting in a silver wheelchair mid-push. On the same page in the top corner was a little bundle of a person, also faceless and featureless, with almost white blonde hair holding something I couldn't quite identify.

"A lot of this book has the girls and Amada in it in one way or another," Alexis informed, "They're honestly a unique group."

I reached forward and looked at the next few pages. "Did you hear about what happened over the weekend?"

"With Estelle? Yeah, she told me about that," Alexis brushed aside some hair that dangled over her face. "I feel bad for her, but if I had an allergy that bad, I'd check sweets before I stuff my gob with them. Live and learn I guess."

One page dedicated to Amada and Amia, the same pose, same posture, same hair, but different clothes and different backgrounds. One a soft purple with straight lined symbols painted dark purple, while the other was light blue with darker blue circles and curves. "You seem to understand these guys better than each other. How much do you know about them?" I asked. The next page focused on Estelle, at least from one perspective. Estelle's features, while undefined, were split in half, one side appearing happy and bright, while the opposite seemed sombre and flat.

"Virtually everything."

As I looked at Estelle's picture, I found this jarring. "Why?"

"They're fascinating muses," she informed, "Socially awkward, high-cla.s.s, emotional, real muses."

The next page I couldn't guess who it was. "Who's this?" I asked.

"Please describe," Alexis requested.

I snorted at myself. "Sorry. Um, a figure in the middle of the page wearing a tutu with orange lightning and yellowish lines?"

"Oh, that's Robyn."

I blinked. "I don't understand the symbolism of this one," I admitted. Robyn seemed quiet and absent, very inward, this suggested she was ecstatic and loud.

"Robyn is a ballet dancer," Alexis informed, "An elegant practice, but she also loves feeling the base of the heavy rock."

I scoffed, "Robyn? The adorable daydreamer, gift maker and amateur chef?"

Alexis nodded, "Yep. She goes to proper ballet lessons on Thursdays and Sundays, and when she thinks she's alone, she'll blast the stereo with Metal to lie on the floorboards by the amp."

I laughed in disbelief, but Alexis wasn't joking. On the next page, I expected to see Ava, but the page was a small figure in the centre of white, no details, no symbols or colours, just a lonely figure sitting in the centre of a white page. "Don't you know Ava very well?"

Alexis offered a smirk, but it was almost sad. "I know her the most out of everyone." She closed the book and sighed, "She's very dedicated to other people. The only aspect of her personality I'm aware of isn't something I'm willing to show when she tries so hard to hide it."

"She tries to hide everything about her real self?" I asked.

"Not everything. That work is an extreme representation of it," Alexis informed, "In some ways, art overstates certain quirks of a person, and makes ones that don't even exist."

"Don't you have to do that though? Not everyone knows who you're painting," I said.

Alexis nodded, "Yep. The power of the subjective. I can make a person with a paint stroke." She puffed out her cheeks before closing her book and lying down on the gra.s.s. "Their whims behind shading, their beliefs behind posture, their history behind scars," as she spoke her hands clasped the artbook on her stomach. She sighed again. "The power of an artistic G.o.d."

"Is that how you see yourself?" I asked, "An art G.o.d?"

"Everyone has the potential to be their own G.o.d of their own little universe. Some decide to keep it to themselves." A small breeze rustled over us, causing the tree branches to creak. "Tesla saw a world where cars replaced horses and people could talk without being in the same room. Leonardo Da Vinci saw a world where humans flew with nothing but fabric and wood. Archimedes even saw a world dominated by numbers and principles through the eyes of a maths, where the world existed amongst the stars and heat could be harnessed to burn holes through sails."

"You're starting to lose me," I confessed. Something was mesmerising about how Alexis spoke, the layback pa.s.sion she had that I couldn't quite grasp, but it was fascinating.

"Don't worry. I was rambling." With that, she fell silent, her philosophy disappearing with her.