☞ Clara's Pov ☜

One of the greatests suggestions my therapist ever gave me was about sticky notes.

During one particularly hard session in which I informed Dr. Silva of all the things wrong with me and the world, she stood up, walked over to her desk, grabbed a pack of sticky notes and started writing down every comment I made. When I was finally finished with my pity party, she made me stand in front of the full length mirror propped against the back wall of her office as she stuck each note around my reflection and read them out loud.

Then she just let me stand there and look at myself.

After a few minutes of heavy silence Dr. Silva's voice was soft yet firm when she explained, "Our thoughts are powerful things. They stick on the inside: to our mind, our heart, our soul. But they influence the outside: our speech, our actions, our relationships. If you wake up every morning and think to yourself that you're not worth a smile from anyone, then you're not going to smile at anyone either. If you tell yourself you're not worth the love of those around you, then hugs getter a little harder to give and they become almost impossible to receive. Compliments become lies, and insults become truths, until eventually the sticky notes you worked your whole life at writing; the ones that say you're worth it, you're beautiful, you're smart, and funny, and kind, and generous, they get lost in the sea of sticky notes you let others write for you."

She takes a moment to rip a sticky note from the edge of the mirror and place it over my reflection's heart. "Are these really the thoughts you want attached to yourself?"

She rips off another sticky note and places it over my reflection's lips. "Are these the lies you're going to turn into truths?"

She rips off a final sticky note and places it over my reflection's head. "Are these the words you want to dictate the rest of your life?"

No they weren't.

And as I stood there, tears streaming down my cheeks, staring back at my reflection surrounded by orange sticky notes inked with slights and insecurities, I wondered how many other people had the same sticky notes glued to their mirrors.

That evening I took home every bright orange square and stuck them around my own mirror above my vanity where I often sat each morning to apply my makeup. I told myself that each day I would trade one orange sticky note for a pink one. I'd trade a lie for a truth, a discouragement for an encouragement, a tear-me-down for a pick-me-up.

And I would spend that entire day trying to be an example to others of what I wrote.

I'm not gonna lie, it was hard at first. Your mindset doesn't just change overnight. You can't just flip a switch and be all better in the snap of your fingers. But this journey to healing, one I'm still currently on, was and is definitely worth it. Especially when I'm able to help others and not just myself.

The first quote I wrote on a pink sticky note to replace an orange one was by Max Eastman which stated: "A smile is the universal welcome." It was the same quote scribed across the poster taped to the door of Dr. Silva's office, and it had always granted me a sense of ease, especially on the first time I came for a session after that night.

"A smile is the universal welcome," quickly became another mantra I live by and also why I decided it was a good idea to wear bright red lipstick to school which matched the color of my shirt as well as my socks, which poke out from my white Chuck Taylors.

A bold color to outline my bold smile, my bold welcome.

Turns out though that even when you're not smiling, people - especially teenagers - will still stare at your mouth when you paint it with a color you could see from a mile away. To say I was uncomfortable with this level of attention was an understatement, and as I make my way to Studio Art, my fourth period, I twist the bracelets around on my wrists.

But I guess the more people who stare, the more people I can welcome, so I'm determined to fake it 'til I make it for the rest of the day. But tomorrow it was back to natural lip stains and clear gloss for sure.

••••••••••••

When I walk through the door to the art room I'm instantly hit by the smell of acrylic paints. The classroom is really the size of two and tables big enough to sit two people are scattered throughout the room in no particular direction or pattern. Artwork from past students lines the walls and in the far back of the room creative tools and supplies fill stained wooden shelves that reach the ceiling. The faint sound of music filters through the air.

I awkwardly stand to the side of the door as I scan for an open seat. Even though I arrived early, most seats are filled and their occupants are seemingly deep in conversation.

Must be nice to already know everyone, I think as my eyes wander towards the back of the class where I spot a boy sitting alone, and not just because the seat next to him is empty. The three tables around him are empty as well.

I play with the frayed ends of my braided bracelet as I make my way over to the loner. His head is dipped down as he focuses on sketching an image onto a loose piece of paper. His leg bounces up and down, the cause I assume being nerves.

Maybe he's new as well.

Pulling out the stool beside him I drop my backpack to the ground and scoot myself back up to the table purposely making a little extra noise hoping to get his attention. But I receive no reaction from him.

My eyes wander to his profile and then down to his sketch. With a standard blue bic pen, half the face of an attractive woman is drawn in sharp and short lines. Her eyes are squinted with wrinkles around the edges. Her nose is slightly scrunched and a small dimple appears on her cheek from the genuine smile radiating from her lips. The sketch is only halfway done and it's already better than any one of my completely done drawings.

"I like your sketch," I comment, still turned towards the artist. Again I'm given no response, but I shake it off thinking he probably just didn't hear me due to being so focused.

So I try again, but a little louder this time, "Your sketch is beautiful." Again nothing.

What's this kid's problem?

Determined for my compliment to not go unnoticed, I reach over and softly tap his left hand a couple times with my index finger. His hand jerks away as if burned and his head snaps up in my direction.

Well dang, the woman in his sketch wasn't the only thing that was undeniably attractive. His thick eyebrows were scrunched in question above his deep midnight eyes which were separated by a perfectly straight nose. His lips were kinda full for a guy and his cheekbones were sharp, but his jaw was strong and lean.

After a few to many seconds of us staring at each other I finally regain my ability to speak. "She's beautiful."

"Who?" The boy questions beginning to swivel around in order to face the same direction I am.

"Your sketch," I smile pointing towards the piece of lined paper, "it's beautiful. I really like it."

"Oh, thanks," he smiles then pauses for a moment before adding, "I like your lips."

I tilt my head and purse my lips in slight confusion. He runs his hand through his already tousled hair as if he's just realized what he's said.

"I mean I like your lipstick, the color. Sorry, lips are probably a bad thing to compliment," he chuckles wringing his hands together. "Red is definitely your color though, brings out the pink of your cheeks," he says as his eyes flit around my face until they land back in my gaze and he smiles once again when he notices mine has returned.

"Thanks," I say. "And no need to be sorry. There's no such thing as a bad compliment."

"I'm not sure that's true. Obviously you've never complimented a girl about her massive hands." Mystery boy shutters at what must be a recent and uncomfortable memory.

I laugh at his reaction and shake my head, "No I have never done that, but I can imagine that scenario not ending so well." I pause for a moment before adding, "I'm Clara by the way."

"Atticus, nice to meet you."

"You too," I return just as our teacher addresses the room.

"Alright my future Warhols, Van Gohs, and Dalis it's time to stop the chit chat and focus up here," Mrs. Rhodes announces pointing both thumbs at herself. She runs through the obligatory speech every teacher seems to spiel on the first day of school which goes over her expectations for the class and the rest of the year, what our biggest projects will be, and the layout for the midterm and final exam.

Finally after what seems like an eternity Mrs. Rhodes concludes her talk by stating, "Now I'd like everyone to take a turn to tell the class your name, your grade, and the most terrifying event of your summer."

The most what now? I think to myself. What kind of icebreaker question is that?

Groans of protest echo around the room but Mrs. Rhodes seems unfazed by everyone's auditory annoyance.

"Why don't we start on this side of the room. You go first hun."

Her finger points directly at Atticus and everyone swivels around to stare at him now. His leg begins to bounce a little faster and his hand runs through his hair a couple times as he thinks.

"My name's Atticus, I'm a junior, and uh," he breathes, then clears his throat. "The most uh, this summer I," he takes a pause that lasts almost a whole minute and a half then finally confesses with a disappointed shake of his head, "I can't remember."

"You can't remember," Mrs. Rhodes repeats back confused.

"I don't know," Atticus replies.

"You can't remember or you don't know?" Mrs. Rhodes questions again holding up one finger and then a second.

Snickers and sighs start filtering through the room. I hear a faint 'here we go again' come from a girl at the desk diagonal from ours.

"Yes," Atticus states but it comes out as more of a question.

An awkward silence settles across the room for a few more long moments before Mrs. Rhodes speaks up and says, "Ok well thanks for sharing Atticus. Who wants to go next?"

Atticus lowers his head as the mumbled words 'Only took him five minutes this time, I think that's a new record' of another student reaches our table. This results in scattered laughs from around the room.

I frown. I knew how it felt to have a class of kids whisper about you behind your back or even straight to your face. It wasn't a great feeling and definitely one I wouldn't wish upon someone who seemed to be sweet, like Atticus did.

No one volunteers from our side of the room to go next so I shoot my hand up. "I'll go."

Mrs. Rhodes nods as everyone's attention settles on me.

"Hi I'm Clara, I'm a sophomore, and the most terrifying event of my summer was also the most epic. My family had just moved here from California and I was craving some Flamin' Hot Cheetos late one night during a Netflix binge so I decided to drive on down to 7-Eleven and get myself some."

I pause and clear my throat trying to stall in order to give me some more time to think through my story. "While I was paying for my snacks, these three huge guys on motorcycles pull up and they go into 7-Eleven and they're all like 'We're robbin' this joint so give me all the money you got!' Of course I'm terrified, the poor cashier clutching my Cheetos is terrified. We assume, naturally, there's only the five of us in the store at this ungodly hour of the night."

I can tell I've now got the undivided attention of each student in class now. Teens are leaning towards me in order to hear better, some haven't blinked in far too long. Satisfied with these reactions I continue. "But then right as the guy next to me starts reaching into his jacket for what I assume is a gun, Atticus - who unbeknownst to us had been in the restroom this whole time - comes flyin' at the guy. Just attacks him, street fighter style."

At the sound of his name Atticus' head whips up and towards me. Confusion flashes across his eyes but he doesn't stop my story. "So Atticus is fighting the first guy. The other two men join the brawl, because why not, and it's suddenly three against one, and then it's two against one, and then it's one against one."

If it wasn't such a social taboo I would have taken my camera out and snapped a photo of my classmates faces while I completed my story because, let me tell you, they were priceless.

"This last guy, he's doing pretty good at keeping up with Atticus who's starting to get kinda tired from all this fighting. So in order to even the deal I reach over the counter and grab the phone book the cashier keeps close by just in case someone needs to call for a tow truck or whatever else, and I chuck it at the guy. Unfortunately I have crappy aim and it hit poor Atticus in the head causing him to hit the ground. It knocked him out cold."

I shrug, "Fortunately though by that time the cops showed up they were able apprehended the three men before getting Atticus to wake up. The only thing is though, now the poor guy can't remember anything that happened. He's got temporary amnesia from the hit. Can't recall anything that happened these last three months."

I clear my throat, "and that concludes the most terrifyingly epic moment of my summer."

The utter regret in Mrs. Rhodes eyes for having picked this side of the room to go first becomes blatantly apparent as she stands blinking at me from the front of the room. She's only pulled out of her trance when a boy from the other side of the room audibly questions, "What the hell?"

Atticus continues to stare at me, his brows knitted in confusion. Mummers break out amongst the class as kids discuss 'what the heck is wrong with me.'

"Clearly this segway into your first partnered assignment on fear and your artistic interpretation of it was a poor choice," Mrs. Rhodes confesses while rocking back on her heels. "How about you all just talk amongst yourselves for the remainder of class? Maybe pick your partners now and tomorrow I'll just explain the assignment."

A few muted cheers erupt from the class as everyone turns back around in their seats to continue whatever they were talking about before the bell rang, or about the strange new girl.

Our teacher makes her way back to her desk before informing us that she forgot to mention each week she'd be playing a different genre of music in class and that this week's genre is country. Then she cranks the volume up on her Spotify playlist.

"Why did you say all that? You know that never happened." Atticus' voice raises barely above the chaotic noises of the art room.

"Because I didn't like the way everyone was looking at you," I simply state with a shrug.

"So you lied to them?"

"So I made up a ridiculous story to get their attention off of you and onto me instead," I reply, wondering how my intentions weren't obvious.

He looks anywhere but at my eyes when he asks, "Why would you do that?"

Why would I do that, I think to myself, why did I do that?

I'm almost positive I just commited social suicide for a guy I just met because I found him attractive and kind and also the first person to hold the semblance of a conversation with me all day even though I smiled and waved at so many people who just stared at my lips instead of complimenting them like he did. How do I tell him that, without sounding even more crazy than I already do?

I settle on the vague reply of, "I don't know."

This answer seems to be perfectly fine to Atticus because he simply nods and turns around before reaching down towards his backpack on the floor. Satisfied as well with his acceptance of my answer, I bend down to dig through my own backpack for my sketch pad and pencil.

While I'm flipping through the contents of my bag, I remember Mrs. Rhodes recommended we pick our partners now for our first assignment. I decide that when I sit back up I'll ask Atticus if he wants to work with me, because to be honest, who else would work with us at this point.

But once I place my supplies on the table and turn to my right, Atticus is fervently completing his sketch from earlier while wearing a set of headphones he must have grabbed from his backpack when I wasn't looking.

I guess he doesn't like country music. I guess I'll just ask him tomorrow.

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A/N:

Hey y'all!
Hope everyone is doing well!

So we got to see a more in-depth look into Clara and Atticus! Two of my favorite characters tbh :) How are you liking them so far? Is there anyone you still want to learn more about? Leave a comment and let me know :D

As always, thank you for every read, vote, and comment!

<3 Anne