Lunch is the only thing I'm looking forward to today.

At lunch I go see Mr. Wright in his room. Mr. Wright is the kind of teacher with a big reputation and a lot of respect. He's a middle aged man with a balding head and thick rimmed glasses. There's no way to mess with Mr. Wright, but there's also no need to. He's the chill kind of teacher who'll let you do pretty much whatever you want if you're nice and you get your work done. I know some people who take art class just to be around him.

Art class with Mr. Wright is the best, but lunch with Mr. Wright is unbeatable.

"Hey Bennie! How's your day?" Mr. Wright quickly drops the papers he was looking at on his disaster of a desk. "Mine's been pretty shit."

"Yeah, same. I think I failed my chemistry test," I admit with a pout.

It was the hardest test I've ever taken in my entire life. My mind blanked and I totally forgot everything I studied. It was terrible. I never wanted to go back to that class again. I can only imagine the shame I'll feel when the tests are handed back and mine's the only one with a huge "F" on it in blood red sharpie.

"Eh, who needs chemistry anyway? You could get into any art school you want, kiddo," Mr. Wright's smile is bright and reassuring.

"Yeah," I rub my temples to try and push off my oncoming headache. "My dad cares if I fail though."

The art tables are disgusting in a beautiful way. The old wood is barely seen under the layers of dried clay, glue, pencil, and paint. I adore the tables in the art room. They seem like pieces of art themselves. A collage of the years of hard work and creativity poured out in this room. I pick at a large patch of paint angrily as my head rests heavily on my hand.

"Here's what I'll do," Mr. Wright brings his lunch and sits next to me. "If it makes you feel better I can ask some kids in my classes if they'd like to be a chemistry tutor."

I immediately stop picking at the table as my head fills with images of my Fs and Ds going to Cs, Bs, and maybe even As!

"Really?" my eyes widen with hope. "Do you think anyone would say yes? It's really only the last few chapters I'm having trouble with and with midterms coming up-"

"Geez, slow down Bennie. You're talking a mile a minute," he chuckles at me.

"Sorry," I catch my breath.

"I'm sure there's some stuffy AP student who wants some actual human interaction," he jokes before biting into his sandwich.

Mr. Wright's wife packs him lunch everyday without fail. Monday is pasta day, Tuesday is sandwich day, Wednesday is salad day (because he needs some health food to "make it through the rest of the week without dying"), Thursday is soup day, and Fridays switch every week.

I have only met Mrs. Wright once before at a school art exhibit, but I can genuinely say I've loved her ever since. And I admit- my heart swoons every time Mr. Wright pulls out his daily lunch note. That's the type of love I want. The type of love where the little signs of affection are the big things and confirmations of love are daily.

"Thanks Mr. Wright! I really appreciate it."

I smile at him. This classroom is my world, it makes me feel safe. So many of my deepest, darkest emotions have been expressed here, with paint, with crayons, with charcoal, on paper, on canvas, on the walls. I look around and I see memories. Memories that I haven't shared with anyone but me and this room.

Mr. Wright takes away some of the loneliness.

"And I'd really appreciate it if you'd finish your painting so I could figure out what it is."

A natural smile slips onto my face as we change the subject. "I told you I don't know what I'm making yet, I'm just messing around."

"Well, get to it. No rest for the weary."

I pick up my special brushes and pull out my freshest canvas. It's dark and sad and I don't really understand what inspired me to make it, but I find comfort in the darkness.

"Is Lauren coming?" Mr. Wright says after a couple of minutes.

"No, she's really sick today. Was throwing up all night. She claims she was poisoned." I laugh as I remember our late night facetime.

"I feel like I'm dying Ben. Actually dying," she moans. "So make sure you tell everyone at school that I hate them and I don't want them to show up to my funeral. Just you, my family, Mr. Wright, Ms. Wells and Harry Styles. You better make that happen Ben, it's my dying wish!"

Lauren can be... dramatic. But I enjoy her quirks. She's my best friend. She knows everything about me and makes me smile even if I'm in a horrible mood.

"Aw, poor thing. Tell her I hope she feels better, okay?"

"Will do. She should be back in a couple days."

She better be back soon. I don't like being alone, especially in school.

I grab my usual green smock and get to painting in between bites of food. 

:)