Building C was just where the paper said it would be. The building looked newer than the others, the paint still had remnants of the glossy afterglow. There was a flurry of people going in and out of the building. Not just students either. I roamed down the walkway, then slid awkwardly through the door.

There was several tables cluttered about the room. They each has a different style. Art students of the past left their mark on them, to feel remembered perhaps.

To my left I saw a table, with a man standing behind it. He had his eyes closed, with his arms crossing his chest. He seemed to exude the peacefull stance that artists usually have. I stode around the table and stood infront of him, waiting for him to open his eyes. After a bit, I cleared my throat, hoping he would hear it.

His eyes seemed to open into slits, then they opened fully.

"Hello, may I presume you are the new edition to my class today?"

"Yes", I handed him my paper to sign. He was all business, no edge to his talk like Mrs. Vaughnin. I expected a nice clean signature though, like the rest. I watched him grab a pice of charcoal and scribble two letters.

Handing it back to me he began, "There you go. Now, I hope you can at least draw a stick figure. Otherwise we're gonna have a problem."

"You won't with her Sir. She's a bonified Picaso."

Edgar came strolling up, with an apron on and a smile directed at me. My eyebrows pulled together at the sight of him. This class too? That's three in a row! And what was he wearing?

"Oh, good. Are you a clay lover like Ed here, or do you prefer something else?"

"She's a drawer, but I think she's good enough with her hands to try out the wheel Sir", Egdar answered for me. Wheel? What the bloody hell was a wheel?

"Oh, cool, well the drawing tables full anyhow. If you get bored missy you could just use the wheel to draw on." And with that and a nod, he turned around and clicked something on his computer, letting the sound of thrashing music fill the area.

That left me nothing to do but...
"Follow me Abelinda," Edgar tugged me by my elbow out a steel soor, that shut with a bang.
"Ecxuse me! I think I can use my own two feet," manhandling I was not fond of.
"Are you so sure? Sit down."

I looked at the stool he pointed at. It was small, and had dried paint all over it. Infront of the stool was a different story. There was a metal wheel, constricted by a plastic boundary. It was about a foot or two lifted off the ground. I remebered seeing something like this from a movie my mom made me watch with her. The one with Demi Moore, and that Patrick guy who ended a ghost or something. I made a face.
"Just sit, it doesn't get so messy after you get used to it", he read my stiff posture and laughed alomst silently,"Don't worry, I don't wear this thing to get the girls you know. Grab an apron."

I unlocked my legs, and then my arms. I stuffed my things behind the stool and slowly turned to the rack that held a bunch of aprons. I did a slight overview, then snagged a lilac colored one. It had a snazzy splatter pattern plastered to it.
As I put the loop over my head I heard Edgar's chair screach.
"Would you like some help tying that?"
"Sure, thanks."
He tied me up minutely, and on my turn around I noticed he was already placed behind his 'wheel'. I walked carefully around and sat on the stool.

He then began, " Okay, well first your supposed to get some wedged clay, but I have extra. Do you know the basics of clay?"
I nodded. We only had small instructions on it at my old school. But, we did get the basics. Even if the basics I knew and he knew were entirely different, they were still basics. What was wedged again...?

"Good, very good. So you get the wedged clay into a small ball shape liked this"- he held up a squareish ball of mud-"and make it softer with a little water. Then you slap it onto the wheel here.."

It went on that for about twenty minutes or so. Not like a I counted. I honestly couldn't tell you what he said. Perhaps due to the fact of him speaking directly eye to eye with me. After awhile I didn't even hear him anymore. Before it was just background music, now it was just static in the silence as I watched him. More so, I watched as the emotions scurted across his eyes. Normal eyes don't talk. His were singing sweet melodies to me.

When I was eventually interrupted by him pointing, I realized he wanted me to try it out. Let's just say I was lucky to get most of the mess out of my hair. As the time came, we had to clean up our mess. Yes, I even helped clean a little.

We sat outside for the remainder of the class period. Unfortunately for me it left but only two choices. Draw and let him stare at me, or stare at him staring at me. I chose the latter, but with a twist. I distracted him with questions about the teacher, Mr. Teagan. I gathered from him that the man was an ex-punk rocker turned into artsy teacher. Once he got going, I just sat there mesmorizing his eyes, and analyzing the emotions flitting across them. I don't know how I got away with it.

He had magical eyes, no doubt about that. I would have asked if they were contacts, though I was scared to. But, his face was an enormous advantage to his eyes. He had distinguishable features that many took for granted. His cheek bones were well pronounced, his skin was that of light wood. The hollow which his eyes were set in had an almost constant shadow. It made him look mysterious, though when he smiled it just looked angelic. His hair framed his face well, with it's chin-lengthed and tangled glory. I wondered whether he styled it in the morning, just to look like that. Or maybe tomorrow it will be in some new messy look.

The class ended with the weird loud horn, and Edgar walked with me to the walkway outside the building.

"What is your next class, if I may ask?"
"It's Enlgish, Miss Holbrook."
"Well, good luck with Miss H, I'll bet you will like her. "
I stared at him for a minute. He seemed to flow the second meaning into that sentence. Just like before. The intesity in his eyes made my concentration fail, and he put his head down, again, like before.
I shook my head," What, no apology this time?", I think I could barely hear my voice. But, he smiled at the ground and rummaged his hand through his hair.
"Pardon me, Abelinda. Enjoy your English class." He had lifted his head, but his eyes were downcasted. He waited there for my farewell, and I scrambled for something to say.
"Uh, uhm, well... Thank you." I ducked my head and did a 180.

English class was a complete relief. Mrs. Holbrook was a throwback to the 70's. She believed in reading at your own pace, but you had a certain amount due by the midterm. She played nature sounds, and some of the best hippie music I've heard in a long time.

On my way home I smelled of incense, and had the strings of Bob Dylan playing in my ears. When I finally pulled up to my Aunt's house, the strings were gone, and the incense was unnoticed. Green eyes were staring at me from the inside of my eye lids.