“Damien.” My stepfather greets from the stove as I trudge into the kitchen. I wave sleepily at him and plop onto one of the plain black bar stools. Evan slides two warm chocolate chip pancakes onto my plate and hands me a mug of coffee before tending to my dad who’s just crawled out of bed.

            I smother my food in syrup as Evan and dad kiss and talk quietly to each other. I’m concentrating so hard on getting syrup to cover the entire plate that I almost have a coronary when a thick blue envelope with a crest stamp is dropped in front of my eating space.

            “What’s this?” I’m holding the envelope between my thumb and forefinger as though it may explode.

            “Your acceptance letter.” Dad says nonchalantly, starting on his own breakfast.

            “May I ask as to where I have been accepted?”

            “Sebastian’s Academy.” At the name my mood changes instantly.

            “Get rid of it.” I snarl. “I’m not replying.” I’m already storming up to my room. How dare they send my application to SAFA! I enter my bathroom to shower, already on the verge of tears. My art is why my boyfriend died. All because of me!

            By the time I’m out of the shower, Evan’s at my door immensely worried. I tell him to go away; I don’t want to talk to anyone. Dressing in a pair of light purple lounge pants and wiping the water from my glasses, I curl up on my bed holding the green panda Aiden gave for our year anniversary. I swore that I’d never again do any art after what my paintings put Aiden's family through. The very thought of drawing again puts me in tears. Aiden’s dead because of art, and my art died with Aiden. The last piece I plan to do was buried with my love, and may it forever remain my last piece.

            Two that afternoon, the proclaimed lunchtime by Evan, dad comes up and enters my room without permission. I’m still cuddling the plushie and I glare at him as he sits a tray with my lunch on it on the nightstand and leaves. I see that Evan’s made my favorite “mood” foods; a cream cheese, bologna, and hot sauce sandwich with several chocolate chip cookies and a glass of mountain dew.

            Once I’m finished with my lunch, I feel a lot better but still carry my panda down with me to put my dishes in the sink. Dad and Evan are having “cuddle time” on the couch, something I used to enjoy doing with Aiden. Seeing the scene almost puts me in tears again.

            After I rinse my plates, I turn to go back to my room, but the powder blue envelope catches my eye. Planning on ripping it to shreds, I grab it before going upstairs. On my bed, I decide to at least read the letter, and pull out the paper within.

            “Mister Lawrence,

                        We are pleased to inform you that the application we received April 18, 2008, has been approved.” I stop reading, dad and Ev didn’t send in my app. This was for the application from last year when Aiden convinced me to send my portfolio in. we’d wanted to go to the same school. I know he’d still want me to go.

            That evening at dinner I surprise my parents. “I’m going to SAFA.” Both adults fall silent and stare at me as though I’ve grown a second head. Dad recovers first.

            “What made you change your mind?”

            “The application was received in April. I’m gonna go.” Neither man says another word about it, they understand completely. Later when I’m in my room and the ‘rents are asleep, I pull out The Box. I figure I mine as well open it sooner, rather then later and pull the thin metal chain from under my shirt out and unlocked the cube. The first thing put in here, or rather the last, is a picture of Aiden, his sixteen-year-old face flawlessly preserved in the glossy photo. Below a half dozen more photos of both Aiden and I are my art supplies I’d packed away the day the police found his body.

            Topping off the mound of pencils, paper, paints, and other things is a half finished risqué painting of Aiden I was doing for his birthday. Under the canvas is the photo I’d been recreating of him sprawled out across my bed, surrounded by soft lighting…shaking my head, I grab the canvas and photograph and begin finishing the gift, trying hard to stay in the present.

***

            It’s six the next morning, and I’m covered in paint, the portrait is finished, and I’ve just realized what time it is. Leaving the painting on the easel to dry, I once again admire the man in the piece, completely nude save the crimson sheet covering his genitalia, before going to shower.

            Wrapping a towel around my waist, the first thing I notice are the voices coming from the other side of the bathroom door, my room! They’re talking about my painting and I find myself becoming upset that someone’s admiring him like I do…did. Almost silently I reenter my bedroom before saying anything to the couple.

            “Why are you in here?” I growl quietly. “I don’t want anyone knowing about or seeing that.”

            “It’s a beautiful painting Damien.” Evan compliments.

            Glowering at them both, I point to the door. “Get. Out. Now.” I keep my voice steady and quiet, still managing to punctuate each word with the malice that comes with yelling. Dad puts his arm around Evan’s shoulders and leads him out of the room, mumbling something about giving me time, leaving me alone, breathing heavily from anger.

            Still shaking, I yank open my nightstands drawer and blindly search for my MP3 player. Finding the desired electronic, I harshly shove in my ear buds and search rapidly for my classical music. It takes two trips through all my music to find the correct song, and once I find it, I fall onto my bed and try to sleep.

            I wake at three and wander downstairs. Just as I’m about to enter the kitchen, I hear Evan telling dad something. “Maybe he needs to see the therapist again,” he's saying. “He’s not coping well with Aiden’s death. It’s been almost four months.”

He’s been getting better,” dad replies. “So he had a couple episodes, at least he's taking an interest in art again.” A moment of silence follows and I take the opportunity to step into the room.

            “Hi,” I start. “I’m sorry about this morning. I was tired, and that’s a private project.”

            “It’s okay Damien.” Dad assures me. “Go ahead and get lunch. Evan and I are going to the store.” I see the look he flashes to Evan and they head out to the car, giving me alone time in the house.

            As soon as I hear the car go down the street, I grab a bag of plain ruffled chips and proceed to start up the play station two. Forty-five minutes later when they return from the “store”, I’m shirtless, kneeling on the table, screaming the lyrics to Miss Murder, and stuffing my mouth with chips.

            “Hey Damien, nice moves.” Dad jokes and I freeze like a deer caught in headlights.

            “You’re back.” I state, climbing off the table and shutting off the game. “I’ll be in my room.”

            “Damien, please don’t withdraw yourself again.” Evan calls after me. I ignore him and climb the stairs. His plea is wasted; I’m already in my own little world. Aiden was the only person I was ever truly myself around. Deep down I was hoping that while attending SAFA I’d find someone that would accept me for me. Ever since Aiden’s’ death, I’ve refrained from going and seeing friends and family. It’ll be four months since then in a week’s time; the same day the new school years starts at SAFA.

2: Chapter Two

            Six-thirty, Monday morning, I trudge downstairs to the kitchen. As usual, I’m wearing all black. My highlighter yellow earphones violently contrast with my apparel.  The cord swirls down my shirt before disappearing into my hoodie pocket. I’ve even bothered with the hassle of putting in contacts.

            “I’m ready whenever you are.” I mumble to dad, shaking tendrils of wet hair from my eyes. I grab an apple from the fruit bowl and thank Evan for the sack lunch he hands me before going outside to wait. It’s seven-fifty when dad comes out and drives me silently to the three story, stone castle looking building.

            “You do have a way to get home right?” I nod, planning on taking the bus, and shoulder my backpack, heading for the front of the school. The commons area of the school is virtually empty so I have no problem getting my schedule and locker assignment. Looking at the piece of bright blue paper, I groan seeing I have Phys. Ed. first thing every day.

            I glance at the map the secretary gave me and blindly make my way to where the locker rooms are marked. Finding my desired location, I push open the gray door proclaiming the sign “Boy’s Locker”. The locker room is like every other locker room I have ever had the displeasure of being inside. Hot, and full of half naked guys.

            “All right everyone, grab a shirt and a set of overalls from the bins over there and get into the gym!” the coach, who materializes out of the steam like a genie, barks. I shove my way over to the overflowing bins of clothes and yank out what ever I see that might be my size. Once I pull on the holey tee shirt and the paint covered overalls that may have at one point been white, I enter the gym. The gym is stark white, as in so white you might go blind if you stare too long.

            It takes me a while to realize that the entire room is covered by white paper, including the ceiling and floor, and numerous cans of paint litter the floor. I have a feeling I might like this class. Within a few minutes, some twenty people, both male and female, have gathered in the room, followed by the coaches.

            “Welcome to the art division of physical education. For the next two weeks, this class will be covering this gym with splatter art.” There was a collective cheer. “Everyone, grab a few cans of paint and have some fun.”

            I yank a couple of bright colours off the floor near me and carry them over to a corner of the room near the doors. The first thing I do after I pry off the lids is fling a handful of both the purple and orange paint onto the ceiling before starting on the wall in front of me. A few handfuls into class, I feel a glob of paint squish onto my head, and it didn’t take long for the orange paint to slide down around my eyes, making me wish I wore goggles and thankful that I brought shampoo.

            Five minutes before the bell rings, I run to the showers and scrub the drying paint from my hair, then hastily pull on my clothes as the rest of the guys from class come filing in. My next class period consists of a double period of advanced art which was filled with me killing a poster board with a random battle between evil vampiric fruit and robots; then comes lunch.

            After art was over, it was lunch, and I took to wandering the halls of the school; eating the lunch Evan packed for me that morning. I never have enjoyed the experience of eating in a school cafeteria, and I want to find the wall, a space dedicated to deceased students, former and present, of the school. The wall’s not very hard to find, and I spend several minutes scanning the pictures of deceased students that got accepted into the school before I see it. Aiden’s on here. The very last picture is of him…and me. I recognize the picture, it’s one of the four I have on my bedside table.

            We were at the beach and I paid to have the picture taken; I want to know how the school acquired it. I take a couple of moments to study the old me. I look so happy, resting my head on Aidens’, my own almost black, shoulder length hair contrasting beautifully with his sandy brown locks. Tearing my eyes away from the plaque, I follow the arrowed signs to the headmaster’s office where I pound relentlessly on his door until it’s opened.

            “Mister Lawrence.” The head of the school greets. “To what do I owe this visit?” he asks, going back to sit at his desk.

            “I’d like a picture of Aiden put on the wall that doesn’t include me in the frame. The current one isn’t going to make my blending in easier.” The man teepees his fingers and smiles kindly at me.

            “Very well Damien, I will see to it personally the photograph is changed. Now, the bell is about to ring, I shall see you at a later date.”

            “Thank you sir.” I mumble, backing hastily into the hall just as the shrill din of the bell echoes throughout the school. I follow the flow of students until I see my last period of the day, math.

            Inside the room on the tables are pieces of folded poster board with names on them. My seat is front and center next to a mister Tyler Ramsey, who comes in moments later.

            “I know who you are!” he exclaims as soon as he sees me sitting at the table, scribbling on a piece of notebook paper.

            “That’s very nice, the name tags kind of make knowing who people are pretty easy Tyler.” I drawl, not bothering to look up from my paper. He doesn’t get a chance to devise any type of witty comeback as the teacher enters the classroom, but as soon as her back is turned, he’s whispering to me again.

            “You’re that Damien Lawrence kid! You got some guy killed because of something you published in a magazine!” I clench my teeth and raise my hand; waiting impatiently for the teacher to turn around.

            “Yes mister Saunders?” she calls once she turns and faces the room again.

            “May I move to different seat please?”

            “You may switch with Miss Meyers.” I take my things with and go sit in the spot that a red haired girl just vacated next to a purple haired boy apparently named Lyeud. After counting us by twos, the teacher begins passing out papers, talking as she walks.

            “I’m Misses Gradley. For today, just sit and relax, I’ve got a whole hundred-oh-four days to torture you. Just be sure to look through this packet I’m giving you and get it signed by a parent or guardian, and bring it back to me. She finishes handing out the papers and resumes sitting at her computer while the rest of us start talking.

            “Hey.” The Lyeud guy says to me, causing my head to snap toward him.

            “Hey, I’m Damien. You’re Lyeud right?”

            “Well that would be the name my parents lovingly graced me with.” I gapped at him. “I prefer Leo.”

            “Okay then…what are you in for?”

            “Writing, and you?”

            “Art.”

            “I have to know, I heard Tyler talking about it. Are you that Lawrence kid?” he cannot hide the wariness in his voice. To this day, I honestly don’t have a clue as to why I told a guy I knew for less then five minutes the truth, but I do.

            “Yes. Saunders is my stepfather’s last name. We decided that it’d be better to change my last name for schooling since that all happened.” I whisper to him behind my hand.

            “Oh…” he looks perturbed. “That’s cool.”

            “I know you don’t want to talk to me. I don’t mind”

            “No, it’s not a problem. I don’t have a problem with it.” He says it in that quick way that makes it sure to others that you’re lying.

            “Uh-huh.” I roll my eyes and pull back out my paper of doodles; it would be a long silent year of math. Then, as if he needs to prove something, both for him and me, he says.

            “Let me come over to your house. School’s out in twenty minutes, we can take my car. I nod my head in agreement, running my hand through my hair in nervousness. Both of us were silent for the remaining time of school, after which Leo leads me down to a gray Toyota from the eighties. Then, as if this isn’t awkward enough, he starts talking to the car!

            “Hey Sheila. Ready to go girl?” he pats the roof before climbing into the driver’s seat.

            “You named your car?” I look at him like he’s crazy.

            “Of course, me an’ Sheila have a history together; I’ve had her for two years, got her from my dad. She hates me.”

            “Okay then…”

            “Hey, no judging.” A finger waggles in front of my face as he backs out of the parking space. “So, where in what do you live?”

            “I live in the brown house on Harrison Street.”

            “You live in Evan’s house!?” he squeals in a very feminine manner.

            “Evan’s my stepdad, though he’ll be at work till like six or so.” A long fifty-minute drive later, we pull into the driveway and I lead him upstairs. “If you want something to eat, there’s a box of snacks under the bed and the mini-fridge is stocked.” I wander around the room, pushing dirty clothes and trash into shadowy corners.

This is that Aiden kid right?” I look at the picture cradled in Leo's hands, though I know exactly of whom it’s of.

            “Yeah, both our families went ice skating last December on our holiday, that’s my favorite picture.” I pull it from his hands and place it back on the nightstand, then proceed to yank the small orange tote with “First Aide” written on it out from under my bed.

            “Why does it say first aide on it?”

            “Evan would kill me if he knew I had a bunch of junk food up here. I’m lucky I’m allowed the fridge.”

            “Alrighty then, got any Twinkies?”

            Five minutes till six, Evan gets home. We’re up in my room playing a type of artsy mad libs. Leo writes a story and I draw a picture, then we switch so I can illustrate his and he can narrate mine. Evan comes up gripping about my clothes in the dryer right as we finish our third round.

            “You told me that you’d have your clothes folded by the time we got home. Why is it not done?” he demands before seeing Leo. “Hello Lyeud, are you staying for dinner?” Leo nods, and adverts his eyes to the notebook in his lap that holds a page covered in dirty pictures from the risqué story I drew.

            “I’ll call you down for dinner. I want those clothes out of the dryer Damien.” He turns and leaves before I stand up.

            “I’m going to get my clothes. I’ll be back.” I exit the room, grabbing my neon orange laundry basket as I go. Down in the basement I pile my clothes into my basket, not caring about wrinkles, before heading back upstairs. Evan and dad are making spaghetti; well actually they’re flinging cooked noodles at each other. Grinning at my parents, I bump open the door to my room, dropping the laundry at the site that greets me.

            “What in hell’s name are you doing with Klaus?!” I growl. I stomp over to him and rip my plushie from his hands. “Are you okay Klaus?” I ask, petting the toys head.

            “Sorry dude,” I glare down at Leo. “Most guys aren’t protective of stuffed toys. At least the ones that I know.”

            “Klaus is special. Why were you manhandling him?”

            “I found him on a table with a plum. I was bored. What’s so special about him anyway?”

            “He was a gift, just don’t touch him please.” I place the toy on its shelf. “Dad and Evan are making spaghetti, or at least they’re throwing it at each other…”

            “Throwing?”

            “Um-hmmm. Are there any questions you’re dying to ask?”

            “Got any art I can look at?” I smirk happily and drag out two identical locked totes from under my bed. Ignoring the comments of what I could and couldn’t hide under my bed, I take the key chain from around my neck, flipping through them until I find the right key. I unlock the tote stuffed with sketchbooks, each holding a time period during which I drew in them. Unsurprisingly, they stop exactly four months ago.

            “Go ahead and look till you explode. Hand me one of those blank books though would ya.” Once he hands me a blank book, I settle back into my pillows, as he digs to the bottom of the tote. I manage to do a couple of decent drawings-one of a hippie zombie, the other of a Viking Evan defending his cookies with an ax-and Leo gets to look through several older sketchbooks before we’re called for dinner.

            “I figured all the spaghetti would be covering the kitchen.” I remarked upon seeing the heaping bowl of pasta sitting on the table.

            “Not all of it, only the first box we cooked.” Dad laughs. “I won.”

            “Did not! You threw in the towel after I shoved a handful down your pants. I won.” Evan contradicts.

            “At least they can never say that I act immature.” I whisper loudly, causing Leo and Evan to snort into their pasta. Dinner was filled with awkward stories and lots of laughter. After dinner Leo leaves, and the ever-present heavy silence falls back on our house. I retreat back up to my room and repack my old sketchbooks before lying down with Klaus.

            My possible new friendship with Leo gave me mixed feelings. It could very well escalate into something more and I’m not ready to lessen my love for Aiden, sighing, I put in ear buds and try to go to sleep.