Part Six: Jan
Art history is boring.
Okay, it isn’t. But the prof is.
I think I’m about as awake as a hibernating bear right now.
Okay, that’s an exaggeration. But really? How possibly boring can this dude get? And how possibly cruel to subject us all to an hour of monotonic rambling disguised as lecture?
The reason I chose to be an artist is to express myself in the most creative way imaginable…and to get out of these damn boring lectures.
Only, I can’t because Art history is part of the fucking curriculum.
Fuck curriculum.
Fuck people you call ‘friend’ who put the moves on other people you also call ‘friend’ that just so coincidentally has been the love of your life since the beginning of time.
…
Where’d that come from?!
I am so screwed. Godfuckingdamn! Why can’t I just get the hell over this?!
And who am I to dictate who has the right to flirt with Perrie anyway? Or who Perrie flirts with back? I mean, I’m just Jan. I’m just her friend, Jan.
Fuck.
My head falls on my desk with a thump, and apparently, it’s a pretty loud thump because that darn monotone comes to a halt and the next thing I’m hearing is a, “Are you okay, Miss Dizon?”
I suppress a pitiful groan – which is a really hard thing to do, considering the circumstances – and I raise my head slowly back up to look at the balding torturer dude who pretends to be the class professor.
“Yes, sir. Just a…a headache.”
“Do you need to go to the infirmary?”
“No, sir, I’ll be fine.”
“Well, I was wrapping up the discussion anyway,” and he turns to the rest of the class – the now just waking class, “You know your readings for next meeting, people. See you then.”
People start standing up one by one, and they head to the door. I choose to stay and sit for a while until there are only a few left before going on my own way out of the classroom. But before I step out the door, there’s a hand on my shoulder and I look back to see who owns the said hand.
“You got a next class, Jan?”
It’s Lianne, the half-Chinese girl seated to my right in class and probably one of the very few people I talk to in this class that I actually don’t find irritating. She isn’t that outspoken but she’s outgoing enough and she wears this really nice black-rimmed glasses that suit her well, if I may say so myself.
“Nope, I’m done for the day. You?”
“I’m supposed to have photography next but class is cancelled for the day, so we’re on the same boat.”
We walk side by side in silence for a while. She’s getting something from her bag and I’m just my usual self.
“So where’re you headed?” I hear her ask.
“Just to hang out somewhere, I guess. I don’t really know. Eat something, or whatever.”
I feel a slight vibration in one of my jean pockets and I pull out my phone to read the message.
“You play the guitar, right?”
“Yeah,” I reply, distractedly. Perrie just sent me a message.
“Well we – I mean, me and some of my friends – we’re kind of forming a band and… Yeah, we’re sort of short. I mean, we’re one member short. And Rick – he’s the drummer,” she looks at me and I force my eyes away from the message, “I think you know him. He’s a classmate of yours. I’m not really sure what class particularly, but he knows you.”
“Uh, yeah, I think I know him,” I look at my phone again.
“Yeah? Well, he said he heard you play the guitar once and he’s wondering…well, we’re all kinda wondering if you, I don’t know, maybe want to join us. Just see for yourself if you want to do it or something?”
So, we haven’t seen you since that time. You know, last week? And if you’re free, we can all have dinner at the diner later… Claire will be there. And Lizzie. And me, duh. So, yeah, reply if you’ll go or not. We kinda miss you, Jan., says the message.
I take a breath of fresh air and turn to Lianne. “Sure,” I shrug.
“Wow!" she stops herself after that brief stint, realizing she looked a little dorky. I smile at her because, well yeah, it was dorky, but good dorky. Cute dorky, anyway. "I mean, that’s great. There are only three of us right now…”
“What do you play?”
She blushes, and again, I smile at that. “I, uh…”
“Let me guess,” she’s looking at the ground as if it’s the most interesting scenery in all the history of artistic sceneries, “vocals?”
“Uh, yeah…”
“I can’t wait to hear you sing,” I rib in for good measure and she just blushes that deeper shade of red, and plants her hands in the back pockets of her form-fitting jeans.
“Um, you can, I mean, we can all have like dinner…or something. Uh, tonight. Just talk a little about the band stuff, and you can meet the bassist,” she turns her unsure gaze upon me. “That’s if you don’t have any other plan? If you do, we can totally just go out some other…uh, time.”
I put the phone I’m holding back inside my pocket without looking at it.
“I don’t have plans,” I smile at her.
Lianne arranges the eyeglasses a bit on the bridge of her nose, and then smiles back. “Great.”
(TBC)