Come On Over

COME ON OVER

Copyright
© 2015 by Mika Fox

All
Rights Reserved.

This
book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or

used
in any manner whatsoever without the express written

permission
of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This
book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and

incidents
are either products of the author's imagination or

are
used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living

or
dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

WWW.MIKA-FOX.COM

Many thanks to S, K,
and B.

You are invaluable.

Chapter 1

Summer

If there is one
thing Dominic has always understood, it's restlessness. It seems that no matter
what he does, or where he is, he feels it, twitching beneath his skin and
urging him to move, to work, to do
something.
Said restlessness made his last classroom experience rather difficult, not
to mention mind-numbingly boring, and so he blames some kind of classical
conditioning for the way his leg won't stop jumping up and down now, where he
sits.

He
has only been here for about a minute, but after just that minute of waiting,
he is close to losing his patience. It's from anticipation, more than anything,
but it still makes him fidget as he absently picks at a loose thread that's
slowly unraveling a hole in his worn-out jeans. It's sunny outside, a window
left ajar and letting in some of the warm summer breeze, and Dominic takes a
deep, steadying breath.

The
classroom is spacious and open, with large windows on one side that all face a
green area behind the building. It gives the place an airy, light feel, round
tables and chairs spread throughout the room, arranged like a lounge more than
a classroom. There's a whiteboard at one end, and a row of cupboards at the
other, several pots and jars haphazardly placed around the space and on the
wide window sills. Some of them hold plants, most of them hold paint brushes
and the like, and while it all comes off as random and cluttered at first,
Dominic finds it rather soothing. It feels creative, uncontrolled, in the very
best way.

Some
people have already arrived; Dominic lets his gaze hover over his new
classmates, most of them scattered, but some sitting closer together and
talking. From his place at the back of the room, he has a pretty clear vantage
point of them all.

There's
a guy sitting almost directly in front of him, who looks like he's sleeping,
head tilted back and large headphones pressed against his ears. Meanwhile a
pale, red-haired girl sits a little further away, intently staring at the blank
whiteboard as though it might start talking to her. A dark-skinned girl wearing
a colorful sundress is sitting closer to one of the windows, her hair curly and
unruly, pulled back by a hair band that matches her dress, and she's talking to
a guy whose fair skin appears rather stark in contrast to hers. His hair is
dark, almost black, slicked back and buzzed on the sides as well as at the back
of his head, and while Dominic usually doesn't have much love for the undercut,
this guy definitely pulls it off.

The
teacher doesn't seem to be here yet, and over the next few minutes, a few more
students file into the room. Tired of just sitting there, Dominic is quickly
bored, and he whips out his phone to fiddle with it for a while.

The
distraction turns out to be rather short-lived.

"Hi."
He looks up at the greeting, only to be met by a tall, strawberry-blonde girl
who looks like the very definition of
boho
chic, with
her sun-kissed skin, sheer dress, and long, deliberately-messy hair. "Is
this seat taken?"

She
gestures at the empty chair next to Dominic, and he shakes his head.

"Knock
yourself out," he says, and the girl smiles.

"Thanks."
She sits down on his left, while Dominic turns back to his phone. The girl
isn't deterred, however. "I'm Annie."

He
looks up at her. Up close, he can see that she's got a few freckles, and that
her eyes are grayish-blue; the thin, braided headband she's wearing brings out
their color rather perfectly.

"Dominic,"
he says, and the girl nods.

"So
what you in for, Dominic?" she asks, leaning back in her chair and putting
her bag on the floor between her legs. Dominic frowns, and Annie gives him an
amused smile. "What's your medium?"

"Oh,"
Dominic says, absently shutting off the screen of his phone. "Photography.
You?"

"Drawing,"
Annie says. "Mostly colored pencils, sometimes black-and-white. Not very
unique, but..."

She
shrugs.

"About
as unique as photography, I'd say," Dominic supplies, and Annie's smile
widens. She has a very nice smile, one that fits perfectly with her entire
style. She looks like she belongs in some kind of field, dancing around and
summoning wild animals with her song.

"So
is it like, old school photography?" she asks, narrowing her eyes a bit.
"Or is it weird stuff, like carcasses and rotting flesh?"

Dominic's
eyebrows shoot up.

"You
hear 'photography', and that's where your mind goes?" he says, and Annie
laughs, almost a little sheepishly.

"Hey,"
she says, "I've seen some weird stuff, okay? My ex had a friend who would
wander along the highway looking for road kill to take pictures of."

Dominic's
brow furrows into a frown, and he huffs a laugh.

"Wow,
okay," he says. "Well, none of that. I guess I'm more old school
then, if that's your frame of reference."

Annie
laughs, a bubbly, soft sound.

"Good
to know," she says.

"What
about you?" Dominic says. "You draw dead things, or something? I'm
afraid to ask."

Annie
narrows her eyes in a way that makes Dominic feel like she would playfully
nudge him, if they had known each other for longer than ten seconds.

"I
do portraits, mostly," she says. "I like drawing people. Everyone
looks so different, you know? Unique. It never gets old."

She
gets a dreamy look on her face for a moment, and Dominic feels the strangest
warmth settle in his chest as he sees it. It's something he often sees with
creative people, with artists, with himself. It's the look of briefly getting
lost in the cornucopia of ideas inside your head, and it often comes right
before a burst of inspiration that makes you stay up for hours at night and
work on something you might not even end up using, or even liking. Not to
mention, it's the only cure for restlessness that he knows, and the beauty of
it never ceases to amaze him.

Annie
snaps out of it rather quickly, and she presses her lips together.

"So
yeah, this should be fun." she says lightly, followed by a pause. "I
like the
bling
, by the way."

She
raises her eyebrows, a joking hint to her voice, as she gestures at Dominic's
ears. He moves his hand up to absently touch the black piercing in his earlobe,
a flat, small disc identical to the one in his other ear. He scoffs.

"Thanks,"
he says dryly, with a small smile. "
So
bling
, right?"

Annie
cocks her eyebrows challengingly.

"
Bet
I've got more
bling
than
you," she says, and pulls back her hair to show off the row of silver
rings in her ear. Dominic nods approvingly.

"Not
bad," he says.

"I've
got a navel piercing, too," Annie says. "But I figure showing it off
right now wouldn't exactly be appropriate."

She
nods down at her outfit, which consists of a wrinkled, apricot dress that ends
just above her knees. Dominic quirks a small smile.

"Probably
not," he agrees, and Annie looks like she's about to say something else,
when her attention is suddenly diverted.

"Shanti!"
she calls out, and Dominic almost jumps at the sudden exclamation, Annie's eyes
on someone by the door. He turns and spots a girl standing there, looking
confused and a little lost, until she sees Annie and visibly relaxes. She makes
her way over to the table, glancing at Dominic a little hesitantly, while Annie
gestures at her to sit down.

"This
is Dominic," Annie says, as though he's an old friend. "Dominic, this
is Shanti."

She
gestures at the newcomer, and Dominic smiles at Shanti, raising his hand in a
small wave.

"Hey,"
he says, and Shanti waves back as she sits down on Annie's other side.

"Hi,"
she says. Her eyes are big and dark brown, her features soft and hinting at
what Dominic would guess is Indian descent. She has a small silver stud in the
right side of her nose, and long, dark hair pulled up into a messy bun. Her
modest ensemble of cut-off shorts and a tank top is very different from Annie's
style, but it suits her just as well.

"You're
late," Annie says, turning to Shanti. "That's my thing,
remember?"

"You
don't have monopoly on it, you know," Shanti says, crossing one leg over
the other as she puts her bag down on the floor. "And besides, the class
hasn't even started yet."

Dominic
sweeps his gaze around the classroom. Sure enough, there's still no teacher in
sight, although a few more students have arrived, slowly filling up the place.
He checks his phone for the time; the class should have started two minutes
ago.

"Fair
enough," Annie says. "But I need to cling to what little identity I
have."

"So
you're fine with your identity being 'that girl who's always late'?" Shanti
asks, and Dominic can hear the eyebrow-raise in her voice.

"Given
what I've been called in the past," Annie says, "yes."

Dominic
is only half-listening to their bickering, his light brown eyes skimming the
room. Sleepy headphone guy is still out cold, by the looks of it, and Dominic
resists the urge to kick his chair for the sheer satisfaction of shocking him
awake. The red-haired girl seems to have given up staring at the whiteboard,
instead doodling in a notepad, and the two people talking by the windows are
still deep in conversation. Dominic ends up settling his attention on them both
for a moment.

The
girl is wearing a rather interesting necklace, Dominic notices, with several
twined chains overlapping each other and a small charm hanging from each one.
They're all gold-colored, by the looks of it, nicely matching her dark skin.
The guy next to her is interesting in his own way―that is, in a way where
it doesn't necessarily stand out, at first glance. At second glance though,
Dominic allows his eyes to linger for a few moments, paying a little more
attention.

He is
wearing a dark, loose-fitting tank top, leaving his arms bare and
exposed―and they are nice arms. Dominic tries not to stare too obviously
as he stretches them in front of him, clenching and unclenching his fists as
though he too is getting restless from just sitting here. No closer inspection
is needed for Dominic to see that the guy is in pretty good shape, and the rest
of him doesn't look half-bad either; the hem of his tank is low enough to show
off his collarbones and his neck, and it's hard not to stare.

The
stranger glances in Dominic's general direction, and Dominic looks away, slowly
enough for it not to seem weird.
Great.
He
has been here all of five minutes, and he's already checking someone out. He's
pretty sure he decided to cut back on that, this summer.

The
murmur of talking is filling the room at this point, as everyone seems to have
arrived, and it's only when a newcomer enters and makes her way over to the
whiteboard that the conversation dies down. Dominic, along with Shanti and
Annie and everyone else, quiets, eyes on the woman Dominic assumes is their
teacher.

"Good
morning," the woman says. She sounds a little out of breath, and she
pushes back a few strands of chestnut brown, curly hair that have escaped from
the messy knot at the back of her head. She appears to be in her thirties,
which alone sets her apart from the rest of this group, since most of them are
in their early twenties, and she has the kind of look that gives Dominic the
impression that she's the outdoorsy type. Her skin is tanned and smooth, from
hours in the sun, and he wouldn't be surprised if she spends her free time
digging around in a garden, or something.

"I'm
sorry I'm late," the woman continues, brushing off her loose-fitting tunic
as though to calm herself. "Things have a way of not always going
according to one's schedule. But I'm here now, and I hope you're all eager to
begin." There's a murmur of assent. "Great. My name is Jean Allard,
and I teach Creative Arts here during the school year. I have been blessed with
teaching this class as well, and I'm so happy to meet you all."

She
smiles wide, the gesture so sincere that it's impossible not to feel a bit of
warmth towards her.

"As
you all know," she says, "this is an eight-week class, which focuses
on the essence of art. In other words, what do you feel is art? How do you
experience it, express it? How do you wish to convey this burning passion
inside and show it to the world?"

Dominic
has to suppress a snicker at their teacher's apparent dramatic
tendencies―she even has the big hand gestures and tone of voice to go
perfectly with her words―and when he glances around the room, he notices
that he's not the only one. Everyone here seems respectful enough to keep it to
themselves, though.

"Regardless
of your chosen medium," Jean continues, "what you do is art. Whatever
you make, whatever you
create
, is
art. Now, this class won't focus on teaching you how to master these skills, or
how to use them―you already have that inside of you. What I will guide
you in, if you need it, is how to work with chosen themes. How can one thing be
shaped and molded into a thousand different expressions and have a thousand
different faces?"